Friday, March 18, 2011

Culled, But Not Forgotten

Here's another chapter from Booker's World that did not make it through the editing process.

Thursday, December 31, 2009.

I was trying to think of an entry for the final one of the year. I stumbled across it while travelling through thought. The first thing that came into my mind when I wrote it was this -

Picture a place ten years from now. An elderly somebody goes to bed. Their eyes now to frail to read, a kindly carer has placed an audio aid into their ear, a Christmas gift that soothed the guilt of the children who had put them there. This piece of contemporary technology, the size of a pea, will read the latest bestsellers that top the weekly book charts. Sounding like a cheap rip-off of Morgan Freeman's voice, the particular book being listened to by the elderly person is titled, How To Kill An Old Year.
But the gadget has no built in mechanism to help with severe loss of hearing on the part of the user. So all the elderly somebody hears is, ‘How to kill an old dear,’ sending them into a state of panic so severe, they are forced to rely on heavy sedatives to see out their days. Some might even say it wouldn't be a bad way to go.

I've logs burning in the stove. They crack in celebration of the dawn of a new decade. I suspect with cutbacks they will be the only fireworks around here until the Dáil reconvenes in late January. I remember in years past, fireworks lighting up whatever sky was chosen for us to celebrate the birth of a New Year. Though that hour is a few turns of a clock away, I don't expect to see any. If I do, I'll probably complain. Fireworks are fuck all use to people with no roof over their head.
I don't mind having a quite last day of the year. I remember a time that was not as so. In venues, where we were packed in like sardines, sometimes so full of festive cheer that we even kissed the wrong people. Leon did that quite a bit. There were slaps, I have to admit.
“It was worth the shot,” is all he would say of the rejection, rubbing the side of his face better, and moving on to the next.
Mitch said he would stop by tonight if he wasn't on duty up at The Bronco doing door duties. Not many would be attempting to kiss him, I assure you!
I still haven't heard from Mattie. One can only hope he is safe somewhere. I'd like to hear from him if for no other reason than to dispel the images I sometimes see of him face down in a puddle of beer on some table in a bar in Amsterdam. Knowing him he will be doing everything in his power to keep them intact. Probably at somebody else's expense.
I used to relish the passing of every year. Buoyed by the fact it was another one out of the way. Maybe because, for the most part it wasn't vintage like the years wine get sometime. Maybe it was due to the weight of expectation I placed on their shoulders with each passing one. Maybe because my lottery numbers didn't show up. Maybe because my own will to get to where ever it is life has to take me, was not the will of any great master plan, if indeed there is such a thing.
So as I enter a new year, indeed a new decade, I think I'll put into practice what I have learned this year and just not expect anything from 2010. I'll just let the year unfold as it intends too.
The last entry is written. Remember those loved ones with hearing impairments when choosing the titles of future audio books. It may very well be the difference between a happy New Year or the beginning of a bad one. It all depends on which way you choose to look at things.

Other chapters from the book which also didn't make it can be read here. I'll post more in time.

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