The Purest Heart of Rainbows Love and Unicorn

by Rufus Montecalvo

I said to them: “free yourselves from the confines of your existence.” Nietzsche was thought to have remarked: “Simplify your life: kill yourself” I was said to have remarked to Nietzsche: “Dude, what was up with that book you wrote about that thing?” Nietzsche: “I unno...” shrugs. The point here of course is 'transcending.' We must transcend our present selves in order to become something better. Like a butterfly. We are gods in chrysalis, as someone once said. Spread your wings, but wait till you're out of the cocoon young caterpillar, don't be an impatient asshole. But you say, surely you are bamboozling us sir, caterpillars cannot talk, much less philosophize, ho hum, ho hum. And you are right of course. You are right, you are always right. I cannot argue with you. You are beyond reason. Unreasonable, if I may say so. What would it take for you to believe me? Do I have to cry, is that what you want? Really? Tough luck then, cause the last time I cried it was only for twenty minutes when I accidentally collided my little toe with a table leg. Do you really want to hurt me? Do you really want to see me cry? But butterflies, yes. Metaphors. So life is like a butterfly. It has wings. Life has wings. It does not make sense. I give up. Life is like giving up. No, wait. Life is like a metaphor for something. Yes, yes, ho hum. It's so obvious, really. I mean, look at it this way, the more you try to understand something, the more that thing hides itself from your gaze. It wants to keep its mystery, so why not leave it alone, pal. Where's the adventure if all things are known? There must be that element of mystery in one's life. Look at my hands gentlemen and ladies. Look there is nothing here. And one, two. Look there's still nothing. But what is this I am pulling out of my other hand which is clenched tight? No don't panic please, it is nothing but my soul. My soul

which I shall display here to all'a'yooz. Witness how pure it is. I have prayed every night before I go to sleep since I was a young lad for my soul to become this pure. I have not known the pleasure of a woman, or any other pleasureinducing beings or substances, and I have the certificate to prove it. Heck, I spent my entire life locked in my room reading the Bible the whole day. I am so pious I make St. Teresa look like …. but the point here is that I am now selling this to the highest bidder. Please just touch it. Feel how smooth it is? That's the hail-marys did that. Anyone? Three hours later. Anyone? Another three hours later. =( I realize there is no one here. There's not even a stage. Much less a room. There's just darkness. A void so deep it bothers me deeply why I am still sane. Or am I? What if in the midst of that unknown period of existence, I have lost myself? Trapped inside my own thoughts, doomed to repeat the same thoughtpatterns day after day. So profoundly bored, I started imagining things. All these strangers before me – nothing but figments of my imagination. Some of them are real pretty too. And naked. But am I really bothered? What if I have become so used to this sort of situation that I am merely doing this to play with my own head? Am I making sense here? Does it really matter? A vision appears before me. It is of a giant fat moth the size of a human being. It is flying in super-slow motion. Moths have always disgusted and repulsed me. They are round and bumbling, flying into things, and looking like they are about to burst with insectgoo which I imagine to be of a real unpleasant flesh color. But at this speed, it somehow manages to become interesting. Poetic even. It is fascinating. I think I might just sit here in this space and stare at it while thinking of other more interesting things. Because, really what else is there to do given such ample space and time and possibilities? Where could this creature be going? Is there something important that is going to happen there? Like a moth birthday party or a moth wedding anniversary? And look at that hairy, fat antenna. Look at all those hairs sticking out of its body and back. Look at those resilient-looking eyes. “Fifty bucks”

What? “I said fifty bucks, mister.” I gaze around and there she is, raising her arm in a gesture known as a 'highfive.' I proceed to walk towards her. Then I slowly connect my open palm to hers.

(ɔ) Copyleft. All Rights Reversed.

Sign up to vote on this title
UsefulNot useful