Archive for the ‘Luc Reid’ Category
Your Recent Visit from the Monkey God
Friday, February 13th, 2009
Supposedly–this is what people are saying, anyway–you, meaning you specifically, the reader of this piece, have been visited by the Monkey God some time in the last six weeks or so. I don’t know what he did to you.
You probably wouldn’t have seen him, but if you did, you might not have realized it at the time. It’s true that his traditional form is a Tibetan macaque wearing an ornate, six-tiered golden crown studded with big, fat pearls and always askew. He also often wears random items of clothing that look like they were shoplifted without regard to style or color, but when visiting people he’s more likely to be a vague form seen from the corner of the eye, or an old lady with a face very much like a monkey’s, or a slightly ribald street performer. Regardless, you will know him by his works.
If there was something you were very serious about and set on, something you planned out and prepared for carefully but that went completely haywire at the last minute due to some completely random interruption, that was probably the visit. Alternatively, it may have been something bizarre and painful that happened out of the blue.
The Monkey God particularly enjoys irony, mixing things that aren’t usually supposed to go together (like librarians and roosters, for instance), and violating expectations. He generally visits people, but occasionally spends time screwing things up for other animals, particularly pets.
The reason I tell you this is that the Monkey God loves you, and for various reasons (honestly, I think it’s just that he’s uncomfortable with these kinds of conversations) he probably won’t tell you about it himself. He expects you to step back from your situation, see how ludicrous it is, laugh, gain new perspective on your life, and understand that it was all for you own good, which frankly (and I’ve told him this in prayer scroll after prayer scroll, but I’m not even convinced he picks up his mail) is a little much to ask, if you want my opinion.
Sorry to interrupt your day with this. Hope that was useful to know about. And I get the impression that he’s planning a return trip, so hold onto your hat and try to keep a sense of humor. I know I will be.
This story is related to Luc’s Delayed Appearance of the Monkey God, but not to Daniel Braum’s Boon of the Monkey God. There’s a story behind that, but it’s not very interesting, so I’ll leave it out.
In the Elevator with Albert Einstein
Thursday, February 5th, 2009
I shouldn’t have been up on that roof in the first place, but I kept thinking I could save a lot of money if I fixed it myself. Then I tripped over my own hammer.
The roof tumbled by in a blur as I tried like hell to separate my up from my down. My cheek scraped against the eaves, I went into freefall, and …crack: skull meets driveway. My eight-year-old, Jenna, was playing in the front yard and saw the whole thing. She was probably traumatized for life. Jesus.
And then I was in an elevator with some guy. A familiar-looking guy. “Are you … Albert Einstein?” I said.
“No, no,” he said. There was a silence while he studied the elevator buttons, dozens of them, in an intricate layout. “I used to be,” he said conversationally, “but you see, I died. Where does this elevator go?”
“I don’t know. Up?”
“Up,” he said, springing up and down on the floor a little. “It seems possible. Are you dead?”
“I think so,” I said. I thought of that last, flickering moment of seeing bits of bloody brain splattered across my driveway. “I hope so.”
The elevator pinged, and Einstein’s attention leapt to the door. It opened on a … I wasn’t sure. There were tables, with people sitting at them and talking animatedly … cups of coffee … something that might have been macaroons …
“It’s a café,” said Einstein. “Very encouraging: I’ll get off here. And you?”
I didn’t know. Einstein stepped out, waving for me to follow.
It was much larger than it had looked. There were no walls, just wooden floors stretching into the distance, and far off, a night sky blazing with stars. From many tables away an old woman was running toward me, an old woman who looked like Jenna, and it seemed to me that everyone might arrive at the café at about the same time.
Before she reached me, there was a collective “Aaah!” and everyone looked up. I looked for Einstein, but he had moved away. Jenna took my hand just as the stars began to fall, streaking through the sky with all the inappropriate iridescence of gasoline in a mud puddle.
“You really freaked me out that day you died,” she said.
“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
Then we watched the sky fall for a while.