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Two Friends

 

 Two friends. Just friends, no further interpretations should be taken when analyzing the consequences of these two inconsequential lives. A light analysis, just like the life of our first companion: Trochee.

 

 He lived a light life and was heavy drinker. Unfortunately this habit of his didn’t come as a surprise to his friends and relatives. You see, the Trochee family had always suffered from severe bi-polarity since the very beginning of time, constantly alternating between a stressed and an unstressed attitude towards life. But do not get me wrong, his vice wasn’t liquor per se; his poison was words. From dusk til dawn, away he drank, tasting and savoring every letter of every syllable of every word. He read everything he could and everything he thought he should. From Augustini to Zola, he spent his days binging away dots and lines, thoughts and rhymes, though poetry was what really caught his eye.

His friend realized the gravity of his problem and decided to force him to join Alcoholics Anonymous. Little effect did this have on poor trochee, for whenever the 12 step program was mentioned, all he could think about was Elliot’s Prufrock and its 12 opening lines sent from heaven. But his dear old friend did not give up on him and took a more dramatic approach. For every time he quoted Shelley, he’d get a punch in the belly; every time Keats was mentioned, a slap in the face was to rid him from his tension; and whenever Keats’ name was to be heard by the house’s walls, you can be sure he’d get a kick in the… nostrils. It was evident that Trochee was forever doomed to live this life of odes and sonnets, yet a life that he never regretted.

 

 Dactyl had a different type of issue. Emphatic in the morning but relaxed in the afternoon and evening, this was how he walked about, but soon realized that poets did not use him often and instead took an easy way out. He thought poetry was overrated and had too much glory, preferring the company of traditional books that could tell an actual story. However, while Trochee had several small pieces of paper filled with poems which could be carried around with ease, Dactyl’s addiction was heavier on the mind and especially on his back (just look at War and Peace). Though always standing firmly, some say he was perhaps too proud, yet never to me; for I could never judge a man for his excitement to show an early edition of The Old Man and the Sea or any other overvalued book which value I tend to disagree, even though sometimes I could get these for free. But that’s just me.

 

 These two stayed up until late at night, each one defending their one passion with as much heart and soul as it was humanly possible. These arguments seemed endless, they always came up with new points and new ways to praise their art and attack the other one’s literary sweetheart. Therefore, no one could have ever guessed that they would ran out of things to say one fatidic day. Yet, it happened. One day when they woke up, there were no more words. Thoughts couldn’t be expressed. Things didn’t rhyme. Sentences were short. Nothing seemed to fit. They tried to right, but they couldn’t get anything write. Who was to blame? I’ll tell you whom, us. We just stopped trying. I too am a culprit of this, but I am here to redeem myself.

 

 For I am willing to keep on reading my Sartre and my Seuss and letting literature be my cerebral masseuse, punching and fighting through empty pseudo-intellectual writing which some may accuse me of hypocritically criticizing for I “have tainted this paper with shallow name-dropping and turned rhymes into boring monotony” which for me is as dull as monogamy. But by having these words on print, I am solemnly swearing to never stop trying to make up characters and use rhyme in my day-to-day actions. So I ask you, if you are at home because your ill, or you had a long day at the mill, or your just upset because you have to pay an expensive bill, I beg you: raise a glass to our friends Trochee and Dactyl.

 

 

 

 

publicado por Sebastião Marques Lopes às 23:24 | link do post

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