Monday, October 24, 2011

Projection of Personality


You who are deaf to night chirping, you who are thoughtless of earth floating, you who are oblivious to nature, you who are prisoner of slippy senses, you who are possessor of a sleepy mind, wake the frig up!

Agon stirred and shifted his lying one side to another. He partly opened his eyes and, with hindsight, spoke to the little toe of Feline by asking, ‘Tell me, platonic love, is it ten yet?’

Standing almost over him, she said that it’s not and it’s nine. The (so-called) hearing is at ten and it takes half hour for you to groom and another half to commute to the court.

He made his mind up against grooming for the imminent occasion. The very thought of facing the mirror inspired great unpleasantness. So Agon said resolutely to Feline, ‘Wake me up when it’s one past ten.’ And adding, a moment before drifting into a dreamless sleep, ‘Stop the meticulous pedicure and you’ll start looking far less stupid on the inside.’

She leapt twice on the mattress before diving and crashing on it. Guiding her head under an oversized pillow, pulling the velvet drape from a corner, she said, ‘He, the very upset Turv, called in to say he’ll be there in time.’

It was a grumble she heard or something said and she was almost certain it was ‘What for?’

To sit ducks. Perhaps.

Location: Dom

It’s was eleven when Agon stood inside the dock. Noises died, there were whispers and then a presence of silence.

The dome filtered in the beams of low noon that lit the courtroom up bright enough. The judge spoke. It was a coldly warm day and the sweat beads evaporating in slow-motion provisioned Agon the coolness he didn’t ask for. He ran his hand over his peppered scalp. When he held the wooden obstruction his palm made its impression. His hand withdrew and wiped itself on the cotton that he wore. He must’ve forgotten his handkerchief. Judge spoke on.

It was a room of mere five hundred, half the crowd not wanting to wait beyond its want to wait having walked out. On one side of the judge was a statue of Justine poised sword in her hand and a lump in her throat. On the other side was – Talk No Evil, Walk No Evil, Bite No Evil, Bark No Evil – the Three Parrots and a Dog.

Agon’s eyes turning nomadic meandered. There were all kinds of people and one thing they all had in common was they belonged to Planet Dom. All of them gazed at the judge and Agon, alternating between them, except for Turv. He was observing Agon, not wasting a moment on the wigged head. There was the uniformed Top. Two rows behind him was Latisha hands crossed. Right wasn’t there like expected. That’s a man of action, not a man of social (and judicial) presence. Leaning by the window away stood Feline, unmindful of the audience minding her business battling her innermost thoughts.

A while ago when they were on their way he asked Feline, peering into her eyes, what she saw in his eyes. She told him without a second thought what she saw - Quite frankly, an abyss. He expected her to pose the question back to him and she didn’t. She knew, perhaps, what his answer would be.

When the judge ceased to talk, Turv was going to defend rising to his feet. Throwing his hand up Agon gestured meaning ‘No’, without saying so, ‘Stop’ and an otherwise argumentative Turv fell quiet. When Agon stepped outside - assuming he nursed, like the rest of us, an ego - there was a lump in its throat.

Many things the young (namesake) judge said and it wasn’t a speech that quite made a pleasant listening to. It was pronouncement of sorts. An excerpt would suffice to rouse apprehension.

You are a chump who cannot drag himself to a hearing on time… A Doman is a free State Agent and not a free individual agent… You can roam all you want within one thousand miles but here on out you can never leave Planet Dom… The moment you transgress one thousand miles you will have your wrist bracelet replaced with the heavier neck bracelet… You tell us what to do or we will tell you what not to do.

National Bird: Parrot

Feline wasn’t pleased and she didn’t know why. A saffron bandana draped over his head, Agon shook a media person off his presence. Perhaps he told him it wasn’t him he was looking for and the goat he looked for exited one of the side doors. He walked to where Top stood. Behind them was Latisha, bandage over her color bone, hands behind her back, chin up, implying she was looking down on her. Her posture betrayed her trauma.

Those days if you were a Raw Machine you played too rough half the country hated you, so it was all too common to walk limp and move about slinged long past healing time to evoke the hard-to-come-by public empathy.

Feline had aimed for Latisha’s face, what for, to leave her footprint for once. Latisha is too swift. She moved and the misplaced kick left her with an AC dislocation. There were two deaths in the arena that day. They were Latisha’s teammates, skilled second to none, and it came to them by way of Feline’s feet. There was considerable gap between where they stood and the air in the vicinity was calm and tight.

The other side, she saw, Turv handling a media girl. She could say without hearing him talk he talked persuasively for ten minutes without making any definitive sense. When he passed the folks, Agon was telling Top something about the cult of personality that hides behind ideology. When he came beside Feline he didn’t say anything, only shook his head. When Agon joined them, Turv had questions for him. He was baffled by his affectation and the lack of it inside the dock. So he asked Agon what he was thinking all the while standing there to which he answered.

I imagined a mirror between the us, which includes me, and the judge. The judge spoke to his reflection in the mirror. I imagined, yes, but I have no way of knowing it to be true.

For whatever reason, and it doesn’t matter why anyway, just like the judge minutes ago, the media person entered the courtroom and exited a side door.

Population: Fifty million

Three Parrots and a Dog: A Companion Piece

There is a house that homes three cages and inside each cage is a parrot. The hunting dog at the house marches back and forth restless. Stoop it, hunder says one parrot. The cages are suspended at uneven heights. Dog barks at them. Pick on yore one size, scoundrel says another. Over time, the barks grow unbearably violent. Reasonably enough, parrots grow restless. Parrot two, that wasn’t saying anything at all, parrots the barking dog. Parrots three and one follow suit. Dog grows listless and feels vanquished. It folds itself quietly on to the ground. Surely enough, for the parrots, it’s time to snail nap. Time lapsing. Through the glass ceiling seasons pass as parrots nap.


Written for the chip by Agon, director uncredited… (rumored to be Latisha)

This is one depiction of the (propagandist) advert (short film), now banned, that you could catch oftentimes on the skyline of Planet Dom and on the tubes indoor.



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