Saturday, March 28, 2015
Poof! Jim Vanishes without so much as a trace...
Poof!
That's all you will hear, just a quiet muffled poof, not sure from what direction it came or how close it is to you. In front of you or behind? In the same room or outside on the porch? Something fell off a shelf or finally rotted enough to just collapse under its own weight. You turn to the place you thought the poof poofed, but there's nothing there but the tiniest wisp of white smoke.
You turn back around to where I was standing just a few feet away, not a minute, a minute! before, but I am not there. There no wet foot prints, no glass or bottle, nothing to indicate I was even ever there. The tiny wispy strands of smoke seem determined to fill the empty space let by me.
But I am not there. I am gone.
You look. Other looks. Neighbors look. The nice local policeman makes a sincere effort.
Nothingbecomes of it. A few flyer posted at the laundramat and the bars.A local TV crew comes to town and slaps together a sloppy piece that airs just once. Somebody says somebody filed a missing persons type report.
Doubt enters your mind. You know your memory is not as good as it once was.
So was I ever there?
No one, not a living soul! ever sees the likes of me again.
I have vanished on this continent or that. Last few passport stamps would send the friend, or a family rep, or a private dick, or police detective, or a forensic pathologist, or an investigative reporter of the Pro Publica school, the exact wrong way. The dead wrong way to the dead end. Several false leads, ute bils, tickets, phones, registration all pointed to a score of dead towns difficult to reach in winter.
Rumors, Instagram pix, coded words used bit only once, fleetingly, on a phone that then is thrown in a river. One call, one phone...plunk. But no seems to know if it is me at all, or just a wannabe...even
a ghost in a certain radio
machine that had been smuggled in-country right under the collected noses of the constabulatory.
No confirmed sightings. Cash rewards eventualy resinded. A few files go missing.
Case goes cold. Other cases pile up. Old folks die.
(Poof)
That's all you will hear, just a quiet muffled poof, not sure from what direction it came or how close it is to you. In front of you or behind? In the same room or outside on the porch? Something fell off a shelf or finally rotted enough to just collapse under its own weight. You turn to the place you thought the poof poofed, but there's nothing there but the tiniest wisp of white smoke.
You turn back around to where I was standing just a few feet away, not a minute, a minute! before, but I am not there. There no wet foot prints, no glass or bottle, nothing to indicate I was even ever there. The tiny wispy strands of smoke seem determined to fill the empty space let by me.
But I am not there. I am gone.
You look. Other looks. Neighbors look. The nice local policeman makes a sincere effort.
Nothingbecomes of it. A few flyer posted at the laundramat and the bars.A local TV crew comes to town and slaps together a sloppy piece that airs just once. Somebody says somebody filed a missing persons type report.
Doubt enters your mind. You know your memory is not as good as it once was.
So was I ever there?
No one, not a living soul! ever sees the likes of me again.
I have vanished on this continent or that. Last few passport stamps would send the friend, or a family rep, or a private dick, or police detective, or a forensic pathologist, or an investigative reporter of the Pro Publica school, the exact wrong way. The dead wrong way to the dead end. Several false leads, ute bils, tickets, phones, registration all pointed to a score of dead towns difficult to reach in winter.
Rumors, Instagram pix, coded words used bit only once, fleetingly, on a phone that then is thrown in a river. One call, one phone...plunk. But no seems to know if it is me at all, or just a wannabe...even
a ghost in a certain radio
machine that had been smuggled in-country right under the collected noses of the constabulatory.
No confirmed sightings. Cash rewards eventualy resinded. A few files go missing.
Case goes cold. Other cases pile up. Old folks die.
(Poof)
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Richard Flanagan said it better: "And in all this life around him [he]for the first time sensed his own death. He understood that all this would go on, and of him nothing would remain, that even his memory, though held by a few family and friends for a few years, perhaps decades, would ultimately be forgotten and mean no more that a fallen bamboo, that the inescapable mud...All this would go on and on and only he would be gone. Everywhere he looked,he could see the most vibrant world of life that had no need of him, that would not think for a moment of his vanishing and it would have no memory of him. The world would go on without him."
Nihilism is a cowardly cop-out. Do no harm. Seek to serve. Everything changes. Everything's connected. Carpe diem.
Nihilism is a cowardly cop-out. Do no harm. Seek to serve. Everything changes. Everything's connected. Carpe diem.
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