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The boy who cried wolf

Sunday, November 11, 2007


People are walking around, feeling alone and all they do is murmur “nobody cares” and nobody can muster up the courage to scream at all the space in between. If you scream, you are thrown into a bin. Nobody wants to go in a bin. So there are pills and alcohol to bring them together. The disenchanted and the lonely. What also helps bring them together is their belief of being incomplete. There is also that darn regret. That life-sucking monster that wants to drag all hope down into the abyss. It freezes life into the background. So while drinks are being mixed, the little voices are drowned in the noise of the gathering of empty bottles and cash being registered.

If there exists important questions, I would like to have the answers to them and to have the remedies that would calm the hearts and souls around me. I wish I could save lives with my speech. When someone says “All I need is for you to come here, hold me in your arms, tell me that you love me and that you will love me like before.” that I could say “I will,” but I can’t. Instead, I have words and colors. Maybe I should try to write the script of a revolution. I will sit here at my desk, write dialogues for actors that will play disenchanted and lonely adults who, through those dialogues, will unite and recreate the world. I will do this from my desk. While I write, he will be sitting in a white room, full of strangers, asking himself where he went wrong and how he can make it right again.



Lars and the real girl


Maybe, while I write, he will plan ahead instead of feeling trapped. When you feel the wolf approaching, you don’t sit and wait for the strike, you plan.

He’s not like everyone else. Everyone else seems to think they know what normal is like. He’s the guy with the ruse. He may look like a poor little mouse, yet you can see the darkness of a lion in his eyes. They try to push him into a corner, to be a man’s man, get the girl and do the girl.

What if one day, he showed-up with a life-size doll? That would put them in their place. They would see how ridiculous it is to give in. Unless, unless they play along. Well, it could be amusing. It would be like childhood all over again. Oh, sweet tea time and dinner parties. The pretending wouldn’t last long. Unless, they all want her to be real. Unless they want the fake to be a real part of their lives. Then, he could end up dancing, alone, in the middle of a crowded room, in front of the monster he created and asking himself where he went wrong and how he can make it right again.

He could also get lost, asking himself what everybody sees in this plastic truth. Why do they desperately hang on to it? He might believe for a moment that this doll is more than what she really is. Because, again, they are making it a reality as they dress it in hope and by making him feel that he is not part of it. The ruse could overtake him: to kiss her once, to be the prince charming who wakes her from her comatose so they could both be real, together.

Well, that’s not how the story goes, Pinocchio.

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posted by Primessa Espiritu
2:20 pm



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