Death’s Artwork

I promised Miss Stephanie at Be Kind Rewrite that there would be no evasion of assignments this week. These two pieces of short fiction are inspired by Inspiration Monday VII   and the prompt “Death’s Artwork.”

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Queen for a Day

Josie fiercely protected a shopping cart abundant with the priorities of her life—newspapers, cans, tattered old coats, and bags filled with carefully chosen bits of shiny detritus—castoffs from a world of excess. She had a life once, a husband, children. But that was before the illness and one by one they abandoned her, or maybe she abandoned them. She was not so much old as she was shrunken into a wizened floating sylph—life sucks and then you live. Though she muttered and raved, sometimes pure reason would erupt from her cracked lips, heard only by those who sensed the value of words spoken in cipher.

When I found Josie one morning stiff and cold in an alleyway behind my apartment, I knew there was one last thing I could do before they came to bury her in a pauper’s grave. I bathed her and brushed her tangled hair, discarded the rags and dressed her in a simple blue shift. With her face made up, the years dropped away.

The state provided a simple wooden box, in which I arranged her priceless treasures. A small funeral was held. Other street people came, and they all said that Josie never looked so beautiful.

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Interview with a Lepidopterist

Oh those butterflies are so beautiful! You must have worked on this collection for a long time.

I have. It’s my pride and joy.

You must know so much about butterflies. How do you catch them?

I use the traditional nets. I know just where to find the best specimens. I’ve been all over the world and have some very rare specimens—sometimes I even sell them to make money to further my art!

Wow. Are you a scientist?

No, it’s just a fun hobby.

What happens after you net one?

Well, we have these special pins we use to mount them for display.

No, I mean before that.

You mean how do I arrange them?

No, I mean how do they go from alive to dead? You don’t stick pins in live butterflies, do you?

Of course not, that would be cruel! I euthanize them first.

How?

There are a couple of ways. The most common is to squeeze their thorax. The force breaks their exoskeleton, but sometimes you have to do it twice if they survive the first attempt. The other way is the killing jar. I usually add a few drops of ethyl acetate to asphyxiate it, otherwise they beat their wings against the glass trying to escape, and that damages the specimen.

Oh.

What?

Why not just take a picture?

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Existential Nausea

Rants

Most left unsaid. I’m usually disconsolate, but try to squeegee off deathwish before attempting dialogue—I am not anonymous and surly soliloquies are best spoken to myself. I never contemplated the downfall of western civilization so much until Facebook. Sharia law is evil.

Politics and Religion

I do not believe in God, but neither in atheist websites. Agreement is no good reason to suffer feral presentation. I’m liberal but flinch at the left, I’m conservative but recoil at the right. Read between the lies. Sick to death of arrogant manifestos and evangelical devotion to ideals that don’t work. They want approval, they get the opposite—I’m fully alienated. I still subscribe to several to keep the hate alive. Even longhaired town hippies disappoint in their conformity as they hiss “fascists!” rendering further discussion futile. (Criticism of chained dogs or piles of garbage in my neighborhood is forbidden.)

Blogging

Struggling to co-exist in same body with my rants without suppressing soul. I have strict policy against tracking unsharpened mud across comments sections. Bloggers who leave same generic message for all: “great post!!!!!” when finally overwhelmed with indifference, spring into action by unclicking “notify of follow-up comments.” If I become comatose, do not insufflate. Give me substance-syringe or pull plug. I thought blogging was about writing. If you don’t think your comment is worthy enough to check back on, use Facebook. If I spend 15 minutes writing a thoughtful comment and you don’t have the courtesy to respond at all, then disable your goddamn comments so the rest of us don’t waste our time.

Lists

Guilty of refusal to fatigue you with laborious lists (see Facebook). My prototype for lists would include such questions as, have you ever been in a torrid love triangle? Did you break someone’s heart? Does the sound of your partner’s breathing ever make you want to put a plastic bag over their head? Do you waste your time because you think you have to please people? Is your enthusiasm embellished? And they would be essay questions.

Tag Surfer

Kafkaesque. I seek enlightenment from the undeceived, the skeptic’s sweet talk, midlife confessions and observations on personal unrest. I avoid pregnancy chronicles, recipes (I’m safe around stoves), and new-age bloviation. Request the pleasure of your ennui-defying feats of sensuous sentences. Curses courted, regrets revealed, jealousies acknowledged. Passion without persecution, but rage required for honor killings, animal abuse, and blood of innocents. Questions: why why why. Discuss.

Helping Others

Not for love. Not for money. Not for fellowship or familiarity or fraternization. But Karma is a debit not credit Kard—penalty for exceeding withdrawals will drain account. My random acts are not of kindness as defined in the dictionary, but of hope receiver will be less angry. We are all obligated to contribute to the society which contains our sorry carcasses. To leave it better than we found it. I do it to live with myself, or there will be no life in me.

A Good Quote for Your Arsenal

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What progress, you ask, have I made? I have begun to be a friend to myself.

Hecato of Rhodes, Greek philosopher

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Not much is known of Hecato’s life, and little remains of his writings. But this quote lives on and speaks volumes to me. It has stuck with me over the years because I think it is some of the most useful and practical advice to come out of two thousands years of philosophy. It somehow gives me solace to know that people were discussing this depressing but important concept thousands of years ago. I hope they still are. Well I am, right? And I hope you’ll join me.

I think this quote gives power to the small steps we often have to take. When looking back on the darkest times of my life, it is only me that could have pulled me out. The times when I’ve most needed help are also the times when I am at my depressing worst. I become devoid of personality and the only thing sparkly about me is the glint off the daggers I’m throwing. There are times I do not like myself—my bad habits or my opinions or my limitations. Sometimes people can reach an arm into the abyss and try to grab my hand but I drive them away with a slap of surliness. Sometimes others have caused me pain, sometimes I have caused the pain to myself. But in the end it comes down to how soon I am willing to release it, grow from it, and give myself some credit for taking a baby step in being a friend to myself, because if we can’t be friends with ourselves, then who will?

Knowing that I am a work in progress at all times helps sustain me and keeps me moving forward. Or least moving. Sometimes it’s all one can do.

Passionately Provoked

One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star

Friedrich Nietzsche

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Truer words were never spoken.

Every contemporary self-help book I pick up claims it can help us find the power to cope with life’s evils if we follow its instructions. As modern humans, we strive for serenity because we now know that it’s healthier for our bodies and minds. There are thousands of books, products, and medications designed to help you reduce, manage, and survive stress. I think I’ve tried them all. To attain higher consciousness, we must be peaceful and accepting and nonjudgmental at all times. We must not get angry or take offense. We must never have the urge to give some annoying asshole a good slap. We’re told to socialize more and go to church and be spiritual and join clubs and meditate and pray and and blah blah blah.

But without chaos in our hearts, nothing would ever get done.

Much of the advice we are given to help us lead better lives seems to directly oppose our instincts as human beings. It would take an extraordinary human indeed to train oneself to accept with composure the abuses and inequities of our world. How would we incite ourselves to greatness if we aspire to become detached and impassive? It is this very discontent we harbor in our souls which drives us to achieve great things.

Creativity comes in many forms, not just art. I believe our modern world in all its glory is the result of men and women driven by chaos.

I believe we should all try to curb our agitation, especially about the small stuff. But, many of the most respected artists and thinkers in history have suffered deep personal issues, and it made them who they were—positive proof of the creative power of chaos.

Is it possible to find a happy medium?

Starry Night over the Rhone, Vincent van Gogh