Summer in the Hole
Tell me, why is it that even when we enjoy, for example, music, or a good party, or conversation with sympathetic people, why is it that all that seems to be a hint of some infinite happiness existing somewhere else rather than a real happiness, that is one we own our-selves? Why?
Ivan Turgenev, Fathers and Sons
Are there any updates? I peek out and the Sun batters me from all around, and I go back in. The Hole is cluttered and some flies have infiltrated through a window I once held open only for a few minutes. They fly around the ceiling light and I never manage to catch them, damn them to hell, those beasts that are like someone else in here!
I organise my bookshelf and ignore the dust and eat the same meal as yesterday. The mood organ on my desk (or nightstand or sofa or on top of the washing machine while I shower, see, it is everywhere I am) glows white hot but I have to check, are there any updates.
Again I peek out and the Sun lashes at me, ”what ever could you think to find in here?” it says, ”nothing for you in here!” it says, and I go back in. Of course it didn’t really say that, the whole experience just felt like that. I grab my mood organ and it leaves burn marks that blister in my palm but that is how it goes, I do still have to see if there are any updates. You think you know where this is going. That I am sick, spiteful, unattractive, yes? Diseased and cowering in my Hole in self-pity, yes? No, I actually think I am quite adequate, just that the Sun won’t let me out, see, it is like a grand watchful eye of the Lord, and it is all going down somewhere outside, see, everyone is there, at least if the updates are to believe (trust me, they are), and I am here, organising my bookshelf and eating the same meal as yesterday.
I wonder if they remember me now that I have made a castle of a Hole. And if they do remember, do they think that this is better for me, are they happy for me that I have my Hole now, my personal heaven (if heaven is like in Supernatural where each person lives alone in their lifelong dream in perpetuity, although I am unsure whether this is my lifelong dream or perhaps only an afterthought of a nap). Anyway, I like to think that they are happy for me. That way I don’t have to feel so shameful that I am here, even if I still realistically do feel shameful, but at least I don’t have to.
Remember when I said that the Sun feels like a grand watchful eye of the Lord? Maybe I wasn’t that far off, as this morning when I once more peeked out He actually spoke to me. I am guessing He is located somewhere behind the Sun. Or is the sun.
”What are you doing?” said He.
”Whatever could you mean?”
”Why haven’t you been outside for so long?”
”You’re the one blocking my way!”
”Blocking your— It’s just hot in here! No one is saying you can’t go anywhere. People have been— wait, what are you doing?”
”Sorry, I had to see if there were any updates.”
”How about you go see for yourself and get out of that… place.”
”Hmm. I will have to think on it.”
And I do think on it. I think on it when organising my bookshelf and even on those rare occasions when I sweep the dust from the books, I think on it while searching for the ingredients to make the same meal as yesterday, and I think on it every time I frantically reach for my mood organ after two or so minutes of not checking the updates. When finally I decide to venture out, the Sun is there no more.
”Too late!” says He again.
”Oh.”
”No no, I am kidding. It’s just night.”
”I see.” I actually didn’t because it was dark.
”It is never too late and— Jesus Christ are you on that organ again?”
”Sorry. Can’t see anything in here without it.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Hmmh.”
”Have you tried?” says He and I hear thunder as He snaps his fingers and my mood organ vanishes.
”But… I wasn’t finished seeing about the updates.” He remains silent and in all honesty I now think I imagined Him. Gradually I get accustomed to the dark and I see what is outside my Hole. More holes, endless amounts of holes like mine that also have their curtains drawn and blinds shut, someone like me in all likelihood in there organising whichever meaningless pile of miscellania they possess, running around after flies that are anyways going to perish in a couple of days, imagine that, only living such a short while and spending it in such a meaningless way, the flies I mean, could not be me, no sir! Because life for me is a mystery that can not wait to be unravelled from both ends, a candle burning from both ends as they say, me burning from both ends, bones crackling like firewood on a fissured plasma TV, ending up in a hole for all of eternity (but let us not dwell on that).
And here I wonder if in all of those holes that I now see around there is someone checking if there are any… any… any… What was it again? Maybe if I walk around for a bit it will come to me… Would you look at that, the stars there, see?
