Perfil en LinkedInor A Personal Zoography, by Amir
When I was younger, I used to fly close to a dirty ceiling of a kitchen around an attractive, but very hot light. I didn't want to, really. I wanted to stop meeting up with all these disgusting characters that were hanging from the greasy ceiling, but as soon as I would fly lower, a sad depression would befell me that doubled with the fact that I couldn’t see, would make me extremely paranoid. And it was too bright, and too hot and too damp. I couldn’t breath. I was feverish. Once I flew over some huge letters and saw the beautiful beings that were climbing and sliding up and down the N or the one’s resting on the T. They seduced me with their cause and I forgot my ability to fly; no, I didn’t forget, I found flying obscene, I found striving about Letters beautiful. And I landed, and I climbed, and I sweated, and I rejoiced. And then One day, as the folks I was with reached one of the peaks on a W, and where speculating about what comes next, I tried to squint my eye and try to argue for a much sought-after seer-position amongst the wise in the tribe. And I looked hard to see what was ahead of us, and what after that. Everyone seemed to agree that there is an up and down ahead, but beyond that, there was nothing but speculation, and nothing but. And I looked hard. And the discussion heated. And I looked harder and harder, till I found myself all of a sudden raised up like the personification of everything I had learned to criticize in myself. And there wasn’t anymore any question lingering in me about the next hill or valley, in the distance, I was seeing another word altogether… NEED, but now there wasn’t anymore any need in me to join any beautiful or ugly climbing communities.
I used to hallucinate about being a goal keeper in a constant struggle to stop the balls fired at me, which meant flying around in my bedroom late at night, diving for invisible balls, while knowing that there was nothing to be caught. My mommy would occasionally come in and hug me. And then I would feel safe for a while, even fall asleep occasionally; but these sleeps were transitory, and as soon as the balls were shot at me again, I had to dive out of my bed and towards the cloths cabinets, scratching my forearms on the carpet. And it was cold and I was hot. Some nights I would dream about going from one room into the next in my father’s father’s house, which consisted of a row of rooms which were connected and one had to go through one to get to the next. In one of these rooms there, there were all my toys. It was a very dark room. Even the toys that I had lost, or were stolen from me were in this room, but somehow I didn’t ever want to stay in that room, and wanted to escape the whole smelly house.
It wasn’t until years later that I met up with dolphins and bears and eagles. But whenever I fly with the eagles, I really freak myself out. Not that I am scared of the heights or the flight, or anything. It’s just that, even the softness and gentleness of an eagle towards his offspring is harsh and intelligent and cold. Maybe it is soft to be touched by those feathers and wings, but the beak and the claws must hurt and in that sense, eagles must get a lot of pleasure from pain and so might even thing that all other animals feel the same way.
Eagles are not social animals. They don’t give a shit about the rest of the eagle population. They don’t gather in senates and don’t pass legislation. Eagles are loners who don’t need anyone else and their cutting intellect forbids them the stupidity of random acts of kindness. Not even that, they don’t even like have company over at the nest, and the thought of a good cocktail party does not even enter their consciousness.
I am glad that I am not permanently stuck in the body of an eagle.
Lions are also the same way. One time when I was a lion and was having sex with my lioness, it appeared to me that I could not possibly satisfy her without wrestling her down first. And even then I had to always be on my toes and alert of the fact that at any moment she could turn around and claw my face bloody or bite my dick off. It was the danger and the excitement that made it happen for us when I was a lion; it was the ability to focus and deal with dangerous situation even in the bedroom. No moment of peace and quiet, it rather was always the growling of one or the other. Lions are extremely intelligent, and they turn each other on with mind games and sudden attacks. They bring up their children by teaching them to tear flesh and pursue the hunt and to be ready for every confrontation. Lions though perhaps a bit more social than the eagles or the snakes, none the less have a very primitive political outlook on life. They don’t want to make the world a better place, and maybe just like cows, with whom I am also acquainted, at some point indeed they have sat for hours and tried to figure out a formula that would bring about tranquility and peace and the answer to all question, and disappointed with their inability, unlike cows who have chosen a rather excessively lazy passivity and avoidance of danger by allying themselves with the intelligent apes in return for slaughter at a later date, lions have chosen to be more active and perform the act of inflicting pain, and happily accepting pain when they are beaten by the foe and the keen. This carries in sex.
The peasants are mind-bogglingly narrow minded and arrogant. They form no alliances and just want to be left alone. Skeptic of every act of kindness, they think that somebody must be putting them on and get defensive. Every gift without a provocation that they receive, they view as a smart profit won at the stupidity of the giver, and of course they won’t ever repeat the mistake of the idiots givers without making a calculated point of it.
I have met many of them in different animals that I have encountered, both the ones inside and the ones outside the farm. Intelligent peasants, and dull ones, educated ones and ignorant ones. They each package their reasoning in their respective folder, but the contents remain the same whether they are speaking about the crops or the pray or the shipping difficulties in the middle ages. They won’t engage in any sort of collective, of course except when the collective is considered flesh and blood and land. So if one manipulative cosmopolitan eagle flies over a metropolis one day and comes across a kitten or an investment banker strolling on wall-street whose eyes he would like to poke in, and whose bloods he would like to taste, but can’t, without the help of his peasant kin-acquaintance, he needs to convince the latter somehow and someway, that the raiding of the downtown investercat needs to be done in order to protect the “family” of the eagles. That is about the only time when the peasant would agree to a political tie. Speaking of ties and belts, I must say that not wearing a belt is probably the most peasanty thing a peasant can do. Most of the time they don’t wear anything at all that does not fulfill some practical purpose; as if these dim-wits would know what is practical and what not to begin with…
One time I was driving on a red bus in a beautiful postcard when I noticed that I am completely capable of being selfish, and so I acted on my selfishness and developed a philosophical system that completely functioned for a long time, until I bored the hell out of myself and quit philosophy in the name of teaching at the zoo.
But that was all when I was a lot younger.
When I was older I took up reading books and smoking cigarettes and riding on the street cars to meet up with friends for coffee. I knew a dog that kept growling at me and so I had to become him. The only life that I knew as a dog was that of a city. We took walks extremely fast and before I could smell or taste anything, or get used to a particular shape, I was dragged away from it with an electronic beeper. I was a sort of a hostage, and every time I would see a nice female I wanted to hump, the whole hell would break loose and some sort of convention would break.
Recent Comments