While
doing some research for a fiction project I am currently writing, I came upon
an interesting image, which you can find below, of a pterosaur, supposedly,
photographed during the Civil War and surrounded by a small gaggle of Union
soldiers. It is an immediately symbolic image, whether credible or not in terms
of the capture of a real cryptobeast corpse, due to its nudge to the Old South
itself being a dinosaur. I’ll get back to this—meanwhile, this is me as a
pterosaur.
So,
recently, I was walking about a mile from my house. I went into a convenience
store to get a Powerade. There was a guy there, about six feet tall, scruffy, a
bit husky, dark hair. He had a shirt on that he had modified—sleeves cut off,
and the sides both slit down so that you could see the sides of his torso—to cool
himself off, I guess. He was in line behind me, and it was a slow line. He made
strange eye contact with me several times, and I could sense his unmitigated
hostility. I’d say he was twenty-something, and I assessed him as a Cro Magnon
asshole almost immediately, and, apparently, he was assessing me as some type
of asshole as well. The word “asshole” being important, as you will read in a
moment.
I
walked out of the store, and he walked out after me and got in his Jeep, which
was open, the flaps up and off. He bought a 12-pack of Bud Lite Lime, which I
have, to my shame, must admit I have drank plenty of. He had a hound dog in his
Jeep and a friend—some other dude—who I did not get a good look at. I started
walking back home on the left side of the road. I could feel his visage like
the sun on the back of my neck, so I turned around, and, sure enough, he was
staring at me for some reason…
So,
I start walking down the road, and he slows down and waves at me—I wave back.
Then,
he says, “NICE SHOES, ASSHOLE.” And tears off rending his tires.
I
couldn’t help it; I started laughing hysterically. I wasn’t sure if I should be
insulted or baffled. My shoes were purchased for cheap at a thrift store, but I
thought they were nice—I mean, hell, I was wearing them…
I
remember seeing his tanned ribs in his fashionably torn white tee as he drove
away triumphantly in his open Jeep after having insulted a roadside stranger. I
also immediately felt better about myself as a “being” because, if this guy has
to act like this, to experience some sort of catharsis, then I must not have
such a bad life after all…
So,
I was his Pterosaur. His cryptobeast. He could not define me. He could only
insult me. Put my head on his wall. Colonize me from his Jeep. So strange. I
mean, maybe he wanted to kiss me, and I would not oblige that, but I would give
him a big in the rain Kevin Spacey American Beauty hug in the garage if that’s
what he needed…I mean, I do what I can…
This
all being said, I just watched THE DESCENT. My roommate and I are on a summer
horror-flick binge as we grind towards Halloween. Well, this movie was set in
Appalachia, if you’ve seen this film, and the female cast descends into a cave
system to be attacked by troglodytes in a gore-fest of enjoyably horrifying and claustrophobic screams and
scares. These trogs are also cryptobeasts, and they are blind, and they remind
me of the Jeep-guy. Everything is consumable. Everything is food. Humans are
expendable. We are not even human. The pterodactyls scream above the jungle. We
walk home in our thriftstore shoes.
Anyway,
these soldiers around their catch—the dinosaur, the Dead South, the
Jeep-bigots, the ideas of terror above and underground, the hollow earth as
empty as our hearts…
I
wonder who will stand around my body after I am shot down. They will strip off
my shoes. Find my wallet empty. Have their picture taken with me.
Because
I will be a great mythic beast. A curse for your visage and memory. A thing you
can’t forget, asshole.
No comments:
Post a Comment