Why me?

Whitetrash remained glued to the glass, his nose reminiscent of a strange exotic gastropod. Did they ever realize how good their lives were? Maybe, but even that didn’t stop them from getting in bad moods occasionally, getting angry with those they knew for a supposedly blatant disregard for their feelings, getting frustrated when things happened differently to how they would have liked, treating an unknown other in a slightly negative way on account of the particular design of their face, wishing they were someone else, wishing they’d never been born.

Of course this was all merely conjecture, as far as Whitetrash knew they had never felt any of these things and it was for that very reason that they were granted the privilege to genuinely enjoy the company of others in a relaxed, comfortable and warm environment. Perhaps they were in heaven, perhaps they’d earned it, perhaps they’d performed noble and selfless feats of heroism in a previous life and this was their reward, perhaps this was the afterlife to whatever came before, in which case Whitetrash was curious as to the exact nature of whatever he’d done to deserve this. If only the answer could come in some form of realization, a flash of insight, an instantly formed neural network materializing out of nowhere, a light bulb above the head to which he could proclaim aloud,

“Oh I see!”

If only he knew why, he could immerse himself fully in the whole sorry process of suffering. Instead of eternally wishing for what he didn’t have he could relish in not having, happy in the knowledge that it was all in a good cause and, if ever the endless punishment became slightly too much to bear, at least he would know why, at least he would be able to agree with his tormentors and grant full approval of the sentence just glad that they shared a common morality. But then again maybe that was the punishment, wasn’t it the not knowing why that was the hardest to bear of all?

A Nugget of Wisdom

Whitetrash found himself once more transfixed by yet another of Jimmy’s many nuggets of wisdom. A nugget fully capable of arousing vague smiles of mild amusement among most of those who received it; a nugget the likes of which had on certain occasions induced short cynical sniggering fits and taken blows of light mockery; a nugget in which even Whitetrash himself usually partook with tongue at least partially lodged in cheek, as this wonder of creation unraveled multiple psychoses right before his very eyes; a nugget which at the same time is fascinating to behold, a poetic conclusion to all that is known about this tragic and heroic figure who, if disbelief is held fast in a cool, soothing, golden liquid, has the power to set free all manner of miraculous visions within the imagination, exploding popular myths, outshining received knowledge to illuminate numerous wondrous possible truths.

They sat outside Jimmy’s café as the wandering hoards idled by in their own state of alleged enlightenment, the wandering hoards that inhabited this town and willingly lent a helping hand to the endless perpetuation of collective repugnance that these two misfits could all too clearly see. At this moment though, Whitetrash and Jimmy Tennis neither saw, heard nor felt the presence of any other, yet again gripped in a floating lucid limbo where even the breath stood still. Jimmy’s echoey, slow-motion voice filled the void with sounds that made only the slightest of sense, his eyes melting into kaleidoscopic patterns similar to those of the evil baddy with hypnotic powers in old children's cartoons.

Phillipe de Spades and the Legend of the King Tree

Whitetrash wheeled his crippled friend who, although totally dependent, accepted the aid as his God-given right with the humility of a spoilt child, barking out last-minute directions towards a mysterious destination that remained hitherto unknown. All he knew was they were off to meet a very special individual who was in need of their help as a matter of grave urgency. The search went on well into the twilight as they arrived at the deserted desolation of a riverside building site. Jimmy grunted and groaned as the tired old wheelchair hobbled over irregular ground and broken rock and finally came to rest before a giant of a man slumped over the wheel of a disused digger, his shiny shaven scalp resting on thick forearms, his broad dark shoulders merging with the fading light. Upon Jimmy’s orders, following faithfully his enigmatic protocol but not yet knowing exactly why, Whitetrash stood to his left and slowly dropped to his knees. With this he was duly informed, after a lifetime oblivious to the fact that such a title could even exist, that he found himself now in the presence of the rightful King of the World.