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i fixed this translation. i didn't read it beforehand i just went line by line, but i think i got the gist of it. The water is dark but makes so sounds. Nevermind, the waves are making sounds. The sounds they are making come up from endless obscurity, only to disappear again before anybody can question what that means. A dude sat down on the thingy that jutted out into the ocean--he didn't know what it was called--and bravely looked out into the darkness where there could be monsters. His breath condensing in the air meant there were at least a few ghosts nearby. His toe hurt, and it made him sad. He though about his toe a lot, all the time no matter what he was doing. He thought about his toe when he was walking, when he was sitting, and even in the middle of sex. He came out to the dark ocean because he'd made up his mind and he was gonna do something about his hurt toe. He had a notebook with little drawings and everything. He had a backpack filled with various tubes of ointments and lotions, etc. It was a good trap, and they would fall right into it and he wouldn't have to worry about his toe anymore. He knew the plan was stupid, but gently caress, he just couldn't put up with this hurt toe anymroe. He'd come up with the plan in like 2 minutes and never really thought it through, but he made an excuse that made him feel better. He thought about dumb poo poo unrelated to his hurt toe, like about how many always tries to fly in the sky like a bird, but he will always be just a man on the ground, never up in the clouds with the birds or god. It was easy for him to think about being a bird, flying in the sky where he wouldn't have to worry about his hurt toe, but he didn't have wings. Even the smartest smarty pants at Harvard couldn't crispr themselves into a bird. Not yet anyway. Birds never knew wtf was coming next. That's what made it so easy to catch them with a net. How could a bird understand that a man hopped up on redbull standing pantsless in the park would want to eat him? They can't even play chess, they just poop on the board and get the pieces all covered in poop. They are very bad at chess. So this is why birds are not good at understanding things, because they're bad at chess. They may think they can eat a piece, but they'll just choke on it. That's real life, bird. Deal with it. Nah, if you were gonna survive out there with no wings and a broken toe, you had to be willing to change things up, that's what he'd realized one day when he was high as fuuuuuuuuuck. He thought "I can't like.... just let myself be constrained, man." It wasn't so much that he had his bad plan, but that he'd mananged to actually follow through and get in his truck and drive down to the ocean. He felt real good about everything, he was makin good choices and poo poo. But was he smart enough to pull it off? Probably not, but who needs smarts when you got luck, and he was pretty lucky. He knew he'd never be an actual bird. But in a way, he felt like one. He was about to poo poo on everybody's chess board. He was going to give them the what for, just how he wanted and nobody could stop him. And he didn't even ask anybody's permission. He was not a bird, and nobody would ever understand what he was gonna do, he knew it made him look weird as poo poo. The act would be technically be called "a crime" by his fellow men and, if found out, he was probably going to get locked up for a real long time. Nevertheless, he was way too high to think about all that poo poo, now he ran on something else. Emotions? No, nothing as shallow as that. Absolutely not. It was his destiny, probably. Maybe. He really wanted to do it at least. Oh yeah, the ocean is still there. "God there's a lot of pollution," he thought, looking into the starless sky. No boats either. Good, he didn't want to think about boats, he wanted to think about his plan. Had he forgotten to pack any of his tubes? Soon they, his sinful prey, would saunter into his trap. A trap that was like, totally beautiful and symmetrical. And they weren't gonna know shiiiiiiiiiiit when that poo poo hit them. They'd just be like "whoa what's this pretty thing" then BAM! I'm the bird now. I mean, i'm totally gonna poop on all them, that's pretty obvious. And not just your standard turd. Chucking a steamer at them would be infinitely easier to aim, but he needed something more. He had to get the poop in their eyes, one by one. Like that story by that limey bitch, nice and slow. They'd realize, oh they'd realize good, that they were gonna get pink eye. Was it crazy to pretend to be a bird and poop on people? Maybe. But whatevs, that's fine. He looked at the pitch-black roiling sea and gave it the finger. He put his hand in his hoodie and carressed one of his tubes. He took it out and held it up real close to his face cause it was dark and he couldn't see poo poo. It was dark green. It had one of those child proof caps, and he'd written a note and stuck it inside with a bunch of drawings of birds pooping on people. It was a bit of a confession, but also just kind of funny. I know Man will never become a bird. And precisely because we have been cursed by our non-bird DNA, he did not want to leave the pooping to any one human. It didn't matter where the bottle ended up. He just wanted to pose the question to the seagulls -- the source of all life -- whether, ultimately, he was right or not. The wind blew harder. A sharp coldness went down his spine and his whole body shivered. He threw the bottle into the darkness.
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Jan 31, 2019 13:28
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| # ¿ May 17, 2024 15:58 |
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