Caveman Compromising

The echo of my roar bounces off my cave as it makes it way to the outside, the sound getting ever more disrupted as it travels along. One time I hoped that the echoes would lead me to the exit. That was < insert long amount of time > ago. Without a sense of day and night, the world’s biorhythm is decided by me, which itself is a divine power and it at least makes me God of this cave. Without my being here, this cave would not be in my mind, therefore I am its creator, therefore I am its master! (Did that just blow your mind? Good!)

The night I ended up in here, I had been out drinking fermented oxblood and on my zigzagging way home, I got lost and took a wrong turn, decided to continue, because I thought I could just walk around the earth and try and take the right turn, but then after a while, I saw a big black hole and made the questionable decision to venture inside. When I woke up, I found myself in a huge cave, with no clear way out. I started looking for a way to get out, attempting to retrace my steps. But that’s oxblood for you, you can’t remember anything and the next day, you’re half-sure to end up with a paralysed tongue and an STD. Luckily, my tongue and junk were OK, but the black-out was severe.

However long it took, I made the decision that giving up is futile. Without a magic dolphin appearing to tell me where the exit is (through echolocation), I’ll probably spend the rest of my days here. There’s water aplenty, moss and rats to eat. I’m the God of the cave!

I wonder if rat blood can also be fermented…

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Gorillaman Returns!

 

A very long time ago, I wrote a little story about Gorillaman, a neighbour who lived in the dirty apartment across from me in the dreadfully depressing apartment block on Cooper Street in Sydney, Australia. I had called him Gorillaman because for one, he was 2 metres tall and built like an irregular pile of potatoes, but mostly because he had the habit of angrily shouting at the void, trashing his room on a regular basis (before he was dragged away to a mental institution, on the day I moved out, actually – it’s nice that that story had an end). (Oh yes, this was the corridor where I encountered the deadly Australian red-back spider. My relationship with spiders and Australia never really recovered.)

I’m wondering if Gorillaman didn’t have a German sibling he never told me about (well, it’s over 10 years ago, I probably won’t remember or won’t have cared at the time, convinced as I was that I’d never live in Germany). My current neighbour reminds me a bit of him. He runs a business, although I have no idea what it actually is that he does, but it’s something behind a computer that obviously enrages him on a daily basis, it awakens a demon in him that makes the wall that separates us sometimes paper thin.

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Today, the poor man smashed some of his equipment in a lengthy fit of rage. The SCHEISSES! were thrown in all directions.

From what I do understand about his job is that he’s a freelance consultant of sorts, something to do with the environment and… soundproofing? Wait, is he just shouting all the time because he wants me to soundproof my home against him? Clever business strategy, although a lengthy one – and ultimately it won’t be a successful one, because I’d love to one day buy his office space and turn it into my huge atelier (slash dildo emporium – we got to make money somehow, you know!?), so if he’s out of business, we all win (except for him, and mostly me, really).

I’ve never been able to observe him during one of his fits of rage. Every time I see him through his street window or in the hallway, he smiles friendly and I smile back and we say hello. Like the Ozzie Gorillaman, he is actually nice.

Somehow I have never been able to relate to rage. You can’t hurt an object, and if you do try, you end up having to clean up the mess yourself and/or with a broken wrist. You can’t win.

Anyway, it was just a flashback I had. I remember the day before the original Gorillaman was sent away, I walked home at night through Sydney’s Hyde Park. I was followed by what seemed like a herd of cockroaches. I remember opening my window that night too. I learnt then that those cockroaches could fly too. I never opened another window in my life after that.

I guess those are the signs I need to be looking for then…