for all the people who are following along, this can be read more easily at its home at
www.jikahatsuden.net
otherwise, a little christmas present.
Let me preface this by saying: I really love Christmas time. Its just that, in general, it is a very lonely time for me what with the cold and the isolation, both self-imposed and that comes with the territory. I love Christmas for its people, for the family time and the selflessness that typifies the best of it. The chances to show the people you love that you do, again and forever. It becomes a little difficult when everyone you love is far, far away, but we make do.
This came about through a series of observations Ive made over the past few days, and the past few years. Some of these situations were real. Makes me happy, and sad. Which I think is what Christmas is all about.
To everyone who has been reading along, to all my friends both present and absent, and to everyone else Merry Christmas.
-----
Christmas Stories
Somewhere in the world, there is a Christmas tree on fire. Not Beirut, not Iraq. More than likely, somewhere down the road in a quiet town or village, or some small suburban development in California. Sunnyville. Somewhere very much in the dead center of the Ordinary. Things like this happen everyday in the Ordinary; why not Christmas? A father is pointing a fire extinguisher in the direction of the blaze, cursing as though cursing is how to turn the bastard thing on.
This is why I didnt want to get a goddamn tree in the first place!! For Christs sake, how hell do you turn this fucking thing on?!?!?!!
Mum is in the doorway, clasping her daughters face to her skirts, pointing at the tree and saying something, although the sound is drowned out by her husbands shouting and the ululations of the young girl at her hem.
There is a boy, of about twelve, watching from the sofa as though a pantomime were being enacted in his living room, for his own benefit. He wont realize it until years later, but the best Christmas present he will get this year will come from his father in the form of a live audiobook which might as well be titled, On the Correct and Varied Syllabic Emphases of the Word Motherfucker.
--
Somewhere there is a boy walking the blue-black night streets with his hand buried deep in fleece pockets, Christmas wishing that he could see her face and work up the courage to say, Ive been writing poems about you in my head since the first day we met. He is looking up into the sky, wistfully, hoping for snow. It is cold enough.
--
Somewhere, a father is tucking his four year-old daughter into bed. It is the night before Christmas. The cookies and milk (for Santa) are in the den. The celery and carrot (for the reindeer) are out in the yard. This is the first year they will do this without mum. She cries, a little, and he holds her to his chest and feels the little flutter of the breath in and out of her lungs. It doesnt last long, though; she is a good girl, and strong like her mother. He says so, and she smiles.
Do they have Christmas in heaven? she asks. She is so grown up.
Of course they do, honey. Mum is up there right now, putting a present under the tree for you.
She smiles, a little more. She kisses him on the cheek, as though sending him to bed. She is so grown up. He tells her he loves her, ever so much, and leaves the light on just a little as he leaves.
He nibbles at the cookies, drinks the milk. Then he sits in the chair in the den, in front of the fireplace, and silently sobs.
--
Somewhere, the Christmas tree farmer is packing up for the afternoon. They are all sold, and his wife is waiting at home. They were married a year ago on Christmas day. He looks at the picture in his wallet as he climbs into the truck cab. She is beautiful.
--
Somewhere, two friends are trimming ribbons to dress tables. There is a party tonight, you see. She is hosting; he is along for the ride out of some kind of misplaced puppy love. Or so you might think. Hes actually had his eye on one of her friends boyfriends for a long, long time now. She (the girlfriend) is out of the country on some kind of exchange program/study course or something, he really doesnt give a damn. All hes thinking of, as he curls green and white ribbons together with one scissor blade, is of how many drinks itll take. Everybody gets lonely at Christmas, after all.
--
Somewhere, a couple is last-minute Christmas shopping or their respective families. It is 9 in the evening on Christmas Eve. Theyve both been working all day. Hes irritable and impatient. Shes unreasonable and irrational. It starts in one of myriad toy aisles of Department Store X.
They dont have any more.
Why not? Its Christmas. They have to have it.
They sold out. You need to pick something else.
But its all he wants. He doesnt want anything else.
You shouldve thought about that earlier, then, eh? Hurry up.
Dont talk to me like that. Im going to call the manager.
Dont be stupid. Theyre not hiding them.
Dont call me stupid!
It devolves from there. Having not been of a particularly illustrious conversational level to begin with, it quickly becomes the kind of argument that alternates like current, between passive-aggressive sniping and outright yelling, all amongst the Cabbage Patch Kids (who knew they were still making them?) and RC cars.
Here it gets creative. New insults have to be invented. Unfortunately, nothing of the truly genius level that involves multiple sexual diseases and a detailed genealogy. No, more of the off-the-cuff creative mad-libs that result in curse-noun combinations like fuck-bag or cock-bucket, and in moments of duress, curse-curses like shit-cock. Youve seen it before. Its the conversational equivalent of two idiots finger-painting pictures of Santa with their own feces.
It spills out into the carpark, him pushing a cart laden with presents bought with love, and topped with a last few gifts bought with venom in the heart. She trails behind, struggling to see over the top of reams of paper, ribbon and whatnot. They will load the car at high volume, and drive in cold silence. Dinner, too, and wrapping individual gifts in separate rooms to be placed under the tree at separate times.
Of course, they break down eventually. It is Christmas, and bed is a terrible place to keep an argument aflame. They make up with the kind of desperate lovemaking you only see in the movies, or at the end of the world while everything burns around. It is equal parts love and the vestiges of rage, intense and on the safe side of violent, but only just. She screams, and digs her nails into his back. He grunts in response, pushing harder. She will look at the gouges in the morning, while he is still asleep, and run her fingers across them gingerly. She will be a little surprised and excited at herself. They will make love again in the morning, gently. And when they eventually break up in six months time, and marry and divorce and remarry in the following years, they will both remember it as the best Christmas they ever had.
--
Somewhere, two young lovers are having their first Christmas together. It is everything you imagine. Nothing terrible happens at all. It is perfect.
----
peace.
www.jikahatsuden.net
otherwise, a little christmas present.
Let me preface this by saying: I really love Christmas time. Its just that, in general, it is a very lonely time for me what with the cold and the isolation, both self-imposed and that comes with the territory. I love Christmas for its people, for the family time and the selflessness that typifies the best of it. The chances to show the people you love that you do, again and forever. It becomes a little difficult when everyone you love is far, far away, but we make do.
This came about through a series of observations Ive made over the past few days, and the past few years. Some of these situations were real. Makes me happy, and sad. Which I think is what Christmas is all about.
To everyone who has been reading along, to all my friends both present and absent, and to everyone else Merry Christmas.
-----
Christmas Stories
Somewhere in the world, there is a Christmas tree on fire. Not Beirut, not Iraq. More than likely, somewhere down the road in a quiet town or village, or some small suburban development in California. Sunnyville. Somewhere very much in the dead center of the Ordinary. Things like this happen everyday in the Ordinary; why not Christmas? A father is pointing a fire extinguisher in the direction of the blaze, cursing as though cursing is how to turn the bastard thing on.
This is why I didnt want to get a goddamn tree in the first place!! For Christs sake, how hell do you turn this fucking thing on?!?!?!!
Mum is in the doorway, clasping her daughters face to her skirts, pointing at the tree and saying something, although the sound is drowned out by her husbands shouting and the ululations of the young girl at her hem.
There is a boy, of about twelve, watching from the sofa as though a pantomime were being enacted in his living room, for his own benefit. He wont realize it until years later, but the best Christmas present he will get this year will come from his father in the form of a live audiobook which might as well be titled, On the Correct and Varied Syllabic Emphases of the Word Motherfucker.
--
Somewhere there is a boy walking the blue-black night streets with his hand buried deep in fleece pockets, Christmas wishing that he could see her face and work up the courage to say, Ive been writing poems about you in my head since the first day we met. He is looking up into the sky, wistfully, hoping for snow. It is cold enough.
--
Somewhere, a father is tucking his four year-old daughter into bed. It is the night before Christmas. The cookies and milk (for Santa) are in the den. The celery and carrot (for the reindeer) are out in the yard. This is the first year they will do this without mum. She cries, a little, and he holds her to his chest and feels the little flutter of the breath in and out of her lungs. It doesnt last long, though; she is a good girl, and strong like her mother. He says so, and she smiles.
Do they have Christmas in heaven? she asks. She is so grown up.
Of course they do, honey. Mum is up there right now, putting a present under the tree for you.
She smiles, a little more. She kisses him on the cheek, as though sending him to bed. She is so grown up. He tells her he loves her, ever so much, and leaves the light on just a little as he leaves.
He nibbles at the cookies, drinks the milk. Then he sits in the chair in the den, in front of the fireplace, and silently sobs.
--
Somewhere, the Christmas tree farmer is packing up for the afternoon. They are all sold, and his wife is waiting at home. They were married a year ago on Christmas day. He looks at the picture in his wallet as he climbs into the truck cab. She is beautiful.
--
Somewhere, two friends are trimming ribbons to dress tables. There is a party tonight, you see. She is hosting; he is along for the ride out of some kind of misplaced puppy love. Or so you might think. Hes actually had his eye on one of her friends boyfriends for a long, long time now. She (the girlfriend) is out of the country on some kind of exchange program/study course or something, he really doesnt give a damn. All hes thinking of, as he curls green and white ribbons together with one scissor blade, is of how many drinks itll take. Everybody gets lonely at Christmas, after all.
--
Somewhere, a couple is last-minute Christmas shopping or their respective families. It is 9 in the evening on Christmas Eve. Theyve both been working all day. Hes irritable and impatient. Shes unreasonable and irrational. It starts in one of myriad toy aisles of Department Store X.
They dont have any more.
Why not? Its Christmas. They have to have it.
They sold out. You need to pick something else.
But its all he wants. He doesnt want anything else.
You shouldve thought about that earlier, then, eh? Hurry up.
Dont talk to me like that. Im going to call the manager.
Dont be stupid. Theyre not hiding them.
Dont call me stupid!
It devolves from there. Having not been of a particularly illustrious conversational level to begin with, it quickly becomes the kind of argument that alternates like current, between passive-aggressive sniping and outright yelling, all amongst the Cabbage Patch Kids (who knew they were still making them?) and RC cars.
Here it gets creative. New insults have to be invented. Unfortunately, nothing of the truly genius level that involves multiple sexual diseases and a detailed genealogy. No, more of the off-the-cuff creative mad-libs that result in curse-noun combinations like fuck-bag or cock-bucket, and in moments of duress, curse-curses like shit-cock. Youve seen it before. Its the conversational equivalent of two idiots finger-painting pictures of Santa with their own feces.
It spills out into the carpark, him pushing a cart laden with presents bought with love, and topped with a last few gifts bought with venom in the heart. She trails behind, struggling to see over the top of reams of paper, ribbon and whatnot. They will load the car at high volume, and drive in cold silence. Dinner, too, and wrapping individual gifts in separate rooms to be placed under the tree at separate times.
Of course, they break down eventually. It is Christmas, and bed is a terrible place to keep an argument aflame. They make up with the kind of desperate lovemaking you only see in the movies, or at the end of the world while everything burns around. It is equal parts love and the vestiges of rage, intense and on the safe side of violent, but only just. She screams, and digs her nails into his back. He grunts in response, pushing harder. She will look at the gouges in the morning, while he is still asleep, and run her fingers across them gingerly. She will be a little surprised and excited at herself. They will make love again in the morning, gently. And when they eventually break up in six months time, and marry and divorce and remarry in the following years, they will both remember it as the best Christmas they ever had.
--
Somewhere, two young lovers are having their first Christmas together. It is everything you imagine. Nothing terrible happens at all. It is perfect.
----
peace.
ps: I thought about you today when i got off the train at Lara. Hope you are not too lonely. Merry Christmas.
merry christmas to you, too.