The Untied Shoes

I wish I can tell you ...

where the day went. I wish I could. It's midnight the next day, and I have no clue where the day went to. I slept through some of it, was online for another part of it. I did some work for Xana. She wanted to send off some of her poems to publishers, both online and in print, so I did a little work for her, found some publishers, prepped her poems for sending off, and sent off a few to some publishers. Something she was loathe to do for herself because she just can't deal with rejection. No prob. I'll do that for you and I'm much nicer than some of these publishers in the reasons why your work might be declined.

So I took care of that this morning. It was something kind to do. I'm into acts of random kindness. So much has been given to me, it's time that I gave back. So I did that today, and I chatted on IM, but not so much on IRC.

The old man is singing outside the window again. He is a poor singer, and he knows it, cackling on numerous occasions to his tonal errors. His English is always slurred as if his tongue is too thick for his mouth. He even speaks to another drunk across the alley who talks a lot like him. They both sound like they are speaking a language that is pretty close to English, but not quite right. Well, at least they understand each other. They hold a conversation in the near dark outside the windows...until they stop and the old man starts to sing again.

Today, my thinking processes fall upon a famous hero that must have been out of his flipping mind. Cyrano de Bergerac. Well, what we do know about this class clown is that he was bourn on March 6, 1619 in Paris France. We know that about him and we know that he had a big nose.

That's right, Cyrano had a schnozz. He was also a soldier who had great skill as a swordsman and a swashbuckler. He know this about him, and we also know that he had a prominent nose that he was very proud of. He was also an accomplished writer of science fiction. Yeah, that's right, he wrote about trips to the varied civilizations on the sun and the moon. Later, a fictionalized play would be written of his life.

In this play Cyrano is ashamed of his nose, which causes him a great deal of self doubt and the feeling that he could not "dream of being loved by even an ugly woman." Unfortunately Cyrano falls in love with his distant and very beautiful cousin, Roxanne. Now here's the situation: Roxanne is supposed to be married off to a freak named Viscount Valvert. Cyrano and Valvert get into a frisco and Cyrano fucks him up, killing the bitch. This therefore gives Cyrano open access to Roxanne and he asks to speak to her. She meets up with him and in a private conversation tells him that she would like to be knocking boots with a soldier in his group named Christian. A very low skilled fighter in the army.

If Christian was in a Star Trek episode, he would be a crewmember without a name. You know what's going to happen to him when the head eating monster comes into the Starship Enterprise! Roxanne pleads to Cyrano, a much better fighter, to watch over and protect Christian for her. How could poor, fat nosed Cyrano say no? He is despondent as he goes to his new charge and finds that he enjoys the youth. Cyrano relays a message to Christian that Roxanne is awaiting a letter from him expressing his love. Christian is floored, because he can't write for sheezy my neezy. The boy sucks at putting pen to paper.

Christian knows full well that he will never win over Roxanne with his shitty prose. Cyrano offers to help the kid out, - why? I fucking don't know- by writing love letters to Roxanne for him. It's at this point that I really wonder about Big C's sanity. If you want to bang this woman with all your heart, why in the fuck would you hook up your boy? And this young homey isn't even his boy! Anyways, Cyrano puts his heart and soul into these love letters and poems, sweating them out like blood, writing for Christian, but expressing his own love for his beautiful cousin.

Now get this...Roxanne is wooed by Cyrano and falls head over heels over WORDS. Yeah, that's right, she falls for the love projecting from these letters, because she didn't know Christian from a hemorrhoid, and Christian uses this window of opportunity to marry her. Aint that some shit?? Cyrano pens letters, speaks to her from her balcony for Christian, wins her heart, only to get Christian laid with the woman he desperately loves. Then they pop up married. WTF?

That is some cold shit. All that and Cyrano doesn't even get the girl. No...it's not what you think happens in the play...he NEVER gets the girl. He gets to die in her arms. That's it. Is that the fact? No matter what effort you put forth, you still don't get the girl...you get to die in her arms instead? What kind of shit is that? That shit's depressing. And people back then used to call this entertainment? I would rather believe that love finds a way, right? That in the long run, earnest effort beats out good looks, lots of money or rapping skills. I don't believe Cyrano is crazy, he's just crazy in love. And I don't think that love is so weak...I feel that this play had a stupid writer!

I think of these things as I close down my computer, dropping my room into darkness once more and listen to the empty spaces and silent corners of another evening. A beautiful chorus of non sound that sings me to sleep.

That's until one of Paula's crows start squawking in the hall, calling out her name.

And the old man starts singing again.

Hobobob