DateMarch 12, 2010

hallelujah – pages from zackeria’s diary

I was listening to the radio the other day and this song started to play. It was as if the song was speaking to me in such a way that it was about me. I wanted a chance to clarify/expand.

Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don’t really care for music, do you?

I care, I really do. Really. I care, but not in that way I’m afraid.

It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah

We had a noisy major lift at work. It was mainly used to transport large objects from the fourth to the fifth floor. I wouldn’t call it a musical composition.

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you

In my defense, I just wanted some fresh air. Not like it lasted long. She was quick to leave once she noticed me. I was mainly interested at how she was able to get all that plumbing up there anyway. I did later tell her it might not be the best thing to be bathing outside in mid-January. It gets real cold.

She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

Well, it didn’t happen in that order. Again, I want to set the record straight on this one. I had asked her to give me a hair cut. So that’s no big deal. But after that it got weird. IKEA never carried that kitchen chair again and that was my last bottle of hallelujah. I had been saving it for a while. It was one crazy night. If she had never asked me what I thought of the hair cut, I would have never told her.

Baby I have been here before
I know this room, I’ve walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you.

Nothing much changed after I knew you either. Still alone – but my furniture is a lot safer now.

I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah

More like a death march, or a parade. A parade that veers off the designated path. Even the people leading it don’t know where it’s headed. Like that. And oh, it’s broken alright. I will never get that kitchen chair back. There are some things that even super glue can’t bond.

There was a time you let me know
What’s really going on below
But now you never show it to me, do you?

Not after that bathing incident anyway.

And remember when I moved in you
The holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah

You know, I don’t even remember that. Were we drunk?

Maybe there’s a God above
And all I ever learned from love
Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you

Yeah, so don’t even try. I’ve been making regular trips to the shooting range… ever since that tying up incident.

It’s not a cry you can hear at night
It’s not somebody who’s seen the light
it’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah

Yes, the hair cut was that bad.

not diarrhea – pages from zackeria’s diary

Diary and diarrhea are not particularly comparable, not at least in any scientific sense. My father always used to say that if there is an elephant in the room, you should point it out. One time he said it while pointing at mother. He slept that night on the kitchen floor and spent the subsequent weeks making his own food. God bless his soul. He cried for days after mother died. I had never seen him cry before, or since. God bless both their souls.

I always wondered how the elephant got into the room. Surely the doors could not be large enough – were they destroyed then rebuilt for the mere purpose of getting an elephant inside? How big would this room need to be? None of the rooms I am in on a regular basis are capable of housing an elephant. The only way I can make sense of it is if the elephant was air-lifted into a room. But then the room would have no roof. Is it still a room if it has no roof? What if it has no doors? Are four walls enough to make a room? What about four lines? A room is still a room without doors, right? Like a rose is still a rose.

One should be careful around elephants. They’re said to never forget. Though if they did forget, would you rather have them forget your kindness or your cruelty? Wait – how do we know if elephants forget or not? Has there been a study? Do they never forget? Are they immune to amnesia or old age memory loss? So what if they never forget, of what use is that? Not that everything must be of use, but still. I use computers to store information, and sure they forget from time to time. But so what? At least they store information in English. What language would an elephant store? How would you ever get that information back? It’s just too complicated.

Diarrhea. The word made sure to find its way into every naggers brain. What is with people and rhymes? Why ever would I be sitting in a tree? Were all the couches and swings taken? And there are so many things that end in the letter g. At some point I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to get back at these people. The school administration never did appreciate the stunt I pulled. No matter how much I tried to explain that the package was just play-doh, mud and a little bit of sulphur, they just would not listen. They were intent on punishing me. In the end they charged me with breaking and entering into the lockers. I told them I found them open, all four of them. They wouldn’t charge me for breaking into the lockers if I was to, for instance, leave a thank you note or some candy. Sometimes you end up getting the same end of the same stick.

But it worked. They didn’t nag me for years after that. I think it was the sulphur.

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