Tuesday, January 10, 2006

A TON OF REALLY TINY BITS OF THINGS

(Because I just can't stop myself)

I wake to the sound of the ship docking and the feeling of something warm dripping down my chin. I lift my hand to feel my face. My last three teeth are gone, I have a hole in my cheek, my nose is broken and my eyepatch is missing. I open my eyes and I look around and I'm on a brigantine and there's no one near me. Someone's slipped me between two six pounders and I can smell the smoldering gunpowder of a recent battle. I look at my clothes and my clothes are ripped and dirty, just rags now, they're covered with spit, snot, urine, vomit, blood, phlem, and black and yellow bile. I reach for the rigging above me, rope connected to a mast, and I touch it and I pull it and I try to get up and a pirate sees me and he comes over.
Aaaargh. How are you?
What's going on?
You don't know?
No.
We're headed for Zanzibar, sir.
How did I get here?
Aaaargh. Doctor and two men brought you on.
They say anything?
They talked to the Captain, Sir. We were told to let you sleep.
Am I a slave?
We were not told, sir. The Captain spoke with the Doctors.
Where are we now?
Port of call. Mogadishu.
Thank you.
I hear chains and irons clank and I feel the pull of the boat sliding against the riggings. I look around for anything I might have with me, but there's nothing. No dagger, no canteen, no ventilator, no hogshead, no Pieces of Eight. I sit and I wait and I try to figure out what happened. Nothing comes. I smell the salty air of the African port and my head throbs. I try to stand and make my way to the pier. After about five steps I sit back down. Walking is out of the question. I see another pirate and I raise a hand.
Aaaargh.
Please.
Aaaaargh. What's wrong?
I can't really walk.
If you make it to the plank I can get you on a gally.
How far is the plank?
Aaaargh. Not far.
I stand. I wobble. I sit back down. I stare at the floor and take a deep breath.
You'll be all right he says.
I need glog.
He laughs and his tri-tipped hat shakes in the stiff but welcoming breeze. He holds out his hand and I take it. I stand and I list against him and he helps me toward the plank. We pass the mizzenmast, the main sheet, the lugsail. My mind races. I'm still loaded to the gunwalls and I need to get off this brig. We get to the plank.
I'll be right back.
I let go of him and I sit down and I listen to the cries of the gulls. Their shrieks echo in my head, my head, an empty canyon, a void, housing not thoughts but just simple desires. I need a nipperskin of Nelsons folly. I feel squiffy.
The pirate returns and laughs and I watch him walk away and I close my eyes. My head hurts, my mouth hurts, my eyes hurt, my hands hurt. Things without names hurt. There is a black hole in my soul and it hurts. Inside the black hole in my soul is a negative number generator generating negative numbers and all of those negative numbers hurt. Nothing hurts. Hurt has lost its meaning. Hurt is like a word in an ancient language.
I rub my stomach. I can feel it coming. Fast and strong and burning. No way to stop it, just close your eyes and let it ride. It comes, the old, rancorous salmagundi, and I recoil from the stench and the pain. It all flies into the ocean, and the gulls circle overhead.
My God. What has happened to me. I am a slave on a pirate's ship and I am sick and I need glog and I have no soul and the soul I do not have does not hurt for that word doesn't exist.
I punch myself in the face.
Just to feel alive.
Oh my God.

11 comments:

Ian said...

I didn't read whatever it is you're parodying, but I'll take your word for it that you did a good job.

Anonymous said...

For someone who "couldn't care less about Frey's novel" you sure are putting a lot of energy into ridiculing it...

Mathis said...

You're quite astute. It's true that I don't care about his novel, but do care a great deal about ridiculing him and his efforts. Life is funny in this way.

You may ask yourself why. The answer, of course, is that I am petty and small.

Also, I am an endless crusader for truth, justice, honesty, the American Way, and smoking hot poon.

In all seriousness, though, it's just difficult for me to wrap my head around what a huge douche this guy is. I am completely obsessed with the douche-osity of this guy, his endless claims of truth, his obvious and sort of pitiful desire to be rich and famous, and so on. Plus, he's going to be on Larry King tomorrow night. Sick him, Larry!

Mathis said...

Also, I just want to add (because that last comment got me riled and I started thinking about all the reasons why I hate James Frey) that Frey deliberately and dishonestly inserted himself into an actual event that happened in his childhood in which a classmate of his died in a car accident. Though TSG article points out that no one involved had ever heard of him, he inserted himself into the story - as a fucking victim himself and as a wrongly persecuted accomplice in the event - when in all probability he had nothing to do with it. What a fucking douche!

FTBSITTTD.

Mathis said...

I will give Frey this, though: he's a ballsy motherfucker. To go on Oprah's show and cry? Just to sell more books? And talk about how personal and true his story was?

Brass fucking balls. I will give him that.

Trevor Jackson said...

Is Mogadishu as hot as they say?

FYI: I heard Anonymous works for Anchor Books, an imprint of Random House, Frey's publisher.

Analogcabin said...

Respond again.

Mathis said...

You talking to me, cabin?

Ok, so, TJ, in answer to your question, yes, Mogadishu was hot. You really haven't felt alive until you've escaped from a pirate ship.

FTBSITTTD

King Koopa said...

Has anybody else noticed that NOBODY ever responds to anything I say on here unless it has to do with politics or religion? I just thought I'd point that out...Does your collective blogtolerance for me only go so far? Am I just a pesky fly who keeps buzzing for lack of anything else to do in life? Or, is it that you're all so green-eyed of my wit and free-associationizations that you stare at your computer screens in slack-jawed awe of me? Or, is it somewhere in between?

Mathis said...

Did somebody say something?

Mathis said...

FTBSITTTD.