Thursday, July 14, 2005

"LET THE LITTLE FART FIND ITS WAY HOME" promises to be a quick little dip of a story into the lake of my imagination; refreshing at first but then you realize something strange lurks at the sea-weedy bottom. Today's story takes as its inspiration a painting by the very talented Daniel Chang.


Herman's hypochondria settled down for a little while in the month of July. His visits to Doctor Karl trickling down to a mere twice a week but then fears reemerged from some dank cave of his subconsciousness. Fears numerous and blind as bats. In August he saw Doctor Karl at least once a day.

"Well I stay submerged in the pool in my building because that's the best way to calm the body. I have to calm my body in order for everything to get back into its proper place."

"Your organs, you say ?" Doctor Karl looked over the tops of his bi-focals with a look of complete and utter scepticism. It appeared as though Herman had buried his sanity along with his parents in the month of June.

"Yes they get contorted in here, I can feel it. My intestines sometimes end up snaking their way down inside and around my knee-cap. Or my liver slips down inside my hand. I mean I know it sounds crazy but I can feel that. I know what's going on inside my body." While his nose pointed optimistically in the direction of the future, Herman's eyes were black with the previous night's insomnia.

"What you are telling me is medically impossible. You would be dead if anything that you described really came to pass," Doctor Karl said, in pseudo-Biblical terms. He went to church every Sunday and it wasn't just for the two front rows of eligible widows in their sexy black which always brought to mind lingerie. He was a believer. In something.

"Okay well maybe that's impossible but farts sometimes get trapped in different parts of my body. I mean that's a fact. They end up right behind my eyes or sometimes they're in my toes and it's uncomfortable. I get that gaseous feeling in those parts of my body. I know it sounds weird but damn it all, it happens." Herman failed to tell the doctor that he sometimes played recordings of children's tales right by his anus to lure the farts out. In his heart of hearts -wherever that was located in his jig-sawed physiology- he felt that they would come out for a good story.

Doctor Karl failed to tell Herman something far more dear; he had long since given up on the notion of revealing to Karl that he was his biological father. The kid had just gotten way too weird and he was beyond the reach of any life preserver.

But Doctor Karl continued to listen.


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