Monday, May 15, 2006

midori/morbid ducks.

I was sitting on the bench next to the tiniest of lakes, or the largest of ponds, and on it were the glossiest and fattest ducks I had ever seen. Gliding up and down the murky green waters, I wondered if they really had nothing else better to do? And with that, do I really have nothing else better to do than to sit down on my arse, and watch a flock of mindless ducks indulge in such fascinating and repetitive behaviour?

But there was the oddest of ducks, the queerest of the queer who caught my attention, and let me tell you why. But first, let's give it a name, shall we? How about Tom? Beautifully random and obscurely common. So, Tom was different. How different was he? He chose to be apart from the swimming collective. There he was, standing as proud as he could be, on the same mahogany bricks as I was on, ponderously waddling up and down around this horse-shoe bend - down the 'U' and up again, down the 'U' and up again, as if he was thinking, thinking and thinking. As if he was the most philosophical of ducks, contemplating life in existential terms only known to him, ah, he is chosen and he punctuates each step with a dismissive flounce of his tail-feathers, which unfortunately, made him look far too comical.

I'm not sure what conclusion he came to, but he must have come to one. He halted at the edge of his little mountain, and looked down at his world, which was a good 3 metres below him. And there he stood alone, unflinching and unmoved. For some reason, I think he wanted to commit suicide. In fact, I was quite sure that Tom wanted to die. Then I asked myself - do birds even think about the possibility of dying, or even realize that they are making a choice everyday to live? I've seen a pigeon commit suicide along Charing Cross Road, he was standing in line of a truck and remained there. I don't think I've ever seen a deader pigeon in my life - I've seen my fair share of feathered corpses, and one which I saw at a castle in Wales comes to mind. But then again, we all know that pigeons have no brains, so that must have had been a genuine accident.

Anyway, the more I thought about it, the more I felt as if I cannot discount the possibility, that Tom was waiting for the right moment to plunge headlong into the depths - and fail. For which duck is ever, ever, going to die by falling into the pond from a height of 3 metres? Maybe a duckling, but Tom was no child.

So I waited, and waited, and waited, for a good half an hour, for Tom to fall over the edge and try to die. Or rather, I waited for Tom to prove me right, that survival instinct will somehow kick in, where his wings will spread and take flight, or he'd just 'plop' onto the water and kick his life away. And may I add that all this time, he just stood still there, proudly desolate in his predictament? But I really wanted to be proven wrong, for some reason. It's no fun being right all the time. And if Tom somehow dies, would he just sink to the bottom of the stagnant waters, or would he turn upside down like a dead fish, would the other ducks actually be affected by his death, would they even know, would they even care, would they even miss dear old Tom?

But alas, I had to be on my way, so I started packing up. Tom was still standing there when I left, so I never got to find out if he successfully committed harakiri ala kamikaze, but it's one of the many questions that strangely lingers on my mind.

blueprint

I will like to spend my days, as though they are my own, which I mostly end up doing in halves, for duty beckons, and I am answering its clarion call. Soon enough! I am also a veteran procrastinator.

fresh monodies

climbing down.
impending arrival, stressed.
i'm feeling whimsical.
updated reading list for easter part deux.
wales and an indulgent easter weekend.
reading list for easter, and delightfully cryptic ...
happy april's fool, and now the joke is on me.
procrastinating! presentation tmr! nothing done!
perturbed.
Turning point, my turning point is here. It's funn...

previous rants

August 2004
September 2004
October 2004
November 2004
December 2004
January 2005
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March 2005
April 2005
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June 2005
July 2005
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March 2006
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June 2006
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November 2006
December 2006
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March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
June 2009
July 2009
August 2009
September 2009
October 2009
November 2009
December 2009
November 2010
January 2011
February 2011
August 2011
October 2011
May 2013

treatises on life

arty jen
betty boop
carmentica
charming-linn
chasing snowy cars
cheeky lynn
cheryliciously glam
clean and cute
cyclist-mad bass
darling dominic
feisty jing
fellow ditz-sista/porkSTAR
hail mary!
hell's kitchen
hero on the beach
h-Euge heart
hunky lenny
lipgloss queen
little cheryl
live n learn, baby
lolita lou
loony loon
mr popular
musically dan
m y s t j
phringe
princess tania
roger smurf
runaway pigeon
sabotage king jeremiah
sibling angst1
sibling angst2
spector dan
spunky tian
steffy bunny
sun-sunzzz
teeny wee-nee
weeeee, leonard!
yangtze yang'en

frivolous pursuits

for shallow ppl
for very geeky ppl
for the truly bored
spun prose
binary thoughts
past imprints
some stamps
montage of images
other memories

mulling over

And there were phlegmatic souls.