“Ha! Of all the billion and one things which don’t exist, I put peace at the top of the list!” said the monkey-man to me as we hovered over a pot of camomile tea. “You’ve got to be joking if you think you can see it,” he continued on, “or is it something you’re working towards? In that case, here, have a.. well, what I call a disappointment scone.”
“But there’s peace with every breath,” I replied.
“Don’t you know that peace is death,” he sighed.
“But there’s peace on every mountain top!”
“Surely. Try a piece of cake? Sponge flop.”
Reluctantly I took the cake. Wit may be quick, I thought, but wisdom’s slow. But apparently he could read my mind for immediately he broke in: “Ohhh! One doesn’t have to be wise at all! If my bow was to have but one string, to wit the peacelessness of everything, then I’d still be wiser than you. And besides which, there’s my educated drawl. As it is, my tail and I, we do the world a favour. The looks we get! The alarm on their faces! A sight one really ought to savour. The thought of losing their precious peace! The uproar! The commotion! Ironic, don’t you think, the fervour with which you people guard your peace. Well, it’s a start, and proves, even to a one-stringed clod such as me, that peace is a totally erroneous notion.”
“But think of sleep!” I cried.
“Quite right! Yes, that’s where we get ’em,” he carried on. “We attack ‘em with our tails. The perfect place, in bed, pitiful self-deluders. Mostly, apart from a really big job, we go in gangs of three or four. On guard! Like this.. and we prance about the floor. Sleep is for the birds! Sleep is death, as I said, the oddest of realities. But life goes on, most of all in death, and the pleasure’s ours to rid the earth of fallacies.”
“So you’re saying, then, that the peaceful person.. is not.”
“Well, at least when I think of him my tail twirls a lot. Buddha, Mohammed, Jesus Christ.. look at the trouble they cause! It’s clear, the more one succumbs to this fallacious plague the better one is at starting wars. In fact, we’re rather fond of holy men, they’re like monkeys in disguise. Humans! Tsk. Human beings whose balls are full of logic, and ears full of grief.. you’re too easy to despise.
Here our conversation paused as he poured another cup of tea, spilling most of it on the table. I looked around the room.. the strangest room I’d ever seen. The walls on either side of us were ribbed by a series of arches curving toward the ceiling. In front of us appeared to be a door which I imagined led to further rooms deeper underground of similarly wild proportions. The oddest looking furniture, the purpose of which I could not even guess at, lay hicklety-picklety about the place. And there behind me was the door through which I’d come in. “There will be no rest until I find the monkey’s nest..” the words repeated themselves in my mind as I took another sip of his yellow potion.
“Excuse me for reading your mind,” he said rummaging through some drawers, “but it’s obvious you think you’ve found my home. This,” he said with an expansive gesture, “is not my home. I have no place of rest. So sorry to disappoint you. It’s more, let’s say, a place of turmoil. See that strange looking piece of furniture there? That’s a heart. Makes a dreadful sound. I hate to admit it but it’s your own chest you’ve found.”
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- TERRY ‘TWO FINGERS’Chapter 1RAMPANT DUMBNESS & THE BOTH RELIGION
My name is Terry Monkley. … Continue reading →