The Rattler & Other Stories by A. S. Patrić

Author:A. S. Patrić
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780987089731
Publisher: Spineless Wonders
Published: 2011-09-21T00:00:00+00:00

I Wanna be Murakami

I used to be happy. Tolstoy tells me I shouldn’t have sex. Henry Miller tells me I should get more; to be experimental and maybe even rough. But I like the way Murakami kisses. Not the author himself (since he’s kind of ugly) but his lovely characters. I could watch them kissing all day. Every book comes with a soundtrack and bad things might happen but it’s alright when they do.

It’s not like when I nailed my hand to a wooden beam with my new nail gun. I was left hanging there for hours. I didn’t have my mobile with me and there was no-one around. I could have shouted out or screamed, and perhaps a neighbour in one of the adjoining flats would have heard me, but I have a dreadful fear of looking like an idiot.

Maybe I would have starved to death hanging from the nail in the beam, but I fell off the ladder. They put stitches that resembled a Japanese word in my hand — that’s what gave me the idea that life as Murakami would have been so much better than the life of A.S. Patrić.

I’m sad all the time now. Hanging from my nail, I imagined all those Japanese women kissing me on the lips. Some closing their eyes and others keeping them open. Some smelling as nice as well groomed fluffy cats and others smiling like drowsy kittens looking for a puddle of sunlight to nap in.

I was hanging there for hours and I felt kind of lonely. There was no soundtrack music to the book I was writing and no-one wanted to magically appear at my window.

While I was hanging by that nail I wondered about what Anais Nin would have kissed like. Anais kissed famous women and notorious men; kissed people that tasted of mint leaves in Cuban bars; kissed under tables in Parisian restaurants and in the alleyways of Barcelona; in New York art galleries, and she would have kissed me like a Jackson Pollock painting.

Things like that happen to Murakami. Anais would have been strolling by my window and then she would have walked right in and pulled the nail out with her pearl white teeth. She had a small feline face and it would have been easy for her. Maybe then she would’ve spat out that long nasty nail and kissed me.

Thoughts of kissing Anais now only bring me sadness because she’s off to different stories like she was never anything more than a character in other people’s minds. I know that’s not true and that there were months on the Seine, in a houseboat, where she dreamed about men like me wanting to kiss her. I’ve got a pain in my hand thinking about it.

I suppose when something bad happens, like accidentally firing a nail into the back of your hand with a nail gun, you hope that whatever angels you have floating around your soul, will come to console and make you feel like you’re not alone in the universe with your sadness.

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