Monday, October 08, 2007


If I were a duck, he thought to himself, then I probably would not spend my time imagining I was a person.

The logic of this assertion was reassuring given the utter reckless chaos that his life had become in the last week or three.

As long as I know that as a duck I would not wonder about being a person that I can handle the rest of it.

The problem with the rest of it was that he knew, deep in his gut that the rest of it was completely ducked up. But he had an enormous difficulty describing the exact nature of the problem to anyone else. Idly he wondered if perhaps the ducks would understand, and then abandoned that line of reasoning. Too much duck-think could get a guy lost just when he was about to hang on to something tangible. Like apples or Slinkies.

Everyone seemed so cool with it. The it which he could not describe but knew was wrong. Wrong in the way that kept him up at night, wrong in the way that none of his heroes of the screen or written word would have accepted for a second.

The heroes would have not only called out the wrongness, but been able to clearly and articulately explain the exact nature of wrongitude to the audience at large. Then, suffering for their beliefs, they would launch a campaign of right-setting which would cost them everything, but vindicate them in the end. It would be worth it they would gasp with their dramatically compelling but dying quack.

He wondered if waddling more would make him feel duckier and allow him some relief. The heroes always knew how to talk about the dragon – they never wallowed in abstract duck wondering or frustrated mumblings. He would need to take action. Action needed to be taken. He just needed to put his words to the world and come out with the thing which was the matter with the stuff.

Maybe tomorrow. After TV and games and internet and stuff.

The big it had something to do with goals or values or the confusing of the two, he was sure of that. But any time he mentioned it to someone, they would nod and smile and talk about their goals and values. Usually skewing the two together which was the whole problem. Could he make the M-noise with a duck bill? What if he was a duck and had to explain that the whole problem hinged on making money or milking monotonous moments? Might he, at that point, as a duck, wonder if he could be a person, if only to speak those bill-forbidden consonants?

M-m-must m-m-make m-m-money. Yeah. That might be something. Got to pay the bills, but you can’t say money with a bill… hmmm… getting closer.

He should share this with his friend. Tomorrow he would have to make one. Then he would share it. Then he could get rid of his friend because friends just expected things from people and that dragged down the whole glow of friendship thing. Bastards. Why couldn’t they leave a guy alone? Mallards probably never crowd each other. Expecting things. Of course they can’t even say what they are. “Hello, I be an ‘allard. Quack.”

Totally ducked up.


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