Once Upon an Owl

Once upon a time I knew a woman who showed me her pussy but would not tell me her name. I thus called her Pussy. It is her name to this day. I think that she still lives in El Paso, or is it Chicago. I do not remember Pussy so much any more. It has been a long while. More than a couple of years. I would say five but M would disagree. He always disliked the number five. He even wished we had six fingers on each hand. The feet, he did not care, as long as the toes were nice. A dozen fingers actually sound nice too. With the extra two we could finger some things more. You know. New gloves. More nail clippings. Faster typing, I suppose. More itching coverage. Another finger couple. More status quo.

Once upon a time I knew a man whom I loved very much. He was my father. He had a long life, although any length is never enough. He died from dementia and probably Alzheimer’s, the physicians had never made up their minds. Today it is called diabetes type 3, its rightful name. Most people with diabetes will eventually develop a dementia of some kind. The brain is not made of steel. The damage is reversible, but it is already there, still imperceptible. The solution is simple. Avoid all carbs and fuck the exceptions. You can google them, and I remember that someone mentioned them not long ago on Vocal.

Once upon a time I knew a god. He was not really a god, but to me, he was. His name was Charlie Chaplin. I have goosebumps just typing his name. I always adored him. I wrote about him quite a lot. But I never saw him as an idol. Not at all! He was a man. However, this beautiful man, the most beautiful there ever was in cinema, was a god. At one point in the 1920s and '30s and even later, his name was the most known on Earth. And for good reason. He was simply the best at anything he did. He was a god. And they tried to crucify him for it at any cost. Even declaring him a Jew, the worst thing one could ever be in a civilized society. Charlie Chaplin replied that he was sorry that he never had the honour of being one. An interesting reply! The USA kicked him out for being a supposed communist, but he persevered in Switzerland where he died in 1977 at age 88 but not before receiving his only Oscar in 1973. He cried when he did, and so did I many years later.

And I have not yet mentioned his accomplishments in cinema and they are too numerous to enumerate. He wrote the screenplay and the music. He conducted the orchestra. He directed, of course, and played the lead character, sometimes more. He produced. He was the movie, with the other actors only there to show him as a god. I tried to save him in two of my novels by going back in time. I know that it may sound silly but I do not think so anymore. I wanted to save my god. Remember what people can do for their God! I just wanted to save him and a few others since I suddenly could. The list became long. But that is beside the point. Charlie Chaplin was my god since my early teens. I simply fell in love with him. I thought him to be a god. And one generally praises a god and so I did and still do to this day and even now. If you do not know him, you have missed a god. But it is never too late. He is easy to find.

Watch out, though! He is very good at what he does. He is actually the best at everything cinema has ever had to offer, with some exceptions of course, the oddities, like Woody Allen’s Love and Death and Midnight in Paris, and The Hours, The Matrix, and many others, of course, the list is long. And yet, Charlie Chaplin outshines them all. Can someone achieve it with only one movie, though? He did with dozens, one more notable than the other. But could you pick one and still consider him to be the best? Well, in his case, it is a resounding yes. Just one movie could have been enough and he did aplenty before and after The Kid (1921). And the gems that came after it just take your breath away. He was and always will be the master of cinema, its Shakespeare.

Once upon a time I knew a boy who looked at the world in wonder, not understanding so much about what the hell was going on, but finding ways to occupy his mind by using his imagination. He did not write yet, but he dreamt and then discovered masturbation and girls. He fell in love with them at first sight. He still loves women to this day, with a few exceptions, of course, nothing is perfect. One day he found himself writing about his youth, trying to remember or imagine what he may have felt so many years back. Time is often unkind. There are exceptions, of course, like my muse. She is back. Well, of course, I was talking about myself and she is part of me, and thus, here she is, well awake, ready to help me write. She is quite punctual. Around midnight in Montreal. And all this because of French. What a sexy language! I can get aroused just by hearing it spoken, by a woman, of course. I digressed. I was discussing youth; those were the days, and the rest of that baloney. It is only the present that counts. The past is a bust. And the future is unknown but looks gloomy. One night you can meet a muse on some writing site but then discover that her direct link is on the Moon. Nothing is perfect; I said it before. It is almost a freaking law.

Once upon a time I learned about an owl, Goddess Athena's owl. In my stories he also became a talking owl. Glaukopis could speak English and French, and Greek, of course. He preferred to perch on Athena's shoulder and a specific olive tree. All barn days were left behind for life with the divine.

Athena’s Owl - Save My Evergreen

O Athena, my goddess of wisdom

I beseech you to help your humble bird

My branch, on which I stand when your hand or

Shoulder is engaged, is in grave danger

Please save my evergreen from certain death

...

My wings have revealed to my eyes a most

Troubling plot to offer Hades my tree

My home since I was born for your service

Will grow down to everlasting cinders

Serving no one, nothing worth repeating

...

Hades, my dear uncle, please afford me

One little favour not for me, I swear

Spare a tree for my devoted left-hand

My loyal owl’s birthplace and current home

I will return the favour one blue day

...

Methinks, my good turn is in need of your

Speedy response, my dear and winning niece

A mortal shall become your first husband

Your love whom I will summon one black day

To join me as my minion in Hades

...

My uncle, your price is unbecoming

I wish to deliver one precious life

Growing in all splendour and my owl’s place

Please reconsider your meaning, my liege

An earthly groom is a high price to pay

...

Niece, this is my sole and only demand

Accept it, or leave it, the tree is mine

What say you now, I have no more spare time

You can choose by tomorrow nightfall your

Mortal lover, my soon to be henchman

...

Can I equate a tree with human life?

Can my owl stand on a similar perch?

Can I unearth a mortal to love me?

By the rooster’s last call to dark prayer

Can I love a man whose life I dispense?

...

My dearest, Goddess Athena, take me

I will gladly become your sacrifice

I loved you since my heart opened wisely

In view of your beauty and your finesse

To love you for one day is worth my life

...

Pray tell your name, my adoring mortal

Your life is not a gift to give away

I will ask my dear father for his help

Zeus can reason with his starless brother

A tree and a man will be saved today

...

Dear Zeus, my father and God of the world

Help me save my future husband and a

Tree from the fury and fiery embrace

Of Hades, your brother from underground

Where he counts poor souls every single day

...

Zeus had some words with Hades, his brother

The owl’s evergreen was solemnly saved

Athena took me in for her husband

My life has become pure heavenly bliss

I thank you Zeus, my God, for her wisdom