Sunday, April 13, 2014

Tea in the Jar

Thursday 6 p.m. Two bags, one is held by hand, the other is on the back. Both are heavy. Both are not so clean. The door is little heavy to open. It was didn't opened for the last few days. He puts the bags on the ground and try again. The door is opened. Take the bags from the ground and go in. A smell of dust. Mixed with some other things. The kitchen has its acidic aroma too. He doesn't mind it. Actually he likes it. He is so sleepy. He puts the bags anywhere. He tooks off shoes as fast as can be. Navigates to sleep. 
As I was goin' over
The Cork and Kerry Mountains 
I saw Captain Farrell
And his money, he was countin'
I first produced my pistol
And then produced my rapier
I said, "Stand and deliver or the devil he may take ya"

I took all of his money
And it was a pretty penny
I took all of his money,
Yeah, and I brought it home to Molly
She swore that she loved me,
No, never would she leave me
But the devil take that woman,
Yeah, for you know she tricked me easy

 He wakes up. Actually he just opens his eyes. There is a difference between waking up, and opening the eyes. He sees things near him. Banana skin from the last week. Cigarettes butts. They emit no aroma. No more of smell they emit. Dry. He looks around and finds some DVDs he ought to see. He likes movies. And likes yawning too. Now he pulls himself with suffering form the sleeping matrices. His bones and joints make some cracking. He heads to the kitchen like a truck heading in a highway to a finally-found gas station. He puts water over the fire. Puts the fire at the highest possible level. The kettle is used to it. Water boils in one minute. Throughs tea dry leaves over the water and brings his orange mug. Not so clean an orange mug. Orange jar-ro. Musha rain dum a doo, dum a da, Whack for my daddy-o, Whack for my daddy-o, There's black tea in the jar-ro 
Being drung and weary
U went to Molly's chamber
Takin' Molly with me
But I never knew the danger
For about sic or maybe seven,
Yeah, in walked Captain Farrell
I jumped up, fired my pistols
And I shot him with both barrels

Lits a cigarette. And another till tea gets little cold. Turns T.V. on. Politics. Lying. Silly things. Yet not that kind of silliness he likes. He loves to look at life from a silly window. Yet this silliness he sees in T.V. is annoying to him. He turns the channel to T.V. 5 Monde and see somebodies nose getting longer and longer.

Now some men like a fishin'
But some men like the fowlin'
Some men like to hear,
To hear the cannonball roarin'
Me, I like sleepin'
'Specially in my Molly's chamber
But here I am in prison
Here I am with a ball and chain, yeah

If he isn't numb from tiredness he would have laughed. He feels good in spite of the fact you cannot see him laughing. In an unexplained act, or better to be called a compulsion, he took one of the pair of shoes he was wearing yesterday and puts it over the T.V. screen. He adds that strange colored socks in the shoe's mouth and puts his ass back in his seat. He sips tea. 

This was wrote while listening to "Whiskey in the Jar" performed by Metallica. The lyrics are included in the post.

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