Nagoya Writes

January 6, 2008

The Writer by Roy Hernandez

Filed under: Hernandez,Issue: Dec 2006,Prose — usbengoshi @ 7:03 am

Jose and Troy shared small space in a Nagoya City rent-a-business space. It was a 2×4-type cramped quarters that was always sweltering like a hellish inferno of heat. Jose was the proprietor of his own publishing house and boasted how great the business was going to get once the Japanese got drilled to the idea that persistent conformity was the key to success in any business, and he was gun-ho about his stance that what a writer needed was to focus on one ideal theme to write a story. This was Jose’s philosophy, and down deep to the mortal death, he was assured in his belief. On the other side of the coin was Troy, who was a free thinker and a real writer. But under the command and watchful eyes of Jose, Troy could not write what he was really inspired to write. Instead he wrote on the themes Jose, in his fantasy conformity mind, mused was the right theme for the monthly magazine called Nago Inc. LTD.

There at his desk with his typewriter, Troy waited patiently for his Fascist Nazi boss to give him the theme for the month. Troy had really had enough of Jose and was really about to burst into a heat of hell fire and brimstone. He had had enough of his employers fanatical behavior as to what a writer should and should not write. The showdown was about to fuse into an atomic explosion as to who was right and who was really twisted in the brain.

“ Troy ! I got it all figured out for the theme of this month’s magazine. Now, I have been thinking and scouting around and it has come to my observation that there is too much litter in the side walks, the streets, in alleyways… Everywhere there is garbage, so…”

“ So who gives a shit or a rat’s ass about garbage? It is not our responsibility to write about this crap. We got to write about more serious things like the Middle East..earthquakes..tsunamis or about global terrorism. Writing about garbage is for the Local Media to deal with. You know they go around where all this garbage is thrown and ya know they make a small documentary. Jose ya got to get your mind out of the clouds. Like dude ya been drilled into this fascist conformity since well, since maybe your infancy,” yelled Troy.

“What are you talking about?” Jose yelled back at Troy.

“Well, it would seem that this strange obsession of themes began in your infancy. OK say your mama said, ’Jose, this week you will wear Pampers but next week mama will buy you Flowers and the next week mama will buy you Natural Nature disposable Eco-friendly diapers’?”

“Well what the hell do you think I am, a demented wacko or what? I am very successful in a variety of things, as you might have noticed…”

“I have noticed that you have a fondness for a certain type of tree and ya really paint them in so many colours and shades… I could not have ever believed trees could look like a rainbow.”

“I happen to like those trees. No, they are a form of trees especially suited for the Asian climate. No where in the world except for the Amazon rainforest can they exist, certainly, they could not exist in New York City..so I love them..I paint them..I see them in my dreams…”

“OH! God Jose! You are really demented; a tortured soul living in hell. I guess you’d better go to Mass and cry to that priest you always confess your sins to..I read that it is good to cry when all the stress builds up..your eyes release these stress hormones which is good for your heart it said. Yeah, it’s the truth,” replied Troy.

“OK! So I have a few weak spots in my character ya know. Defects of character, but I am right about my trees, I love them dearly..so dearly…”

“I hope your trees go up in a blaze of fire till you can feel the heat crawl through your skin. The I pray that a giant bulldozer razes them clean out of sight from the roots..ahh then I can see the swimming pool where the girls are having fun in their bikinis. Got it?”

“You are such a hopeless case. You do not care about trees or nature or even the filth of the garbage everywhere you walk. What do you want to write about? Your fantasy of Milton or Poe, no Emerson, or lets make it Robert Louis Stevenson…rejection is what your afraid of. Am I right or not?” yelled Jose.

“OH! Jose, do you call rejection from that Secret Service dude that did our editing the last while back good editorship? I call it covering his ass and censorship from revealing that how much I loved the Princess. He denied me my freedom of speech and to write what I wanted to write. After all I am a writer, and I hardly think much has progressed in your writing because your mind is in a cube,” replied Troy.

“Look Troy, you have blasted me on this issue that you do not agree with my theme about garbage in the next issue of the magazine, right?”

“Take it for what things are in real time, Jose. I wrote another story for the advancement of human tech, and it has been almost over a year, and where is the reality of that story in magazine form, huh? You are really full of deceptions and demons. Did your mother try to set you on fire when you were a child? I mean, you are a nice fellow but man dude you have a whole load of crap inside your head,” replied Troy.

“Look, I got a head full of worries and I just do not have to put up with your satire, Troy.”

“What worries do you have, Jose? Every time I see you, you got a beer can in your hands.”

“I got to go to early morning Mass.”

“Yeah right! To cleans the poisons out of your soul,” Troy laughed out loud.

“Listen Troy, you write what you want to write. I admit; I give up.”

“Listen dude, you can not be a bartender at night and hung over as a teacher in the day. Then there is the publishing of my work. You flunk the Test of Life, dude,” Troy smiled.

“If you think a writer should write what inspires him, then do it, Shakespeare. I do not give a crap you write. Just write something OK?” Jose said, exhausted.

“I may write about Jungle Crows,” Troy replied.

“Jungle Crows?” Jose looked startled and stunned.

“Yeah they like garbage and they have this cubical train of mentality. They cannot change from being conformist assholes. They all need to be shot dead because they are a menace to humans and society in general. Right?”

“Yeah, and the theme is about garbage, but in a wider spectrum,” Jose said softly.

“The story will be finished by tonight.”

“OK! Then write…write..write…” Jose replied, confident that he had won the battle on garbage.

Jose opened the door of the small 2×4 office that was as hot as the heat of hell, and he went off to morning Mass and, as he shut the door behind him, he could hear Troy the writer typing away on his typewriter.

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