Friday, April 13, 2012

For Peach

This is a little picture book I made for a very special someone. Idris... you've officially lodged yourself into one of the deeper chasms of my blackened heart.

 pg. 1
Once there was a boy who lived in a very sunny place. It was warm there every day and some very special mountains were close by. Sometimes the boy would look at the mountains and feel very happy.

pg. 2
Not only were the mountains very beautiful... they were covered in magic beans!

 pg. 3
If someone made a special drink with the beans, that person might actually turn into a squirrel! The boy sometimes made the special drink, but he never had very much. So, he didn't know about their secret power. 

pg. 4
One day the boy went to his mother and said, "I'm going to go very far away. I want to see the world. When I return I will have wonderful stories to tell you." 
The boy's mother was very happy for him. She said, "Ok. Take some of these beans from the mountain with you. When you feel lonely you can make a special drink." The boy smiled.

pg. 5
He took the beans and went far away. Then he went farther away. Then he went so far that he was on the other side of the world. He decided that it was a good place to explore, and that he would stay there for awhile.

pg. 6
Soon, he met a girl there. He liked her very much and she liked him. They had many great adventures together.
They saw mountains, and rivers, and castles together. Once, they even rode on an elephant! They boy made the girl many of his special drinks. Every day they laughed and were thankful to know each other.

pg. 7
"Boy?" said the girl one day.
"Yes?" said the boy.
"Will you please make me a special drink? I'm very sleepy and very thirsty."
So the boy made her a drink. But the girl was still sleepy and still thirsty. So he made her another. And another. And another. He continued to make her drinks until she was no longer sleepy or thirsty. All of a sudden, the magic beans began to take effect!

 pg. 8
The girl felt very strange and looked a little worried.  "Boy?" she asked, "do you think you can still like me as a squirrel?"
"Well, I've never loved a squirrel before" said the boy. "But I think I will always like you just for who you are."
The girl looked relieved. She liked the boy just the way he was, too. She didn't mind that he often burped and farted and listened to crappy, crappy Björk. Yuck.

 pg. 9
As a squirrel, the girl became very...squirrely!
She loved to play tricks on the boy and sometimes he became very nervous. But he remained true to his word - he liked her just they way she was. And the girl liked him just the way he was. Their love grew and grew.

 pg. 10
But one day, the girl got the same feeling the boy had before. She could feel her heart pulling her to another place for more adventures. And the boy could feel his heart pulling him, too.
They had to say goodbye. was very sad.

pg. 11
They promised to meet each other again one day. Before leaving for their new adventures, the girl wanted to give the boy one more surprise. It was a small book that he could read whenever he felt lonely. He knew that she would feel the same way sometimes, too.
"Here" he said, handing her a bag of magic beans. "You can make a special drink whenever you feel lonely."
The girl smiled.


I was so pissed off I wanted to yank the roses off their stems and squash them. But I didn’t just want them squashed; I wanted their very essence obliterated. I thought about mashing them between my palms and then smearing the pulp across the pavement with my heel until they became an indeterminate streak among the gum splotches and the pigeon shit.

I watched a pigeon take a shit on my train platform just yesterday. It offended me far less than the roses’ sickening loveliness did. Jesus, roses can be really fucking irritating sometimes. On my worst days, I would prefer to observe the dirty, sloppy squirt from a creature that I can only assume is self-aware of its own irrevocable squalidness, than to observe a beautiful rose basking in its own delicate perfume.

Pigeons smell more like ham sandwiches than perfume. They are covered in billions of germs and their feathers aren’t particularly impressive, as the petals of a rose are. Humans watch them flock near park benches and on platforms. Occasionally we may toss out some crumbs to a gathering flock, an act that may or may not be motivated by a dim sense of pity.  Like throwing change into the cup of a beggar. And yet, pigeons seem to maintain an amiable temperament, despite our quiet judgment. They look out from beady eyes with friendly, albeit dumb curiosity. Their idiotic head bobs only add to their quasi-retarded charm.

On carefree days I give thanks to the beautiful roses, which sweeten the breeze. But on my worst days, I give special thanks to the pigeons, who offer cooing approval to my misery.