Saturday, 29 May 2010


There was once a man by the name of Jack. Jack hated his last name, and changed it to "." when he was 23. Jack . is his name. Jack. wrote a song about sex, where he sang about daydreams and spooning, but never mentioning sex itself. He named it "the song about sex without mentioning sex itself" because he felt that a long obvious title would make him seem more hipster, because being hipster was hip.
There's a reason why the story is told in past tense. But the reason will remain hidden for a few more paragraphs.

Jack. lived in a flat that his first girlfriend had painted in rainbow colours. The stripes went diagonally and they all faded into white at the top. All except one wall, which was the first one upon entering the flat. You see, you open the door and on the left is a hallway. The left wall of the hallway on the left is white, and covered in mirrors from all ages and of all sizes. This Jack. did himself, because he thought he liked to look at himself. 
Jack. thought that after he wrote "the song about sex without mentioning sex itself" he would become a great success in the hipster community and be praised by fourteen year old girls calling themselves "August" or "Midnight" with christmas lights around their room, because that was the hipster thing to do.
He thought he would grow older in a day, and instead of being youthful and 23, he would look successful and mature. He didn't. He doesn't like looking at himself in the mirrors any more, but it's good for all those pretty little party girls he sometimes picks up. They like to look at themselves.

Jack. went out in the rain, and was just thinking up lyrics for his next song: "the song about rain, except it's not wet" when a flock of crows flew past and pecked him to death.

The man who appreciated true purpose, without ever experiencing it himself.

He died with his boots on.