STOP
INSULTING THE MONKEY
I
step aside.
I
hide.
I
lean.
I
sniffle.
I
look in the mirror
and
I hear myself whisper
that
maybe that face in the distance
is
mine.
Once
again.
In
this circus, there is no shortage of mirror games.
Stop
insulting the monkey,
he
has as many hands as you
and
maybe he still has a brilliant idea left,
even
now.
He
was baptized in your same parish,
maybe
he laughs at the same stupid jokes
you
laugh at
on
weekends.
He’s
a spiteful monkey.
He’s
a one-eyed, decadent monkey,
that
much is obvious.
At
some point he offers you a riddle,
this
monkey.
He
asks you: «Green on the outside, what’s inside?»
and
leaves you stranded in a labyrinth
you
don’t just not know how to exit,
you
don’t have a remote clue
how
you even got there.
And
then you curse the monkey’s ancestors
and
all the she-monkeys
you
enjoyed in the dark.
God,
they smelled, those bitches.
Maybe
this is the trick,
you
think,
maybe
by closing your eyes,
in
the dark,
without
a single clue about the steps you take,
without
knowing a fucking thing about anything,
maybe
that way you manage to escape
the
macaque’s maze.
Because
the monkey
represents
great wisdom, in China.
And
you tell yourself that for wisdom,
you’d
take a good swig of gin,
a
shot of gin in the throat and you’re flying, whoosh...
You’d
clear the labyrinth walls for sure,
but
from above,
through
the sky,
where
the gods roam.
And
if anyone can help you in this serious mess,
it
has to be a God.
Or
a Goddess, mind you,
so
better
start
flying as soon as possible.
I
sniffle,
I
look in the mirror
and
I hear myself whisper
that
maybe that face in the distance
is
mine.
Once
again.
Go
on, move,
in
this circus there is no shortage of mirror games.
Stop
insulting the monkey,
he
has as many hands as you
and
maybe he still has a brilliant idea left,
after
all.
Stop
insulting the monkey.
© Max Nitrofoska
LAS15LETRAS.com
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