...
I just found this while rummaging through old text documents. This was an AIM conversation I had with Brett Boisvert years ago that I turned into a dialogue between two anonymous friends. It's ridiculous.
A young man and his friend...
“If I had a crocodile, would you ride it into the sunset bareback like a furry feline?” the young man asks his friend.
The friend replies with the question, “Would it call my name, as I spoke to it in a glimpse of a moment, frozen as time flew by?”
The young man nodded. “Aye, it would call your name and much more. It'd spin a tale about two lonesome fireflies who could not find the other's light. But alas, the tale would be too long, and the crocodile would die of a sickness before such an end to such a story could be woven.” The young man sighed deeply.
The friend shook his head and said, “But such a tale is of legend. And as legend goes, the crocodile, in a stroke of genius, found a swan of a most beautiful white. Swan's hearts think like diamonds, and mend the fabric of this lecture.”
“However, the lecture's soul was broken forever, just as was the spirit of the crocodile,” the young man told his friend. “For even though the swan had a heart of diamonds, the diamonds themselves had come from the coal of Death himself, in all his horridness. The crocodile grows weary of life, as he is wrought with disappointment at every turn. But he is not a foul hearted being, merely a lonesome and burnt out shell of a most beautiful soul who has lost his purpose in the world.”
The friend sighed, knowing this to be true, could only say, “A story teller, in both madness and pure genius, may shed three tears for the crocodile. One for what the crocodile once was, one for what the crocodile has become, and the third will fall when the crocodile finds affectation for another reality. A reality not beckoned by space and time, a reality not constituted by physics and such odds and ends. A reality of simply being. But to reach such an epiphany takes a lifetime of grace.”
“A lifetime of grace can only be achieved when the crocodile has accepted his purpose in the far grander scheme of things,” the young man noted. “He may very well be a mere cog in the machine of existence, but he is a most important cog. The wheels that spin round on the spokes of the Universe must be seen to be believed, and can only be seen with an open eye that sends these pictures of reality to a brain lacking suspicions that there just might not be any worthwhile reason for its existence. The crocodile will find his way, and no tears shall be shed, but he shall be honored and forever remembered for his deeds in this world and those he has yet to perform in the next.”
The friend of this young man raised a disheartening point. “With all this raises the question, how can this be legal? If my thought is right, and it usually appears to be bright, were not crocodile shoes outlawed in the nineteen tickety two's? Alas, this seems to have slipped by the books, and old toothless Jim dwindles away in Jail, for that one illegal sale. But in a parallel universe such as the one created by our own imaginations and spun forward in a continuum by one crocodile. We all find the answer; the same answer; a common understanding between all that this crocodile is no smaller than a god. And even though we try and find every hint of ourselves in the crocodile, maybe a glimpse of what we really are; in the end we will call his name as we ride into the sunset.”
~FIN
A young man and his friend...
“If I had a crocodile, would you ride it into the sunset bareback like a furry feline?” the young man asks his friend.
The friend replies with the question, “Would it call my name, as I spoke to it in a glimpse of a moment, frozen as time flew by?”
The young man nodded. “Aye, it would call your name and much more. It'd spin a tale about two lonesome fireflies who could not find the other's light. But alas, the tale would be too long, and the crocodile would die of a sickness before such an end to such a story could be woven.” The young man sighed deeply.
The friend shook his head and said, “But such a tale is of legend. And as legend goes, the crocodile, in a stroke of genius, found a swan of a most beautiful white. Swan's hearts think like diamonds, and mend the fabric of this lecture.”
“However, the lecture's soul was broken forever, just as was the spirit of the crocodile,” the young man told his friend. “For even though the swan had a heart of diamonds, the diamonds themselves had come from the coal of Death himself, in all his horridness. The crocodile grows weary of life, as he is wrought with disappointment at every turn. But he is not a foul hearted being, merely a lonesome and burnt out shell of a most beautiful soul who has lost his purpose in the world.”
The friend sighed, knowing this to be true, could only say, “A story teller, in both madness and pure genius, may shed three tears for the crocodile. One for what the crocodile once was, one for what the crocodile has become, and the third will fall when the crocodile finds affectation for another reality. A reality not beckoned by space and time, a reality not constituted by physics and such odds and ends. A reality of simply being. But to reach such an epiphany takes a lifetime of grace.”
“A lifetime of grace can only be achieved when the crocodile has accepted his purpose in the far grander scheme of things,” the young man noted. “He may very well be a mere cog in the machine of existence, but he is a most important cog. The wheels that spin round on the spokes of the Universe must be seen to be believed, and can only be seen with an open eye that sends these pictures of reality to a brain lacking suspicions that there just might not be any worthwhile reason for its existence. The crocodile will find his way, and no tears shall be shed, but he shall be honored and forever remembered for his deeds in this world and those he has yet to perform in the next.”
The friend of this young man raised a disheartening point. “With all this raises the question, how can this be legal? If my thought is right, and it usually appears to be bright, were not crocodile shoes outlawed in the nineteen tickety two's? Alas, this seems to have slipped by the books, and old toothless Jim dwindles away in Jail, for that one illegal sale. But in a parallel universe such as the one created by our own imaginations and spun forward in a continuum by one crocodile. We all find the answer; the same answer; a common understanding between all that this crocodile is no smaller than a god. And even though we try and find every hint of ourselves in the crocodile, maybe a glimpse of what we really are; in the end we will call his name as we ride into the sunset.”
~FIN