April 12th, 2011 by acjohner
The Marvelous Misadventure
of Marko D Franklin
by AC Johner
From a great wave of voluptuous rapture, Marko D Franklin was tossed out from the sea. Waking and feeling of his wet withered nipples being touched by a warm breeze, his face gleaming in the golden light of the sun as he slowly opened both his eyes and starred blankly into the wild wilderness of the wacky and ferocious summer sky all lit up with morning and endless swooping clouds. He was wondering just what had happened, and why he had been taken so cruelly from his voyage among the wave.
Short of breath, and with all of his nerves tingling, he felt the sand underneath his fingers, the cold rocky soot of his familiar shore. He peered into the horizon searching for some lip or pike of his vessel protruding from the water but saw nothing but the
Perhaps it were not the wild out-there of some sea-faring adventure he were seeking after all, and so underminded by his own twisting narration translating his constantly altering fate, he stood from the sand bowed to the sea, tossed his hat into the water and turned and went away.
Marko D Franklin, the most exotic of people had left from wading in small plastic backyard pools to go explore out on his own, this was all miles and years before when he were still driving a car and believing that anything were possible including tears in space and ripples in time, that the experience of his own life were cosmically and selfishly his own and no one else’s. That all the rest of the dramatis personae in his court where merely the dancers and jesters and players of his own cosmic theater. This was all before he was old, before Marko D Franklin gave up his heart to the wind and sea leaving him forlorn at the shore watching his own soul being whisked wildly away like a leaflet of paper, taken to someplace far and beyond any part of the world he would ever come to know. He was left with only the hope that one day his dream would drift into some harbor and be found by a child who had the lungs, heart, and innocence to carry it on for him.
“Your not that old, old man.” Kahrah said to him from behind the bar as the juke in the corner banged wildly away and wayfarers from ships marked with signs of Caribbean cruises spit upon the floor and cursed and laughed and beat there fists and winked at all the girls who were now huddled in one scared mass in the corner of the bar waiting for a taxi out of the madness.
Kahrah was a young yellow foreign person who built bicycles and took pictures of birds and had been in jail once for setting himself on fire as part of a demonstration in a park in Nazi Germany.
Marko looked over at Kahrah’s agile fists as he pulled at his peppery beard.
“Why do we always come here?” He asked Kahrah.
“Because whenever we are away you want in again.”
“And whenever we are here I want away.”
“You want somewhere that is neither here nor there.”
“I want to be someplace only attainable through two doors, the mighty mutant mechanical lotus, and the barrel of a gun.”
“Take mine. But go out and do it in the parking lot.”
And in that moment just as Marko was about to begin to cry, there was a loud crack, and the wall behind the bar split and from behind it a single golden strand of sunshine pierced through into the dim dingy sot of the grime of the bar. The ray pierced right into Marko’s heart and as it began to flow a radiant light in through every one of his invisible nerve tubes connecting his body and mind, all the bar fell away to pieces like a finished jigsaw puzzle being blasted with a shot-gun against the back-drop of space and the other side was this great white light that Marko was falling steadily towards until he was completely engulfed within it. Suddenly he felt a thud and found himself lying on the floor of a large cathedral and this old hairy raggedy man who smelt of urine and rotting feet stood before him shaking his head.
“Where am I? Where is this?” Marko asked wondering where the bar had gone.
“The house of the holy brother. Wake up and smell the clean chlorinated floor and see the saffron of the street lights come in through the stained glass windows, its as marvelous as you made it out to be and there are candles and its smells of bread.”
“How did I get here?”
“I dragged you all the way from 7th avenue where you were lying in that ally bleeding to death.”
“I was bleeding?”
“You said you were.”
“Am I now?”
“You tell me.”
Marko got up from off the floor, he stood and brushed himself off. He looked around the room forlorn.
“How long have I been lying there?”
“How long have I been out?”
“And what happened to Kahrah?”
“He’s gone now. He was eaten. Eaten by a jelly fish.”
“That is the saddest thing I have ever heard.”
“There are sadder things in this world. Some say he wanted it the way it happened. No one had ever been eaten whole or alive by a jelly-fish before and after it happened and was in all the papers, all the world came to know his name or at least his face or more his legendary death, which was more than most men can attain within an entire lifetime of trying, Kahrah did it in a single morning just by swimming in the bay at just the right time.”
“Everything to me is sad.”
“And everything to you is always sad.”
“I wish I could go back and do it all again.”
“You can, you can!”
“Yes but I don’t want to wait that long. I want to rewind mid-experience.”
“You can’t, you can’t!”
And all of a sudden Marko turned into a triangle and the old sticky hairy man became an earthworm. The church became this epically huge wheat-field that some child somewhere had dreamed within a dream to be heaven before he knew of such dimensions. Marko the triangle and his new friend the strange earthworm began to wobble and crawl through the wisping and bending pieces of golden grass.
“There was a time long ago,” Marko began, “That I decided by some rare spirit to build a boat and sail away.”
“And what happened?” The earthworm asked Marko who was then a triangle.
“It sank. And me along with it.”
“That is sad.”
“I could have been eaten by a jelly-fish. I could have been remembered forever as Kahrah was. But instead the sea spit me back upon the shore. Beaten, bloody, every bit of vigor in me sucked out. I was wasted, beaten, confused. Long before I set out on the road and took the road, after I set upon the mountain and I took the mountain. But when I came to the sea, both wind and sound, the very spirits who had called me forward from the beginning sent me back with my tail between my legs.”
“You could have built another boat.”
“I thought about that for many years. And for years I cursed myself for not doing so.”
“Well, I suppose if you had ever built another boat you would have never become a triangle.”
“Your right. Marko said to the earthworm. And a triangle is more than most men get to be towards the end here.”
“Are we that close?”
“Yes, its just beyond that little knoll over there upon the horizon.”
“Ahh yes, the earthworm said. Ahh yes. Now I remember. I haven’t seen a sunset as magnificent as that since the day I was born.”
And from behind the knoll of golden grass amidst the backdrop of the sun setting languidly within a blanket of purple and orange and yellow and red, an ivory door materialized. Etched upon the door was the world Fin.
As Marko the now turned triangle and the earthworm came to its face, the door began to crack slowly open.
“And whenever I finally get here I always want away again.”
“You want somewhere that is neither here nor there, don’t you dear Marko?”
“If I were still in the body of a man I would shrug both my shoulders and let out all my air in one long sigh. Well? Shall we go again?”
“Of course, of course.”
Written for KH