Posted: April 19, 2011 in Stuff

Last weekend was a very shitty weekend. In a lifetime of shitty weekends, that’s saying something.

People say that Gaza is an open air prison. Well, I can’t leave my apartment without  an escort (not that kind, sadly). So basically I am in my own prison, within another prison. There are power outages most days, and especially on weekends; I can’t even get youporn.

I tell you something, the not boozing/not getting high is a piece of cake compared to all this other shit.

I went to visit another school yesterday. A girl’s school. I was hoping to bank some material to make up for the power outages, but ended up having a what might have been a true noble thought, so I feel kind of guilty about the banking thought.

First I met the teacher in charge of discipline. I can see why they put her in charge of discipline – she was a scary old cow. Had a witch’s face and crooked brown teeth and a facial twitch and dressed in a bogey green coat and scarf – like something out of Roald Dahl. We met her because one of her students – a 14 year old girl – has stopped talking. Gone completely dumb. They call it aphonia. Apparently her house was shelled a lot during the war, and she’s shit scared of the green witch who is also her form mistress.

Well, the green witch told us how she left the silent girl alone and respected her space and all that, but you didn’t have to be a sleuth to work out that she was lying through her crooked teeth.

We then went to meet with the aphonic 14 year old. She was very tall and thin and cripplingly shy. Her handwriting was indecipherably minute. The psychologist I was with – the other (!) expert – chatted to her and made her smile a bit then laugh a bit and by the end of the session she had made some intelligible noises. But the poor girl was just so shit scared of everything.

The fat man wanted very much to look after her, and nothing else. This was the noble thought referred to above. Take note, future members of the jury/ parole board.

And then another weird thing. I’m lying in bed tonight, unable to sleep. It is very hot. Then I hear drumming on my roof. At first I think it is rain. Rain on a roof makes me think of dear Octavio Paz:

La tristeza es la lluvia en un tejado de zinc.

But no, it’s too heavy for rain. Is it hail? Surely it cannot be hail.

I go outside to look. It’s frogs! Hundreds and hundreds of tiny yellow fogs bouncing off my tin roof and landing on the stone floor, their limbs all twisted and deformed. They look like lots and lots of little half chewed bits of juicy fruit gum. Where the fuck do they come from?

La sorpresa son ranas en un tejado de estaño.

  1. Ro says:

    I love yours posts doc, they are lucid, funny and… subtil? Well, not always subtil. And I do like too your sober pythian verses, especially since some wise philosophers affirm poetically that ‘logos’ derive from the agonist perception of mistery and its signals. So, rehab Edipo, after a joke of dialectical millenniums, these pure enigmas come to words to keep original surprise alive. That’s fair, I will tell parole board. IWhat still annoys me is that english frogs would say some “ribboh-ribboh” where a spanish one would say “croak-croak”. That’s a fucking froggy Babel shit, doc, enjoy your obscure time and get sure the frogs don’t build a single thing, please.

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