Thingy
Hi.
I am Thingy. That's my real name; and my full name.
I often turn around because when you can't remember the name of something, you start saying, "Come on, pass me… yeah, that, what's it called… the thingy on the table!" hahaha it always makes me laugh to see your thinking apparatus mock you.
Speaking of memory, I have an excellent one. And today I want to tell you a story.
--- For a Comma ---
In a time of peace
in a world at war,
an agreement was made
among the powerful of the Earth.
Missiles ready,
spears prepared,
the Sergeants waited
under a bad weather.
But a spiteful comma,
tired of being misused,
decided to finally
be rightly used.
"Peace,
impossible launch the missiles."
So recited
the powerful cheeks.
Once written
on paper the message
the comma thought
a very wise thought
"Nothing will change
by taking a step forward,
who will notice?
A small step
for my soul reward!"
When the button
was pressed
the Sergeant eyes
had shocked
"Peace impossible,
launch the missiles."
Nice, right? This story was told to me by Sir JJ. He read a similar story in elementary school, about a comma jumping between "peace" and "impossible," but he never managed to find it again. Luckily, he remembered just the main phrase!
In school, JJ's teachers told him that even a small graphic mark like the comma, mistreated and displaced from its grammatical role, is actually of fundamental importance. An essential presence that marks the boundary between the sea of peace and the plain of war.
The comma was also indignant because Mrs. Comma had always performed her role excellently, maintaining her function over time, clocking in more than Mr. Dot. Yet humans, ungrateful and complacent, abused her function, drawing from the well of pride. And so, the comma jumped from one place to another, naively and unknowingly, in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Or perhaps the comma, in its naivety, simply tried to be itself. It experienced an act of will for the first time in its life. In front of an iced whiskey at the Grapheme Bar, it tried to console its anguish with deep sips of awareness, ending up in the fumes of despair.
Probably it had to go that way; humanity had to gorge on war to desire the diet of peace. The extreme of calm arrives right after the extreme of the storm.
Whatever the truth, I am just a Thingy, certainly not the holder of the truth. Sometimes I stop to think that, perhaps, our full free will aligns us with the collective will, leading us to become what we truly want to be. But the path is not easy, it is paved with obstacles and pitfalls, small stumbles where we might sink. And I end up thinking that all this effort is to understand how to use our natural wings, to be able to fly over any mountain.
That’s all folks, your Thingy 😉
