titles encourage stagnation

This story chooses not to start in the morning. The main character,
lets call him Mr. Brian, is returning from work. He stops at an
internet caf?, then at the all-night supermarket where he buys some
cigarettes and beer. These items he takes home.
This story isn't about Mr. Brian. Mr. Brian is not an interesting
person. If this story were about Mr. Brian, you would not choose to
read on. Let's test my hypothesis.
Mr. Brian arrives home. Home is a medium sized studio flat, much like
the one I am now sitting in. He kisses his wife hello, takes a shower.
She prepares their meal as they talk about the days events. Nothing
much happened. This is good. If something really happened it would
undoubtedly be problematic. Mr. Brian and his wife are sane people, and
therefore don't like problems.
Are you bored yet? Don't you wish there could have been a problem for
Mr. Brian and his wife to talk about? Don't you wish they had looked at
each other straight in the eye and talked apprehensively about an
enfolding crisis?
Mr. Brian now dries himself and puts on some relaxing evening clothes.
His wife wraps up the cooking and they eat. The TV is on while they
eat. While they eat a movie starts and they watch it. It is a romantic
comedy, so they occasionally laugh. It is average but funny and
entertaining. Soon Mr. Brian opens his beer and smokes a cigarette. The
movie draws to a close. They get undressed and retire to the bed. Mrs.
Brian is feeling horny so Mr. Brian kisses her in pleasurable places.
He bends her over and does her like a dog. She loves it. They come.
They go to sleep. End of story.
So where's the fun in that? Do you want to know what happens to Mr.
Brian the next day? What if I told you that his life is happy and
successful? He is content with his routine. They sometimes go on
holiday. Sometimes friends visit. Sometimes they visit family.
Occasionally they fight and afterwards have mutual oral sex in the 69
position to make up for it. Am I boring you? Mrs. Brian squeals like a
chiwawa, Mr. Brian thinks it's the most beautiful sound he's ever
heard. Who's to argue with him?
Maybe you'd like to hear that Mrs. Brian dies of breast cancer and Mr.
Brian, distraught by the tragedy, turns to alcoholism. Soon he is
getting into fights. The lines that form in his face make him look less
and less human. Eventually, hair long, beard scraggy, a psycho sadistic
youth decides his time is up. For more details you could check the
evening news. I wouldn't.
Or perhaps I am being too harsh. Mrs. Brian dies, and the grief that
overcomes Mr. Brian is life changing, but for good. He feels that the
only way he can move forward is to help people, so he becomes an
Islamic missionary and travels the poorest regions of the world
praising Allah and working for the Islamic Red Cross. In a tragic twist
of fate he is shot by a stray bullet in Gaza City whilst tending the
wounded from an Israeli incursion. He isn't dead but paralyzed from the
waist down. He can't continue his good work as a missionary. Neither
can he satisfy himself between the legs of a good (or any kind of)
woman. He turns to drink. You can do the rest for yourself. Cut and
Paste, check the evening news, there are sadists to pray for.
OK I am being irreverent. I like it. But how would you like this story
to go? Tragedy is painful but often true. I am being realistic. Or
perhaps realism isn't your bag. The first version was in some ways the
most realistic, in terms of bare actions, but also unrealistic. I mean,
who ever had such a happy and contented life. Nonsense.
Ok, the Mr. Brian line needs scrapping altogether. Too spiritual, too
two dimensional. The whole "happy ever after or not?" dynamic isn't
very pliable. Is he happy ever after or not? Of course he is, when he
finally becomes re-incarnated as an eagle.
So, let's change the script. Meet Fred, a wholly different kettle of
fish. Fred's got a moustache and brown eyes. He also doesn't care much
for the barber shop, which means he's got anarchic and curly thick
black hair, down to his shoulders, which makes him irresistible to some
women. Another bonus for Fred in terms of sex appeal is his profession.
He's a musician. He plays jazz and samba guitar three nights a week at
the small but popular and expensive Saxophone bar. Punters don't have
to pay to get in and listen to Fred's delphonic melodies, but they must
pay inflated drinks prices. They don't mind in the least. Fred is a
musical musician.
As Mr. Brian steps into the all-night supermarket to purchase his drugs
of preference, Fred is setting up with the rest of the band. There's a
drummer, a bassist, a trumpet player, a trombonist, a saxophonist, a
quartet of singers, two male, two female, and a mascot called Bongo
whom everyone loves because he gets stoned and really listens to the
music the WHOLE time, plus he offers his services as a source of
inspiration, a therapist (of sorts), a getter of drinks and cigarettes,
a clapper, and a suggester of perfect for the moment tunes. Of all
members of the group (apart from Fred himself), Bongo is the most
indispensable. Did I mention he occasionally plays the bongo's?
So Fred is setting up. I hear you say, "So what?" Well, I might agree
with such a question, for these are simply the fictional thoughts that
are meandering through my head. Shall I go on?
Well, Fred is only interesting now as an antidote to Mr. Brian. Fred
doesn't start to weave his melodic mastery until Mr. and Mrs. Brian
begin contemplating carnal actions, which is at approximately nine
o-clock. But when he starts to play, it is magical. The people sitting,
chatting, enjoying their expensive cocktails, they all shut their
mouths, turn their heads, and tap their toes. Their hearts grow warm,
they feel the need for life, the guitar sings to them, lulls their
minds into a stupor of appreciative wanderings until their souls
realize where they are, and relax. It's amazing to behold. The centre
of the Saxophone bar at nine thirty is the small place where Fred's
fingers dance over the wires and wood holes of his treasured guitar.
Occasionally he looks up. He needs their transfixed faces to be
colourful.
You see, the thing to understand about Fred, is that he's got a secret.
He literally is a magician. And we all know that magicians in this
world don't actually use magic, after all, there's no such thing as
magic. While the punters think of Fred as possessing such mystifying a
talent as to don his playing as "magical", Fred knows otherwise. He
first discovered it when he was a boy of nine, first picking up the
family heirloom guitar and plucking a tune. The aunts, uncles, grandmas
and cousins in the room all hushed and looked his way. At first he was
hardly plucking a note, let alone a tune, but when he realized they
were all looking his way, suddenly his music took shape. The more they
looked, the more their eyes showed that quality of musically
intriguement, the more Fred's powers grew, until he had captivated his
audience like the pied piper. Later that evening, in his bedroom, Fred
tried to strike up a tune, but found himself impotent. It was the
people, he realized. They gave him abilities; they made him real by
their attention. Without them, he was nothing.
It was this knowledge that allowed Fred to work his magic. He played
for the people, and without their open ears he was no more a talented
musician than I a talented writer, without your eyes to read these
words.
So that's the story of Fred. I won't tell that he was uncorrupted, or
incorruptible. It's much nicer to think of him as in his defining
moment. And Fred is fortunate enough to have his defining moment
glorified and worshipped over and over, three nights a week at the
saxophone bar where drinks are overly expensive. Just ask Bongo, he's
the only one who really understands Fred. Secretly he wishes he was a
woman so that he could marry Fred, but such thoughts never reach the
surface, for which you might wish to blame the cannabis (and a good
thing too).
I won't tell you about the womanizing, and the drinking, and occasional
drug taking. I won't tell you about the bouts of depression, or the
loss of family togetherness that pains Fred so much. He yearns for his
family to be together again, but that has been impossible since his
younger sister married Ahmed and converted to Islam. It's not that his
family hates Muslims or anything, but it's hard for a traditional
Catholic family to come to terms with such a thing, especially since
the bombings, and the war.
Am I boring you? Fred is a good guy really, and so is Mr. Brian.
Fred'll meet the right girl some day, and when he does they'll have a
family of their own. Mr. Brian is happy, as you know, and I was only
joking about his wife dying. The day his son is born is the happiest
day of his life. Plus I neglected to tell you about Sundays. On Sundays
Mr. Brian goes with a few friends to the Saxophone bar to listen to
"the most awesome guitar player I've ever heard." Afterwards they
usually go to someone's place to play cards and be manly until the
early hours. Mrs. Brian has her time too. She loves karaoke and so do
her friends from the company. Truth be told they also enjoy going to
male strip clubs, but only when the Nasty Boys are in town. They have
fun and it's all a secret, which makes it double as fun.
Do you have any secrets? I do. Mine is that I sometimes write
unconventional stories that I can never finish to my own satisfaction.
How's that for an ending?