Reykjavík Grapevine - 07.01.2011, Blaðsíða 27

27
The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 1 — 2011
in the so-not-funny-it’s-funny way of
funny.
[ANGRY DIATRIBE SELF-
CENSORED]
I’ve had time to mull this over. I’m
sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
From the bottom of my heart. The
depths of my soul. I have now referred
to the Bhagavad Gita and truly you are
entitled to your criticism and your own
sense of humour. I’ve already deleted
the worst of it, as it was below me.
I have just [insert appropriate verb]
smoking again, and am a bit on the
nervy side. I shall henceforth receive
your scorn as the humble vessel that I
remain, despite life-long adversities as
punker, author, sugarcube, business
executive, comedian, artist, celebrity
and now mayoral entity.
I shall not let the slings and arrows
of outrageousness hurt me!
True individuals of spiritual
means must set themselves above the
quotidian bicker of petty grievances.
Ooooommmmm. Ooooooommmmm.
I still feel obliged to mention that
the municipal council is not entirely
in agreement on this subject, as
apparently the surrealist manifesto has
proven largely incompatible with the
Bhagavad Gita, as well as the teachings
of St. Paul, whose advice we seek on a
weekly basis (not personally, of course,
but in the “Bible”). But then Breton
was a communist, like Stalin, whose
Gulags we despise.
Lastly, thusly: At a time like this,
where years meet at the apex of
increased communal blood pressures,
while the burned sticks of yesteryear
are still gliding on the nocturnal ashes
of party-town – and the world smells
like Beirut in heat – it is customary to
ref lect upon past passed actions and
render judgment, or to paraphrase the
jolliest of men (in a jovial sort of glee,
and yet admittedly paranoia-inducing):
we know if you’ve been good or bad,
so be good for goodness’ sake (and if
not for goodness’ sake, then for the
absolute totality of goodness’ sake). Mind
you, that is also a rule. There’ll be
more to come, and I’ll relay them all in
good time.
Ah, the good times! Remember the
good times? How we wish we all were
young.
Hope&Pray, Hope&Pray,
Hope&Pray,
(and don’t forget to thank God
it’s Friday, as approved by our
sponsors).
Yours truly (lol),
Herbert Friðbert Albertsson
Honourable Gnarr of the state
anarcho-surreo-separatist
municipality of central Laugavegur
and the united TGIFs of the greater
eurafrican kingdom.
The Falling Man
By Óttar Martin Norðfjörð
Illustration by Lóa Hjálmtýsdóttir
William, a small man of great inner
proportions, fell through the thin air.
He had stopped screaming. He had
stop trying to avoid the inevitable. The
green ground beneath him grew ever
bigger as window after window passed
him with rapid speed. Soon he would
crash and die. Soon his life would be
over.
As William soared through the air
like a broken bird, he tried to recall
why he was here, falling midst in
formless space. Suddenly the last years
became clear, every single thing that
had led to William’s fall from Iceland’s
only skyscraper. This fall he was stuck
in now, seeing the green ground and
sidewalk beneath him moving closer
and closer with every passing second.
Although his body fell with ever
increasing speed, and the wind blew
relentlessly, making his eyes water,
his ears numb, he managed to recall
the beginning of his troubles. It was
all because of a small article, which
described the events to come in detail,
and written by a beautiful woman
named Laura.
Laura. Her name was like a
poisoned arrow that hit his heart.
William had first met Laura at
a New Year’s Eve party in 2010. He
remembered the enthusiasm. Everyone
was celebrating the end of the first
decade, the beginning of the next one,
with hopes of a better world finally
achieved. Then disaster struck in the
first weeks of 2011.
But no one noticed at first.
Laura’s article was short and seemed
insignificant. If only people hadn’t
be too caught up in their own ways.
If only people would have understood
the puny article, which later on—years
later—would read as an omen for the
decade to come.
William was one of few who read
the article, frightfully realising the
horror around the corner. The only
reason he read it was Laura. At the
New Year’s party she had mentioned
the article to William, stating that it
“would change everything”.
How true, William thought while
falling through the sky like a plane out
of fuel. Although he started preaching
about the danger upon
humanity, quoting the article,
trying to convince others, only
a handful listened. The few
created a group with William
as its front man. However,
the general public saw them
as eccentrics, calling them
fanatics. They were truly a
laughing-stock for the first
years.
But no one was laughing
now. Not that it mattered. It
was too late. After the first
event occurred everything
changed dramatically.
Initially people tried to
rationalise the event, but no
one could hide from the truth.
The truth eventually caught
up with people in 2016, more
than five years after William
had first met Laura and read
her article. But by 2016 it was
too late. By then everything
that had happened was
irreversible.
Also William’s fall, which
seemed never ending. He
hadn’t been pushed. He had
jumped, but still it wasn’t his
decision. Laura could as easily
have pushed him. It was their meeting
and her article that had led him here.
But all things considered, William
wasn’t sad although his life would
soon come to a full stop. He knew
death was an escape. A cowardly move,
some would perhaps say. He had
decided to avoid the problem upon the
world by jumping.
There hadn’t been the slightest
doubt in William’s mind that this was
the right decision. Not when he went
out this morning, kissing his wife and
two daughters in their sleep. Not when
he walked calmly up each and every
step up the skyscraper. Not when he
stood at the top, viewing the city, the
mountains, the sun coming up and
the calm sea everyone around him. He
had felt at ease for the first time in ten
years.
The sidewalk was near, also the
green grass, which William could now
smell. He closed his eyes. Laura was
there, behind his eyelids, waiting for
him. He had no idea where she hid in
the world, maybe she was dead, but her
image stayed with William wherever
he went. Even now, as he fell from the
sky, soon hitting the ground, Laura
was with him, torturing him the last
seconds of his existence.
The year 2020 would soon come
to an end. William wouldn’t be here
to witness it. His dead body would lie
underneath the ground, in a wooden
box. But William didn’t need to see
the decade end. He knew how it would
end. Laura had described it in her
article. Everything she had written
had come true. William was sure
the decade would end as Laura had
predicted. That’s why he had jumped.
That’s why he was now falling.
William opened his eyes. The
concrete sidewalk was inches away.
The green grass reminded him of
past springs, of beautiful childhood
memories. William opened his arms
and hugged the earth.
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