How to Espress Life Into a Very Small Cup: a reading of Western Philosophy while making coffee

How to Espress Life into a Very Small Cup

A reading of Western Philosophy while making coffee

Michael Durrand

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 Michael Durrand

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For green lounges that are stronger than Hendrix; for terracotta lounges that totally match the green carpet; for trading with egg beaters, irons and toasters; for lentil glue and dodgy home brew; for trying to write our own language; for a hat that may not have always known the way home; for just going to the needle; for prima donna, semi-literate academics that demand so much of my time; for idiots from Idaho who have clearly never made ten Chinese lanterns that spell out ‘I love you’ as they float across Pumicestone Passage, and for all the other dagudas, I am truly sorry.

Contents

1.Eight days after...

2.Today...

3.Ten days before...

4.Twenty years before...

5.Thirty-two seconds after ten days before...

6.Twelve days after...

7.Twenty minutes after ten days before...

8.Ten days after...

9.12 Days, a trip across the river, a trip up the river and a bad cup of coffee after...

10.Ten days and twenty-seven minutes after....

11.Ten years after...

12.Ten days and forty-one minutes after....

13.12 Days, a trip across the river, a trip up the river and two bad cups of coffee after...

14.Five days after...

15.Twenty year before...

16.Tomorrow...

17.Twelve days, twelve minutes and two phone calls after...

18.Eleven days after...

19.Twenty seven days after...

20.Twenty eight days after...

1

Eight days after...

Daniel and Nadia were still deep in conversation long after the shop should have closed. A few customers had nervously left, due to their adventurous ability to transgress their normal daily routine running out. After the last customer left, Nadia closed the door and turned the jukebox up fairly loud, but not to the point of being annoying or ostentatious. She then poured two glasses of Butterscotch Schnapps and turned off the menagerie of equipment that the coffee shop possessed.

The hum and groan of a few machines, normally unnoticeable to any person there for a time was suddenly very noticeable on being abruptly absent.

Earlier that day, Nadia had served an old university flame of hers, who had purposely gone out of his way to get lunch at Hugh’s coffee shop after learning of Nadia’s position there. Nadia at first didn’t recognise him; he had deliberately dressed himself differently to create the appearance of change and progression since he last saw her. In truth, he hadn’t done anything. While he wore a nice suit and looked wealthy and important, it was all borrowed from his brother’s house that morning, where he had been given full access to a room from the fraternal charity and guilt of a highly successful younger brother.

He and Nadia had shared a brief reminiscence of the ‘good old days’, whatever that was. For some reason Nadia had allowed the conversation to live well past the point of awkwardness, a conversation that was held up on life support by all the ogling others involved. This had paid off later on as Nadia had been tipped with two bright yellow pills that held a promise of ‘something to open your mind’. Nadia had also been warned to only take this pill with a true friend.

Nadia was bored, really bored. Her boredom had taken on a life of its own, past the yesterday was terrible, but tomorrow may hold promise stage. It had passed the there is nothing good on TV stage, extinguished the flame of promise that the local video shop pretends to hold, through the eBay and facebook phase and now was approaching a boredom that could easily be given the name that sounds like a psychological disease, a Latin sounding name; Adhocergo prostichocus, the causality disease.

Given the past few weeks, the idea that two bright yellow pills that would open her mind, yet should only be taken with a true friend presented some great promise. She didn’t really even think that much about it; it would at the very least be something to fill in an evening and perhaps a cause for a sick day the next day. At best it could open new doors and a new level of a relationship with Daniel, not that she was that overly keen on him in that way, she was just really bored.

Nadia had purposely steered the conversation into the various arguments surrounding drug use and different perspectives of a person experimenting with narcotics. She had not been able to persuade Daniel to impart a subjective viewpoint on the topic. Daniel had only related a few stories from his days as a solicitor relating to drugs getting people into and out of trouble.

Daniel’s favourite narcotics related memory occurred while defending a heroin harlot against her millionth charge for theft and property offences. During a quick recess in the committal hearing the courtroom had been vacated by people keen on using their mobile phones to show all and sundry how important the person on the other end of the line thought their thoughts were, except for the magistrate and Daniel.

The magistrate had boisterously remarked Gees that client of yours has a fine pair on her, someone should tell her I think. Daniel, ever quick on his feet in a courtroom immediately faked an embarrassed blush, then anger. You just told her yourself Your Worship. She is sitting down just there, Daniel retorted while pointing to the part of the courtroom obscured from the view of the bench by the clerk’s computer monitor and the woodwork partition behind it. The magistrate, after quickly slithering out in embarrassment, returned the court to find that there simply wasn’t enough evidence from the police for him to be happy granting a trial.

Then there was the story about a major drug case that Daniel had been involved with. This was before the days of real music mobile phones with which we can now define our souls, during that brief and exceptionally daggy phase where the effluent in society had polytones. One of the team from the Crown had accidentally left her mobile phone on in court. During an especially tense examination of one witness, the polytonal, computerised version of the Skyhook’s Jukebox in Siberia rang out loud and proud for all to hear.

This same case landed Daniel in gaol for contempt. Daniel grinned uncontrollably as he retold the story to Nadia. The QC for the Crown was being badgered by the bench on an issue of common law, the bench wanting the QC to state a precedent already known to the bench. The Crown QC, while unable to remember the case law, blundering and slurring for time was thankful when Daniel handed him a piece of paper with ‘Iva Sewell v Johnson 122 CLR 33’ scribbled on it, then immediately declared With thanks to my learned colleagues, it has been brought to my attention that your honour wishes to hear I’ve a swollen johnson. How can one put a price on a joke like that? Apparently it was easy for a District Court Judge to do.

In truth, Daniel had had very little experience with drugs on a personal level. It was not that he was against it; it’s just that the life that he had led had mostly been devoid of any connection to certain types of people. He had seen many people’s lives ruined by drugs, or so the catchy slogans and the like go, but had never believed that to be the whole truth. He had seen some people whose lives had been ruined by drugs and regarded drugs as the effect of a different cause. People who were stupid and boring would have achieved very little and been disregarded by all as stupid and boring if it were not for drugs. Drugs allowed these people a great mystique to their lives as well as the freedom to externalise the cause of their life’s worries and improprieties into the seemingly true understanding that if only they could get the monkey off their back, everything would be alright.

In Daniel’s eyes they were simply too brainless and unimaginative to not choose a certain path. After a while of heavy drug use, the drugs started to be regarded as the cause of this, not the solution, albeit a bad one. Daniel’s perception then understood a certain weakness and pathetic element to heavy drug users and especially alcoholics later on. When all other avenues had been spent, they started blaming all their bad behaviour on their relationship to using drugs, and now that this was no longer the case and the demon had been removed, apparently all of what was left was a good and pure person. This story just didn’t sit right with Daniel. Daniel did however distinguish between people who use narcotics on a seldom and recreation type of setting, people who get blazed at the odd party, as opposed to those who spend their entire life half-baked. The former were perhaps OK, the latter were not.

After speaking on various points of conversation that were both appropriate and current, Daniel let out a big sigh. I have been so out of sorts lately Daniel explained, I ran into this girl I knew from uni yesterday morning. She had gotten really fat and quite unattractive, not that you could ever say that she was good-looking, she had an alright figure, but a mongy face, but seeing her, it just really depressed me. When I was a grumpy and unhappy solicitor, I never had any trouble with this type of situation, always being the person who had such an ability to appear successful and rushed in situations where you only have two thirds of a sentence to summarise your entire being and existence. Now days, I am really happy and enjoying life, yet when people inevitably ask me what I am up to, I really don’t have an answer. That just kind of really depressed me.

So I have spent three hours on facebook this afternoon and looked around at all these guys and gals that I went to high school with, then old colleagues from law school and no one is really doing anything much, but some people can really talk up a success story on paper, well, on-line anyway. But you look at their profiles and they have spent forever on them, trying to make it perfect. One guy’s status update was ‘having a great time on holidays’...What is up with that, what kind of great holiday are you having if you are sitting on facebook wanting everyone to know how much of a great time you are having telling everyone what a great time you are having? Then I got this friend request from this girl I went to high school with, and who I am pretty sure was my first, well, you know. But I can’t really be sure.

People always say that you remember that sort of thing, and don’t get me wrong, I remember almost everything about it, and am almost certain that it was with this girl, but we weren’t really friends to speak of and haven’t seen each other in many years. The message she wrote was just the usual ‘how-are-you?-I-am-fine-but-too-busy-but-will-quite-happily-sit-on-facebook-for-two-hours-and-tell-everyone-that’. It’s not like I can message her and explain what I am up to and just kind of steer the conversation in that way.

Yeah like ‘hot enough for you? And oh, been down on anyone lately? Nadia smirked

Then there are all these people that I sort of knew so long ago that thanks to facebook I am apparently friends with again. They have for some reason stayed friends in the same circle that was there when I was a kid, way back in the good old days. They haven’t moved or done anything, just gone from school to working in a steel mill or on welfare, and are still talking about me. What’s up with that? I didn’t think I was that interesting, especially after all these years.

The jukebox was randomly playing the anthem of Nadia’s generation way too quietly given the song as Nadia started to sway and think about distant memories;

"Will you stand above me, look my way...never love me, rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling down ...down...down."

Well, you are very intelligent, have always been an old soul, have a flair for the alternate side and have a certain arrogance about you. comforted Nadia.

"Will you recognise me, call my name or walk on by?...rain keeps falling,rain keeps falling down...down...down...down"

Oh, piss of with that rubbish, I am not that memorable. For some reason, laughing at the dreary lives of people that you always thought were dreary sort of helps when you’re a bit down, but in a black kind of way. It's like I feel guilty for being right about them all along. Or perhaps I was dead wrong about them all along and it is the meaninglessness of the whole thing that is depressing. Especially given that now that I am happy and having some fun, going somewhere, my life looks terrible on facebook. So are they in the same situation? Wouldn’t that mean that there really isn’t anything about my life that can’t be achieved by anyone and everyone else, providing they have the guts, or perhaps stupidity to make the same decisions, or similar decisions in similar situations? But that can’t be the case, cause if it were, I would cease to be, there would be nothing more to who I am than a series of choices of varying degrees of significance that may have been made by anyone, but there is no ‘me’.

Well Nadia muttered, getting a build up of some Dutch courage while putting the two bright yellow pills on the counter, an old friend of mine gave me these, said that they would open my mind and that I should only take them with a true friend. Seeing as how our Kev is against all this type of behaviour nowadays, Beattie’s pissed off to the US and Gordon’s in gaol, I thought of you being my good friend.

Going to take you apart, I’ll put us back together at heart...baby

With a look of surprise and excitement, Daniel asked I didn’t think that our friendship had grown to the ‘taking a pill when the door is locked cause we are really bored stage’. Did I miss that?

You don’t think that we are at that stage? asked Nadia.

No, No, if you think so, I’ll agree with you, I may have missed that and you are usually right about these type of things. Daniel rebuked.

But would you know it if I sent you a ‘taking-a-pill-when-the-door-is-locked-cause-we-are-really-bored’ friend request on facebook ?

As you walk on by, will you call my name... and you walk away...or will you walk away...will you walk on by, come on call my name, will you call my name...

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Around ten minutes later, Nadia only wanted to do one thing; and Daniel only wanted to do one thing. Sadly, these were not the same thing, not even close. Daniel really wanted to hide under one of the lounges and see if he could find, and then taste yesterday’s dust, but being the sharpshooter that he was, realised that he couldn’t just go and do this without looking like a featherweight. So he started to talk Nadia into a game of hide and seek.

Nadia, starting her own progression of ideas so as not to make it look as if she were a featherweight, agreed but told Daniel that hide and seek while wearing only underwear was much more fun. Daniel’s joyous thoughts at getting his way and playing hide and seek completely overshadowed any analysis of what Nadia was thinking and doing.

Some five years ago, Nadia had been truly in love. He was an older man, but seemed younger than most of the men Nadia’s age, or at least on par. It had ended quite badly for him, but Nadia held memories of their relationship with fondness and romanticism. At the time, the ‘eject’ button on the CD player in Nadia’s bedroom didn’t work. It didn’t really matter, she only used that stereo to listen to the radio when falling asleep or waking up, and for listening to a CD while making love. It didn’t occur to her at the time, but certain behaviour, human physiology and psychology can be conditioned in quite strange ways with the repetition of sounds or songs at specific points in one’s life. She had, as a result, become a Pavlov’s dog when it came to making love. She really needed to hear a particular CD.

Daniel hid under the lounge, thinking that he had found a fantastic hiding place yet to anyone looking on, it could easily be seen that two of the lounge’s legs were off the ground and the whole thing was being held up on an angle by something underneath. Something that was also emitting a strange, giggling sound. Nadia smirked and went over to the Jukebox to see if the CD she needed to hear about now was in there somewhere. She smiled with sheer joy at the simple, fifties copy font that spelled out the words she wanted to see. She put in twenty cents and went to find some more Butterscotch Schnapps on the way to ‘seeking ‘ Daniel.

"Hi, Hoe, Hi...ha, ha, ha...one...two...three...four..."

Nadia found the two empty glasses on the counter, having to deal offhandedly with an ever-increasing lure to lick the shininess of the counter to see what reflections tasted like.

"...I was born in a house with a television on inside...grew up too fast...forgot my name"

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Hugh Woodman generally taught a class in the local PCYC on Tuesday nights. He had left his coffee shop two hours earlier without any inclination that term had finished last week and everyone was on holidays. He really should pay a lot more attention to these sorts of details; where he had to be and when. Argh, details details. On seeing the empty rooms and hallways, it had taken quite a while for him to realise exactly what had happened. It wasn’t until he saw a flyer for an end of term party at ‘davos’ house dated the previous weekend that his fears were completely realised. He thought it a good chance to get to know the newer pubs in the mall, of ever increasing Irishness for some unknown reason. Whoever thought that it was a good idea to introduce a pub with Irish theme to it must have been reaching; drunken Irishmen are right up there with skinheads as far as people you would want to spend with on a night out.

After paying a fortune for a ridiculously large glass of beer, Hugh looked around and was disgusted with the state of the place, made to look like an English ship galley basically, and filled with drunken American teenagers endlessly repeating stories about what beer is like back home, and slurring almost incoherently about how good at drinking it they are.

Hugh was depressed and sober. The kind of sober that beer doesn’t solve, even if it is in stupidly big glasses. Beer with a dash of Stones is what he needed, straight on to the ginger freeway, none of this transit lane shit.

Half an hour later he decided that as the evening was already wasted, he may as well go back to his coffee shop to do some paperwork and make a dent in a bottle of schnapps. As he opened the back door, he stumbled with the sudden realisation that he was a lot less sober than he though. Where would this ginger freeway lead?

On entering from the back room, he was absolutely dazed to find Nadia in only her underwear, dancing and pouring two drinks. Looking around, Hugh had never regarded Nadia in that way before, given the age difference and circumstance. As Nadia walked over to him with a brazen smile on her face, Hugh had a sudden realisation that he wasn’t nearly as old as he thought he was.

Come here and kiss me already Daniel, Nadia said to Hugh.

Hugh stumbled for words But...um...I...am....just...

Oh shut up. Nadia said while embracing Hugh and pushing her hand go up inside his shirt.

"I wrestle with your conscience, you wrestle, with your partner, sitting on a windowsill and he spends his time behind closed doors now, check out mr business man uh-a-oh ..."

Daniel walked around the back of the counter to find some water to soothe his dry mouth after licking most of the dust from what he thought tasted like yesterday’s late morning. To his surprise all he really noticed, apart from the tap that was his goal, was a nice pair of legs and a really saggy old-man arse. In Daniel’s state, that was a very confusing thing until his rational mind kicked back in with the realisation of what it was.

Breakin’ up as he opens the door uh-a-oh...

2

Today...

Of all the things that separate us all as people, the one thing that everyone has in common, is that we all think that we are above average drivers proclaimed one of the ever-too-young accountants, that today had been beaten out of that forever sort after corner booth by a gaggle of lawyers fresh from some sort of quazi-humorous victory.

‘Wankers’ muttered Daniel.

Daniel was leaning up against a red lanolin counter with highly polished,