The Bothersome Hell is Elsewhere

[commonpeople1]

Den brysomme mannen is a modern allegory about a man trapped in a nameless city, unable to escape or relate to any of its IKEA-loving, passionless inhabitants. Hot chocolate tastes like nothing, women don't care if you cheat on them (but that becomes irrelevant since sex is manual and devoid of feeling), booze can't get you drunk, and even suicide brings you back to point zero, ala Groundhog Day. What starts out humorous gradually descends into horror as the most banal aspects of that purgatory begin to resemble our own: people at dinner parties only discuss their professions, work mates spend an hour wondering which catalogue sofa is more comfortable, etc. It reminded me of a world where everyone is on Prozac, where the breakdown of family is complete and a sense of existence is pointless. In other words, it could be where we are heading!

Nothing better than a visit to the park, on a sunny Saturday afternoon, to dispel the gloom. Smear the body with factor 15; stomach in, chest out; Guardian, sheet and paper journal in the bag; and off I go to the local bagel shop for salmon & cream cheese and an açaí drink (with mango). I find a spot under the trees where the sun still reaches. Cute, shirtless boys run their laps; athletic gods kick a ball at each other; a waif in low-hung cotton tracks saunters nearby: everything is good with the world.

Later, when Kevin has joined me, I lie on my side and listen to Debussy's Valse Romantique [listen] on his mini-iPod. I watch the men run back & forth, playing football, a pair of trees between us. Dandelion seeds float in the air, like tiny spaceships looking for a port to land. They float and waver in the wind to the sound of the music in my ears, in & out of the shades cast by the trees. I could so easily fall asleep.