“The Sexy Scale” – An Excerpt from Chapter 1

I promised yesterday to provide a blog entry titled, “Rob Parker and the Deconstruction of Black Jesus.” It’s still coming but I had a difficult time finding the sources I was going to use for an angle. Without those, it would have taken an essay to not sound like an ass, and that’s too much detail for a blog post. A new angle that allowed a concise point and precision was discovered at 1:30 AM, but it was too late for me to write it. In its place, I am sharing a short excerpt from a novel I began four years ago called, “The Sexy Scale.” If people want to see more, I will post more. It’s a fun story and I hope you all can forgive me for not looking up my sources before promising a deadline. Lesson learned. In the meantime, check this excerpt out and come back later for the deconstruction RGIII’s alter ego.

Chapter 1

People used to look at the sky for inspiration. In the year 2010, no one looks at the moon anymore. Ancient civilizations from across the globe founded religions and sciences from observing the stars. The sky was where people went to answer questions about the Earth and about themselves. Marcus did not feel special for taking a moment to appreciate the moon. He just liked sprawling out in the backyard of his house to enjoy the fickle winter weather which had gone from a burning chill to a sudden burst of warmth like the attention from a woman. The sun was actually visible today and the sky a Caribbean water blue, the best blue hue. Bears came out of their hibernation for one day just to swim and drink honey from trees, or at least that’s what Marcus would do if he were a bear. Philosophically, animals are people also – they get happy, become sad, feel anger, and become horny just like any human he had ever known. Marcus closed his eyes and envisioned himself at a different time, as a different animal that had nothing to worry about except survival.

A lone, lost ant was walking along the edge of the patio. Marcus instinctively open his eyes. He was surprised that he noticed the ant from so far away without his glasses. How does an ant get lost from everyone else? As far as he knew, only worker ants came outside the colony to bring back food and resources. Why else would ants come out? What could make one ant get lost? Maybe the ant’s girlfriend stood him up. Wait a minute… Do ants have girlfriends? Marcus rolled onto his side and decided he would Google it later. Maybe I should at least take him to the grass. Just then, the wind picked up and carried Mr. Ant out of Marcus’ peripheral. They made eye contact as the ant person was thrown five ant miles to the end of the backyard. Damn, Zeus works in mysterious ways. Marcus retreated to the safety of his home.

 The backdoor of his house led to the kitchen which reminded him of home. His Mom would have red Kool-Aid ready for him once he came inside the house, already poured in a tall cup. In Marcus’ early teens, he became an avid reader of the Romantic poets. He was well read enough in a few poets to recite some of their work verbatim. Marcus tried to emulate the habits of the Romantics by going outside to the backyard, being one with the world, and observing beauty in nature. But it could be hard to do that in the afternoons when other guys his age were blasting music as loud as they could from their cars: a mating call. Hearing them pass was a reminder that he was not as cool as maybe he should strive to be. If a guy had a car, shitty or not, all he had to do was play the popular song of the day with as much bass as the car could handle, and the most attractive girls in the neighborhood would create a stampede to the car, like ladies of course. A few days later, the same girls would claim to be in love. Marcus was unsure what to make of this observation at the time. He woke up hours before the sun rose one morning and sat outside to write his first poem simply called, “Girls” :

A fish has a brain but does not use it220px-William_Blake_by_Thomas_Phillips
Responding only to its desires
Even if it knows better
It will take the bait and
Throw itself to fate
Like trying to judge the scales
Without a counterweight

Marcus knew it was a shitty poem but showed it to his parents anyway. His Mom was ecstatic. His Dad wondered aloud if his only child was turning gay.

“One law for the lion and ox is oppression,” said Marcus after his Dad’s outburst.

“What the fuck does that even mean?”