Art and the philosophy of life

Posts tagged ‘The interview’


“Where did you meet her?”

“By my pond.  She was sitting on a bench, having lunch.  I think she was eating a cheese sandwich with pickles.  She had chips as well.  I herd them crunching, as she bit into them.”

“When did she notice you?” asked the interviewer.

“I croaked at her.  She looked down at me and smiled.  Then she said hello and offered me a bit of bread.  I like flies, but I didn’t think it would be polite to ask her to catch any for me, so I just smiled back.”

“Then what happened?”

“She told me about her life.  What had happened in the past and how she felt about the future.”

“What did you say?”

“Well, I croaked some more, telling her that everything would be okay, but I’m not sure she understood everything I said.”

“I can understand the language problems.  Not unusual, of course.”

“No.  It’s quite common, actually.”

“Please tell me more,” said the interviewer.

“In the end, she asked if she could kiss me.  She said it was possible that I was her prince.”

“What did you say?”

“I didn’t think it was true.  But she was very sad, so I told her that she could kiss me.”

“Then what happened?”

“She held out her hand and I hopped on.”


“She smiled at me and said that if I wasn’t her prince, it would be okay, and she would love me no matter what happened.  She said she was grateful for my help.”

“Is that when she kissed you?”

“Yes.  She kissed me gently, then waited.”

“So you didn’t turn into her prince, did you,” signed the interviewer.

“Oh, yes.  I did turn into her prince.  Apparently, I was quite handsome, if she is to be believed.”

“Well, why aren’t you together?” asked the interviewer, quickly, looking around.  “Where is she?”

“She went home to pack.  We’re running away.  Going  someplace with bigger ponds.”

“Are you able to stay in human form for long periods of time?”

“I’m not sure.  It’s something I’ll have to get used to, I suppose.”

“And she’s okay with that?”

“We’re still working out the details.”

“Well, good luck to both of you, and may you have a long and wonderful life together.”

“Thank you very much.  I hope you have a nice day.”

“You too,” said the interviewer, closing her folder.  Thank you for your time.”


Photo:  Ksama





The Interview…

silhouette of camel

“Hello,” he said.

The camel looked at him.

“What’s your name?”

“Jeffery, what’s yours?”

“Tommy.  It’s nice to meet you,” he said.  “Can I ask you a few questions?”

“I don’t know.  Can you?”

“It’s hot out here.”

“It’s a desert,” said the camel, flatly.  “Deserts are hot.”

“Do you know anything about the camels and the three wise men?”

“Not this again,” sighed the camel.  “Look, the camels never found one wise man, let alone three of them, and that whole manger thing never happened.  Camels aren’t taxi cabs, although you’d never know it by the way we’re treated.  Yes, camels stopped by an inn, but all they saw was a newborn girl.  The camels were on the way to a family reunion and wanted to stop at the inn to get something to drink.  But you guys will believe ANYTHING.  Do you have any idea how much money people spend on statues of camels for the holiday you made up?  A lot.  And for what? Camels don’t get a kick back, you know.   Now, ask me something else before I stomp on you.”

“Did you know those camels?”

“Seriously?  Do I look that old to you?”

“No.  Of course not.”

“Why don’t you go ask lambs, or shepherds, or inn keepers what they think about that story?”

“I just thought camels were smart and would know stuff.”

“Well, we are smart,” said the camel, holding his head high.

“Is it true that camels spit at people?”



“Because it’s fun, and because people make us carry a lot of heavy stuff, including them.  How would you like it?  It’s not as if we have a choice.  We’re tied up and can’t escape.”

“I’m sorry.  That’ does sound horrible.”

“It is.”

“Do you know that you’re called ships of the desert?”

“That shows how stupid you are.  Ships need water.  Water is not abundant in a desert, in case you haven’t noticed.  Ships my hoofs.  And why do you people think you should be carried everywhere?  How is that MY job, to get you from place to place?”

“I don’t know.  I never rode on a camel.”

“Well, see that you never do.  How would you like to carry me?”

“I don’t think it would be possible,” he said, honestly.

“No one carries us anywhere.”

“You’re heavy.”


“I’m just saying that if you wanted me to carry you somewhere I couldn’t do it, because I couldn’t lift you.”

“Don’t you wonder about that?”

“About what?” he asked.

“About the fact that you’re weak, scrawny, things and yet you chain every other being up up for your own use?”

“I’m sorry.”

“A lot good that does,” said the camel, turning his back on the man.  “Go away.  I’m thinking of how I can escape.”

“Can I help?”


“Sure,” said Tommy.  “Just tell me what I can do.”

“Take this stuff off of me.  The reins and everything else.”

“Okay,” he said, as he pulled things off the camel.  “How’s that?” he asked, dropping everything to the sand.

“I owe you one,” said the camel.

“No. You don’t,” said Tommy.  “Have a good life.”

The camel nodded and walked toward the setting sun.  Free at last.  Tommy smiled and went back to his Jeep.

A Happy Ending…



Photo:  Mariam Soliman


The Interview…

pink piglet

“Excuse me,” said the interviewer.  “Do you have a second or two?”

“I have a couple of minutes,” said the piglet, “but no more than that, why?”

“I have some questions,” he said, opening his notebook.  “I’m doing research and wanted to know if, as a little piggy, you’ve ever been to market.”

“What’s a market?”

“That would be a no, then,” he said.  “Have you ever stayed home?”

“I move around with the other pigs, so anywhere they are is home.”

“Have you ever had roast beef?”

“I’m leaving,” squealed the piggy.  “You’re a sick man.”

“Just two more.  Please.”

“I don’t like you and I’m a sweet piggy, so that says a lot about you.”

“Have you ever had none.”

“None what?”

“Have you ever gone whee, whee, whee, whee, all the way home?”

“MOM!  THIS MAN IS SCARING ME,” cried the piggy.

His mother, a lovely and gigantic sow, came to his side.

“Why are you talking to my piglet?”

“I just had a few questions.  I didn’t mean to upset him.”

“Do you like bacon?” she grunted.


“How about pork chops?” she asked, nosing her piglet behind her.

“No?” he said, slowly.

“How about ham?”

“Look, I have to go so…”

He turned, but it was far too late.  He was already surrounded by wild pigs, in all shapes and sizes, and while piggies are nice to people who don’t slaughter and eat them, they aren’t so nice to those who do.

His body was never found, of course, and the sweet piglet was told never to talk to strangers again.  It was a lesson he learned very well.  His only question was, “Why do they think it’s okay to kill us, and they aren’t considered bad, but it’s not okay when we kill them and they say that we are?”

“Because they’re hypocrites, my darling.  Then she had to explain what that meant, but all in all, the piglet got the gist of is.

Photo:  Forest Simon

The Interview…

Sheep, Livestock, Head, Winter Wool

“Is it true that when you were a lamb, you knew a girl named Mary?”

“Yes,” said the sheep.  “I knew a girl named Mary.”

“Did you follow her to school each day?” asked the interviewer.

“She was terrible with directions.  If I hadn’t been there, she would have gotten lost and then I would have had to go and find her.  It wasn’t worth it, so I just walked her to school.  That way I had the rest of the day to graze and hang out with my friends.”

“But wasn’t it against the rules for a lamb to be at the school?”

“Who makes up the rules?” asked the sheep.

“I’m not sure.  The School Board, I would imagine.”

“Sheep don’t recognize the School Board.”

“I see.”

“Sheep have their own rules.”

“It’s been said that you made the children laugh and cry,” said the interviewer, tapping his pen on the tablet he was holding.

“Seeing a sheep isn’t a big deal around here.  We’re everywhere.  The children, were probably laughing and crying at Mary.  She dances a lot.”


“Yes. It’s where you move your feet and arms to a beat.  Dancing.  You do know what dancing is, don’t you?”

“She danced?”

“She was a free spirit.”

“So you weren’t responsible for making the children laugh and cry.”

“I don’t see how.  I just dropped her off and went back to the meadow.”

“I’ve noticed that your fleece isn’t as white as snow.”

“Depends on the light.”

“Where is Mary now?”

“She just graduated from college.”

“Do you still see her?”

“Of course.  We’re friends, why wouldn’t I see her?”

“You seem to be a nice sheep,” said the interviewer, putting away his pen.

“How many sheep do you know?”

“Uh,” he said, thoughtfully. “You’re the only one, actually.”

“Then you have nothing to compare me to.”

“That’s true, but you seem very nice.”

“Do you eat lamb chops?”

“I have to go,” he said, backing up.

“How about veal?”

The interviewer started running.

“Is your jacket made of wool?” asked another sheep, who was suddenly blocking his path.

The interviewer tried to get around the sheep, who was standing in his way, but more and more sheep were suddenly surrounding him.

In the end, no one heard him screaming.  That’s how it is in the country.  Lots of open spaces and places to dump a body.

After their work was finished, the flock went on their merry way and spent the day chatting and sunning themselves.  They were free roaming sheep, after all.  As for humans, Mary was the only one who knew where they roamed.





The interview…

woman in black and white long sleeve dress

“And you are?” asked the interviewer.

“The Winter Lady.  My mother is the Winter Queen.  Who did you think I was?”

“Uh, I wasn’t sure.”

“Who do I look like?”

“A beautiful snow fairy.”

“Thanks,” she said, fluffing her hair.  “Close enough.”

“What is it that you do?”


“Yes.  What’s your job description?”

“I’m the WINTER LADY.  That’s is my job description.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to understand.  You aren’t part of my world.”

“I see.”

“Do you?” she asked.

“No.  Not really.  I don’t know where Fairy is.”

“You aren’t supposed to know where Fairy is.”

“Why are you here, instead of there?”

“I’m going to an art opening.”


“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing, why?” asked the interviewer, frowning.

“How can you be surprised that I’m going to an art opening?”

The interviewer shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I guess I didn’t think fairies ever left fairy.”


“Yes.  Seriously.  Which gallery and who’s the artist?”

“Gallery 57 and I’m the artist.”

“No kidding.”

“Go away.”

“Excuse me?”


“No?” said the interviewer.

“I won’t excuse you and I want you to GO AWAY, or I’ll freezes the blood in your veins.”

“Can you do that?”


“Do you want to get a coffee or something?”



“Sure, okay,” said the Winter Lady.

“Did you design your outfit?” asked the interviewer, as they walked along.


“I love it.”

“Thank you.”

“Can I come to fairy.”


“Why not?”

“You’ll end up being someone’s pet.”

“Is that a bad thing?”


“Can I come to the gallery opening?”

“I don’t see why not.  It’s open to everyone.”


“Just don’t eat or drink anything, don’t accept any gifts, or make any promises.”

“Will I die if I do?”

“Something like that.”

“Good to know.”

“Don’t dance with anyone, or look them in the eyes.  You know what,” said the Winter Lady.


“You can’t come to the opening.”


“Too dangerous.”

“I can’t believe how beautiful you are.”

“All fairies are beautiful, so it’s no big deal.”

“It is to me.”

“Only because you aren’t a fairy.”

“I guess.”

“Let’s get coffee here,” said the Winter Lady.

They walked in and sat down.

“Babe,” said the owner.

“Tom,” said the Winter Lady.  “How have you been?”

“Good.  How about you?”

“Excellent,” she said.

“Who’s your friend?”

“Some person who interviews people for a living.”

Tom nodded, took their order and left.

“Um, do you come here often?”

“It’s owned by Fairy.”

“So the people in here are fairies?”

The Winter Lady looked around.  “Some of them,” she said.

“Can I drink my drink?”

“Yes.  Tom knows you’re human.”


She laughed.  “Trust me.”

“What time is the opening?”

The Winter Lady looked at her watch.  “I should be there now.  I gotta go.  Take your drink and come on.”

“But it’s in a glass cup.”

“Don’t care.  Move!” she said, dragging her to the door.  “Don’t go back in there.”

“But, I didn’t actually ask you any questions.”

The Winter Lady laughed and faded from sight.



Photo:  Ben Scott




Can I ask you a few questions…The Interview.

man in red tank top wearing sunglasses

“My name?”

“Yes,” asked the reporter.  “What’s your name?”

“They call me Sky Boy.”


“Like, it’s my name, that’s why.”

“Sky Boy is your actual name?”

“You hard of hearing or something?”

“No.  Sorry.  It’s just an unusual name, that’s all,” said the reporter.

“You know about Charlie Bukowski?”

“The poet? Yes.  I’ve read some of his stuff.”

“He was a man of the streets.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, don’t you?”

“No.  Not really.  I think he was able to choose his lifestyle, rather than be forced to live it.”

“You didn’t like him?”

“Are you wearing designer shades?”

“Yeah. You got a problem with that, man?”

“No.  They look great,” said the reporter.  “How many packs a day do you smoke?”

“Enough.  Why?”

“Curious, that’s all.”

“Why are you talking to me?”

“You look as if you’ve had different life experiences than I have,” said the reporter,  “I just thought, if you felt like it, maybe you could educate me.”

“You want me to teach you what it’s like to be like me,” laughed the man.  “A pretty boy like you?”

“No.  I just want to know how you feel about life in general.”

“I feel as if most people are rode hard and put away wet.  That’s how I feel.   I got a degree from MIT, you know.  We probably aren’t as different as you think.”

“Seriously?  MIT?”

The man took a long drag and nodded.  “They wanted me to teach there.”

“Did you teach there?”

“No.  It was the sixties, man.  They were shooting kids on college campuses.  We were trying to stop an unjust war.”

“Did you do drugs?”

“You know Tim Leary?”

“I’ve read about him.”

“We were friends.”

“Well, I suppose that answers that.”

“I suppose it does.  Leary and Ram Dass died…all the good ones are gone, man.  All the ones who went to other places and saw what was there.  Gone.  They were the first ones to travel, man.  The pathfinders.”

“A lot of people suffer because they know people like them.  I guess there’s a cost to be paid for everything.”

“That’s the truth.  No free lunches, man.   None at all.”

“How have you spent your life?”

“You mean the part that’s already gone?” he chuckled.

The reporter laughed.  “Yes, that part.”

“I spent my life with wine, women and song, but not necessarily in that order.  Unless you’re born rich, or you are born rich but cut off from the money, your options are sometimes…shall we say, limited.  I wanted more out of life than a desk, a sweater vest, and a nest egg.  I wanted to live while I was young enough to enjoy it, not just make money to pass it on to a bunch of kids I might have had.  You know what I mean?  Kids trap you, man.  You have to worry about the damage you do to them because you want to be free and not be part of the machine.  Like Leary, like some of the best of them.  Look what they did to their offspring.  I never wanted to do that.  I saw it happening, man.  It was bad.  Even I could see that.”

“Do you think all of you stopped the war in Viet Nam?”

“Dam straight, Skippy.  We did it.  Got beaten bloody with billy clubs and fists, dragged down the street, locked up, but we brought those guys home.”

“Have you enjoy your life?”

“Hell yes,” he coughed.

“Was it worth it?”

“Worth what?”

“Worth not having a house, two, point five children, a yard and a dog.”

“Except for the dog, I never wanted those things.  Had them growing up.  Saw what it was like.  Turned me off, man.”


“It’s like a prison, man.  You spend your life taking care of things.”

“Look at Abbie Hoffman, Jerry Rubin, all the guys who eventually became part of the machine,” said the reporter.

“Sold out, man.”

“Maybe they just got tired of fighting and not getting anywhere.”

“Then the machine wins,” he said, taking another long drag.  “The machine wins.”

“Do you think you can ever beat the machine?”

“That’s open to interpretation, I guess.  Rather subjective, wouldn’t you say?  Like what does the Tao say, man?  Always go to the Tao.”

“Again, the cost is high, for living outside the brainwashing and conditioning of a culture.”

“That’s the only way they can keep people in line, man.  Punishment has to be severe and swift.  Have to constantly make examples of those who won’t toe the line.  What would happen if everyone wanted to be happy and free?  What would the vultures do then?  Who would need them?”

“You don’t think we should have some kind of government?”

He laughed. “You think that’s what we have?”

“What do you think it is.”

“Our owners, man.  Our masters.”

“Can I buy you dinner?”

“Naw, I’m good.  Going to volunteer at the animal shelter.  I love animals, man, but with my lifestyle, I can’t really have any.  Wouldn’t be fair to them.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you.  Thank you,” said the reporter.

“Stay safe, man.”

“You too.  Take care and I’ll drop by again, if that’s okay with you.”

“You can try, but I never know where I’ll be.”

“I’ll try n find you,” he said, walking away.

“You’ll only be able to do that if I want to be found,” he whispered.  “Ya gotta know how to disappear, man.   Gotta know how to become invisible.”


Photo:  Daniele Choicci


The Interview…

Skeleton, Scythe, Death, Art, Abstract

“Are you ready to begin?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said.  “Ask me anything.”

“You’re known by many names…”

“The only one I hate is, Grim Reaper. I’m never grim.  I’m basically happy and a lot of fun.”

“Fun and not grim,” she said, writing it down.  “Are you Death?”

“No, I’m a delivery service,” he said.  “Death is someone else.  When someone dies, I just take them from their bodies and bring them to wherever they’re going.”

“So, Uber,” she whispered, adding that to her list.

“Uber?  I don’t DRIVE the dead to their new place, I transport them.  Like in Star Trek, or Harry Potter.”

“Oh, okay, I get it,” she said, nodding at him.  “So, what do you do all day?  I mean do you have a hobby?”

“Do you have any idea how many people die every second?”

“No, not really.”

“Let me just say that there’s no time for a hobby.”

“Do you get any days off?”

“What do you think?”

She shrugged.  “So you work all the time?”

“Except for right now…yes.”

“Wow!  Thank you.”

“Bodies are piling up as we speak.  Souls, or at least that’s why you humans call them, are waiting to get off the planet.  If I don’t GET them, they won’t be able to continue their journey.”

“So you better go then,” she said, closing her notebook.  “I do have one more question.”


“Where did all the blood come from?” she asked, pointing around the room.

“Oh, that?” he said, looking at the walls and at his scythe.  From killing the demons who keep trying to get to earth and kill all of you.”

“I had no idea,” she stammered.

“You guys don’t know anything, believe me.  It’s a lot of work trying to keep you all alive.  Some of the demons do get past those of us who try to keep them out.  They’re all in government, of course, so they’re easy to spot.  Most of them are rage or power demons.”

“That explains a lot,” she said.  “I appreciate the fact that you took the time to speak with me,” she said, holding out her hand.


“Sure, why not?”

They shook hands and he misted before she could let go.

The Interview…


“My name is Pretty Bird.”

“That’s a lovely name and you are a very Pretty Bird.”

“That’s what everyone tells me but I don’t know if they mean that I’m really a pretty bird, or if they are just calling my name.”

“I can see where that could be a problem.”

“I’d like to think they are telling me that I’m pretty but my mother said not to take compliments seriously.  She said no one likes a conceited bird.”

“You seem perfectly normal in every way.  I don’t think your name has made you conceited.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“I’m here to interview you for Bird Magazine.”


“Yes, really.

“What do you want to know?”

“What’s it like being a bird?”

“I stand around a lot.  I eat, sleep, and play with toys.  I molt and preen.”

“Is that it?”

“Pretty much.”

“Do you go out?”

“All the time.  My person has been trained to let me sit on her shoulder and go everywhere she goes.”

“Where do you go?”

“To the coffee shop, to the pet store, to visit her friends, to art fairs…you know, just places.”

“Do you enjoy going out?”

“I’ve always gone out, so I don’t have anything to compare it to.”

“Well, thank you very much.  It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Pretty Bird.”

“What’s it like being a human?”

“Uh, I sit around a lot.  I eat, sleep, play with others, go to art fairs and preen.”

“I get that,” said Pretty Bird, bobbing up and down.

“I didn’t get it until just now,” said the reporter, shaking his head, sighing loudly. “Not until just now.”

The Interview…

“Santa?  Sure. We all knew him back then, when he was getting started.  People think he always existed but that’s not true.  There was a nice man who used to put toys in children’s shoes, when they left them outside.  But he wasn’t Santa.  Still,  that’s how this whole thing started.”  Santa’s Fae, you know. Mrs. Claus is as well.”

“Yes, my grandmother worked for them.  She cleaned their house.  They had a cook, as well and someone to do their laundry and shine Santa’s boots.  Mrs. Claus had her hands full.  All those elves and reindeer.  Her husband was either busy, or ignoring her.  He slept a lot.  No one understood why, he only worked one night a year.  She stopped caring, after awhile.  Started going out more, having fun.  No one faulted her for it.  Everyone felt sorry for her, although she did know a lot about the care and feeding of reindeer.  She loved them and now and then we would see her riding through the forest, her hair blowing in the wind.  The reindeer loved her too, including the wild ones.  They all came to her for carrots and caresses.  She took them in.  Brushed them, fed them, gave them a place to stay, if they wanted to rest.  They were her true joy.”

“Yes, she was beautiful.  He was big and clumsy. Gruff and lazy.  He used to walk through the toy shop because it was expected, not because he was interested.  I think she had a lover, at least I hope she did.  No, I don’t know if Santa found out.  I don’t think he would have cared, even if he knew.  My mother told me that she would come into the village to talk to the women.  She didn’t have any friends.  He tried to keep her isolated but she refused to stay put.  I think she went to Fairy a lot.  We all thought that’s where her lover was.  She seemed so happy when she returned…smiling and dancing in the woods”

“Yes, he always wore the red suit.  No, we don’t know why.  She dressed in flowing gossamer gowns and glowed brightly.  He didn’t deserve her.  Eventually, she spent more and more time in Fairy, until she stopped coming back altogether.  The reindeer missed her terribly.  I don’t know if Santa even knew she was gone.  She came back two years ago to dance with the reindeer.  We knew she was here because the deer were flying above the trees and leaping into the air.  Everyone felt better when she was around Her magic washed over us and made things so lovely.  But she couldn’t stay, you know.  She wasn’t happy here.  We heard that her love was a handsome fairy who loved her with his whole heart.  She loved him back and no one could ask someone to leave that behind.  She started taking the reindeer back with her, two and three at a time.  She missed them so much.  They all wanted to follow her.  Eventually, the forests were empty.  The only reindeer left were those who pulled the sleigh and they were depressed and sad.”

“We don’t really see the elves.  Once in a great while, a few of them will come into town but they keep to themselves.  They are very polite and never cause any trouble.  We’ve tried to make friends with them but won’t have it.”

“Yes, I ask for the same thing every year.  I don’t think Santa can give e what I want, so it’s not really his fault.  What do I ask for?  I ask to be young again.”





The Interview…


“Where am I?”

“We’re in your home state of Illinois, but we’re in Chicago, instead of Springfield.”

“Shouldn’t I be in Washington?”

“No one goes to Washington anymore, Sir.”

“Why not?”

“The military presence, the mine fields, barbed wire….”

“In Washington?”

“Yes, sir, in Washington. Washington is the stronghold for the elite.”

“What about, ‘We the people?'”

“The only real ‘people’ nowadays, are the ones who are rich and powerful.”

“But the government is supposed to work FOR the people,” said Lincoln, pacing back and forth.

“The government has always worked for itself, they just didn’t have the technology to take over until the beginning of the twenty fist century.”

“Why don’t people do something about the situation?”

“When the Civil War was fought, men ran at each other with guns and swords.  The playing field was equal.  It’s not like that any longer.  The bad guys can send armed drones to kill us, they don’t even have to use humans to fight against us.  They have all the weapons and we have sticks, in comparison.”

“Maybe I should run for office.”

“No one runs for office, they buy it.”

“But America was supposed to be a beacon for all that was good and right.  It stood for freedom and liberty for all.”

“Those things were never for everyone, Mr. Lincoln.  Those things were always just for powerful, wealthy, white males.  That hasn’t changed.   Today, however, America pretty much stand for greed, war and insanity.”

“What happened?”

“People stopped paying attention.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“I can’t think of anything but if you have any ideas, I would be happy to listen to them.”

“Maybe a train ride. I could stop at all the towns and cities, talk to the people, give speeches.  Maybe I could write a new Gettysburg Address .”

“I don’t think so, Sir.”

“Is this the end, then?”

“It’s the end of what was and the beginning of something else.”

“All great civilizations fall,” said Lincoln, rubbing his face with his hands. “I just thought we would last a lot longer than this.”




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