A Boy Who Broke Into My Window

Posted on January 24, 2011


It was a quiet day when I decided to be reclusive. Before me stood a heavy flood of traffic, endless informations, people and habits I’d never need. The only idea I had was to lie high and dry motionless up here in my room, nibbling the herb plants that grew all over the wall.

0 people die every year from smoking pot. 115 die in vehicle crash.

I wouldn’t look away, I would stay here forever.

But a view from my window had braved me. A boy was spotted playing guitar. His hair was dark, his shirt was grey, and he was in black and white.

The posters behind him were black and white. He was sitting in the center of a black and white room surrounded by a hundred years of music history and hundred dollars of black and white music objects. At least that was what his guitar, posters, condenser microphone, midi keyboard, and macbook told me.

He might be rehearsing for a gig, he might be the dead rock star whose rough demo we would listen to in next 30 years, after the looney founded greyscaled alone in his bedroom. He might be the trend of the future. He might bring us out of this boredom. We could be fearless with him in this world.

I shifted closer to the hollow square of my room, a cage where world could force its diaphragm into my room and eat me anytime. But from there, I could watch him sitting rather side-angled, rattling those strings. I watched him and listened to him playing the song for a minute and fifty six seconds.

Isn’t it good to be lost in the wood
isn’t it bad so quiet there, in the wood

For the first time I was half in love with the tendency of jumping across my window. And so with the intensity of taking that 115% risk of stepping outside.

His voice reached out to me and broke into my window, I thought I heard him telling me that his country has the best music and for a split second I thought he was beckoning me. He took me by my hand I wasn’t sure how. He took me by my ears and I was sure I was functioning, because I could still hear him singing and talking at the same time and I realized the dope was enough to get it all going.

I would throw myself into his window and tell him how I wished to jump there as the fragments are ready to hurt him. Or was he already inside my room, my mad frame of mind. Who was he, what was he, where was he actually. Or were we actually in the same room.

But my window was still opened.

That mind-melting experience was only a click away from me. It was only a window, flammable, breakable. I could close it anytime, I could crash and burn it down, I could fist fight it, I could shove my PC to it. We could have been closer without the hassle and bulk of this window.

It was only a window, I could nail it down, I told my mind to get a grip. Where’s the grip?

I seized some grasses near my window and set the only bridge between us on fire.

My wrecking spree, free me.

February 2009.

Thank you Roger Keith Barrett, for showing us one of the experiential approach to life.