RuKsaK

If you haven’t done so, you have to read Convincing the Monkey first, or this will make little sense.
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Living in Seoul I can’t help thinking about the Monkey again. Almost every time I walk into the screeching grey slants of my hi-tech building I wonder what he’d think. There’s not the faintest whiff of nostalgia in the building, it’s all jumping into next week, and I feel the need to rip the monkey from his jungle-lazing to see this example of what he started. The place is pristine, with a terrible shininess that could only be manmade, efficiency which worries you from how good it is. It’s a hyper building. It’s a few million crisp, dark silver lines pushed into two different angles, for standing on and leaning on. It’s a perfect bastardisation. It’s a half-deceased robot. It’s perfect for the Monkey because I want revenge.
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‘What do you think, you banana freaking cunt?’
‘How do you do that?’
‘Do what?’
‘Call me a cunt. I’m a monkey which has this language nonsense blasted through him. I’m not a fleshy hole for fucking.’
‘Jesus! Alright – I brought you here to see this city. See my workplace.’
‘Are you gonna talk about this stupid work idea again?’
‘Yes, but today you’re coming for the whole day. I get taxis now – they’re smaller, quieter boxes than the ones I showed you in Moscow.’
‘Alright. I’m coming then.’
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The Monkey curled in a ball for the taxi journey. He didn’t see any buildings until we got to mine. He rolled out of the car and I could see his eyes working out the edges of the building.
‘It’s not green. I can’t climb it either. There’s no green – where’s my green?’
‘Grey is the new green Monkey. I’ll show you how we climb. We’ve made that easy.’
‘It used to be easy anyway. It doesn’t look like it is now.’

We got into the hard-cornered elevator. The doors glided to a close and a sexy mechanical voice spoke down to us, telling us snobbishly about the floor I’d selected. In this metal box we whirred up the centre of the building with computerised grace.
‘What is this?’ The Monkey asked, looking panicked.
‘This is us climbing. Fuck branches – this is how we swing around now.’ I said patting my pot belly. The Monkey didn’t get it, but I smirked anyway, and all the more.
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‘Why did we come here at all?’
‘I work here. Got to get my eight or nine hours in.’
‘Eight or nine what?’
‘Hours. You do know what an hour is, don’t you?’
‘No – what is it?’
‘Christ! It’s a piece of time. You know every time the sun comes up and goes down. We’ve managed to cut that up into twenty-four pieces.’
‘Fuck! How and why did you do that?’
‘This way we know how many to give to stuff like work. We give it usually forty or more hours in a week.’
‘A week?’
‘Fuck me! That’s seven of the twenty-four bits.’
‘This place is terrible. It’s all sharp and noisy. Why do you give it forty or more of your cut up sunny bits?’

It came from nowhere, but just as we reached the floor I grabbed the Monkey and rammed his neck against the sturdy metal wall of the elevator. I was in a raging from somewhere. I never get this angry:

‘You smug motherfucker. I don’t want fucking bananas and bananas all the time. My fucking bananas are better than yours. You’ve got the same frigging banana over and over. I’ve got a million different bananas and those forty hours are what gets them for me.’
‘Alright! Alright! So, when you cut up the day and the night, do you cut the day into smaller pieces? I mean you could take the little slices and give forty little slices to this place for your multi-banananess.’
‘No! No! No! The pieces have to be all the same. It’s obvious.’
‘Not to me. Anyway, what do you do with the other pieces?’
‘When the weekend comes we get forty-eight of them to spend how we like.’
‘Whoa! You’ve lost me. You cut up the day and night into pieces and you give all these pieces legs?’
‘Legs? What the fuck are you talking about?’
‘You just said forty-eight of them walk up to you and give themselves to you.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You said that this ‘weekend’ thing comes to you.’
‘Well, it doesn’t walk to me. I mean it, well, it waits.’
‘Where does it wait? Can we go and see it now? This place is fucking awful.’
‘No, I mean, we have to wait for it. It doesn’t come to us, but we have wait for it. We can’t go to it. It’s coming, because it’s there, it’s going to happen.’

The Monkey looked at me with more brain than almost everyone I know seems to show. He threw a slow, masterfully smug grin at me.

‘You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. You’ve sliced the light and dark of things into twenty-four pieces and you don’t even know where it is, what it looks like and how it works. You’ve fucked it right up, and you know you have. Just for a million bananas. You are the cunt and I wouldn’t stick this in you.’

I looked down and his grin was quivering with each waggle of his taunting cock. I had no words to describe that.
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In Monkey 2, the Monkey fills me in on the subject of love.

Sunday, March 27, 2005

Monkey 1