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Have a nice time.

Are you talking to me?

Yeah. Have a nice time pal. Enjoy .

Are you having a nice time?

Of course, lovely time, simply a lovely time all the time. And you? Had a nice day?

Why should I?

Why should you what?

Have a nice day.

That's a stupid question isn't it?

No it isn't. Why should I have had a nice day? Tell me.

Gimme a reason.

What reason? Whoever mentioned reasons? I just asked you a simple question my friend. Have you had a nice day?

No.

Why not?

So now you want a reason?

No.

Then why ask me why not?

Cause you said no and I wanted to know why you said no.

You want to know why I didn't have a nice day, right?

No, wrong.

What's wrong?

What's wrong with you?

What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you?

What the fuck do you want?

I want to know why you said no when you could have said yes.

Fuck off.

Would you like another drink?

The fuck off didn't really work did it?

Nope, not at all.

So I might as well have the bloody drink now don't I?

What you having?

Another whiskey will work, one ice cube.

Here have a nice time drinking it.

Lets just not start with the have a nice time shit again ok? Don't you have anything else to say?

Well I did go to this party once…I wasn't invited, I think, but a couple of my friends where and I guess I just followed. It was a private thing in a nice warm house, not a nice big house but a very nice warm one and the host was a lovely old guy, not from around here you can always tell something like that, I mean, no one from around here dances like that, especially at that age. He had a sweet young girl following him around all night long, flirting and smooching and he seemed to be into it really, she was a friend of his daughter someone told me but I didn't really give a shit about details.

So there I was in his living room wasted as hell, can't move from the exhaustion and smoking another joint someone passed me around, I just love it when I go to these parties and some complete stranger hands me a joint, that's exactly what Jesus meant. The Dj was spinning right there in the living area and I was simply enjoying my smoke and having a lovely time looking at all the people moving and twisting beautiful people, gorgeous people, everybody having a splendid time.

I got the munchies. That's just it with munchies they don't creep on you like normal hunger does, you either have'em or you don't, and I got'em, I got'em bad. It's a house so there's got to be a kitchen and somehow I find this cute comfortable kitchen with a fresh loaf of bread on the counter and a delicious leg of lamb. In the fridge I find some peppercorn mustard sauce and there goes my lamb sandwich with peppercorn mustard sauce, fuckin ace. As soon as I have the first two bites I take a look around and it's as if the whole crowd has suddenly become aware of the munchies instinct. Everybody is in the goddam kitchen opening doors and cupboards and looking around for any edible stuff.

The leg of lamb disappeared faster than the coke and the rest of the kitchen was on the brink of extinction when the host walks in, watery eyes, smoke in hand, and a stupefied, inconsolable face. ‘What's happening here? That's all my food…' His sweet girl went over to him with a lamb sandwich, puts it to his mouth and tells him, ‘Relax lover boy, you can still have some.' He understood that it all makes sense, that this is the logical end that always eluded him, he took a big nice bite out of that sandwich and we all laughed happily. Our host laughed happily and we could see the pieces of sandwich in his mouth so we laughed even more, and he laughed even more and the sweet girl laughed her lovely sweet laugh even more and she grabbed his butt and he laughed the happiest laugh he has ever laughed in his entire life. Then he spat the sandwich in her face, twisted violently, made a couple of weird noises, clasped his heart and died.

Funny isn't it?

That's Funny?

Yeah funny, everybody having a nice time and this guy just having a nice time and then he drops dead and that's it, you know, funny…

Sorry mate but I just don't get your kind of fun. That's just simply hopeless, unbelievably hopeless.

Hopelessness can be funny. There's nothing more hopeless than irony and irony is in fact funny.

What how do you mean…? So death is a funny thing to you?

Not always. Some moments are. Like this one.

Eh? You're one fucked up kid man.

Take this guy, he's in his home, at a bad ass party he threw, with his prize babe, eating a lovely sandwich then click he dies. The moment of death and the sudden change of fate are humorous.

Yeah right!?

Even if faced with certain death die laughing.

Huh? What's that supposed to mean.

A wise man once said that.

Oh so you re suddenly a philosopher and quoter of wise men.

What's the use of reading if you keep it all to yourself?

So now you're a preacher as well…

Everyone is a preacher. Don't you know what a preacher is?

A man with a mission? An evangelic agenda?

Nope. A preacher is a talker. That's all they do and that's all everybody does therefore everybody is a preacher.

You're starting to get interesting, on my nerves, but interesting.

That's funny. Why interesting?

Cos you sound so convinced, so sure of yourself. I used to be sure once. I used to be many things, including a psychiatrist, now I quit. It was one of my last cases, can't let go of it, a fifteen year old kid committed suicide, these are the last words he wrote.

'I'm saying the same things I said last night all over again, the same things that fill my waking hours, the same things I'll have on my mind when I'll call it a day. It's 3.24a.m. , I'm lost in the middle of no time, the time you know you shouldn't be aware of, where there's no where left to go but bed, nothing left to do but sleep and nothing left to feel but tired. At this junction the time doesn't pass, it crawls, sticking to the same minutes and the same hour as if the present is eating away at the future and doesn't want to let go. I can't help it, I can't help anything, not even my own head, not even my own eyelids, not even these hands while writing this crap. My brain just keeps switching on when I want it, need it, to switch off, eyes are heavy but wide open, mouth can't move but stomach is begging, I feel holes all in side me, I'm one big black hole in here, the doctors won't find anything in my autopsy just a hollow mannequin eating himself from the inside. I can't help my own existence at this moment in time which keeps dragging me, relentlessly pushing my thoughts into those locked dark corners at the back of my head, the dead ends I never want to find again, the dead ends I'll regret. I don't know what's going on, I'm just seeing films in my head, scenes I thought I forgot, stop it dad, don't do that mom, I love you dad, don't do that, no no please mom please I love you I can't help it I can't do this you have to I have to the dog has to die kill it no please yes no tell me you're sorry I am sorry I thought I am good not good enough please mom don't…

It's 4.13 and I'm at war, no secret missions, no plans, no negotiations just the hard facts, a knife and the blood is already crying please no mom, I'm ugly, they hate me I wish I was never born and they are all right and I hate them all for being right about me and I hate myself for having to agree with all of them but I can't help it cause they are saying the truth and I don't know the truth they are the ones I cry for at night and I'll better quit and disappoint them cause that's what they're used to life is a disappointment and I want to disappoint it lost in no time no armies no soldiers no guns and tanks no navy no air force just me just one single nuclear suicide bombing without the fire without the fanfair just me and my blood and nothing anymore can help. '

This was Ray, his mom was a 30 year old smack addict, I still wonder how she survived to 30 my self, his dad was the greatest piece of shit the earth has ever allowed to exist and he was locked in a room for most of his life. The only friend he ever had was a kid who used to get him a couple of books and movies now and again but he died a couple of months ago, he cut his wrists just like this kid did. To top it all up when they autopsied Ray they found a tumor the size of a walnut growing in his frontal lobe.

So tell me Mr. Have-a-nice-time and live-a-happy-life guy, what chances did this kid ever get of living a nice life? 

It's not about living a lovely life it's about having a good time and living beautiful moments. This kid must have had beautiful moments, he must have had some memories, even a single one is enough, which he held on to in his head as he dissipated into nothing making his death a blissful one.

You call a fifteen year old who commits suicide a blissful moment?? What pills are you on? What the fuck is wrong with you? Who are you to speak about life, death and fun so blatantly?

Suicide isn't that bad you know. I've been there done that. Just a bang, a headache and an itch…The bang and the headache where quick…I still get the itch sometimes though….

You attempted suicide?

I committed suicide.

Fuck off. I just can't take this bullshit.

No seriously, look at the back of my head, what do you see?

What the fuck is that?

Bullet puncture.

Shit! That's some good piece of cosmetic art, what where you doing, acting in some low quality flick or something?

No I have just committed suicide.

…yeah!….sure!

I did. I blew my brains out. You can touch it if you want. It's still dripping and stuff.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. You're some crap actor, with a bloody good make up artist's work and I don't need to touch anything.

Oh, this reminds me do you know what that shit over there is about?

Oh you mean the video with that ugly fuck on it.

Yeah that and the rest.

Yeah apparently there is some art wankery going on in there, useless mental masturbation.

Hey this bar stool is reaching up inside me. I need to move a little, wanna go check that thing out and continue with our little chit chat.

Hmm yeah I hate this kinda thing. These are probably a bunch of artsy-fartsy wankers, majority-wise... possibly of middle-class origins, who are always saying they'll do this or that and never getting off their arses to do it, and this is all they can do…art.

Isn't it enough?

Enough? oh come on.. Look at that stuff we saw over there…a bunch of crappy photos with black stripes over their eyes…so fuckin what? What's that wanker's point anyway?

Hmm.

Well I guess yeah I mean we are being farts ourselves cause we're looking at this shit.

That's one way of looking at it…

Hell look at that they put writing on the wall. I m not gonna bother with reading it, the pretty pictures will do as a sideling to our chit chat but hell who would want to read at an exhibition, as if it will enlighten me to anything about anything.

Hmm so you're having a nice time huh.

Yeah the sooner this is over the better I will feel.

The sooner what is over? Our little excursion or what?

Well probably my subconscious reference was to life in general.

Oh, well have a nice time.

Will you just stop saying that.

Ok ok... you know what you had said about artsy-fartsy before, it mostly applies to us.

What are you on about now?

Like you know…you're here and I‘m here and we talk and we regard our talk as if it is the most important shit around, we esteem our little thing but we can't give a fuck about what's around us.

So you mean we should get ourselves involved, all touchy and artsy, all in tune with our surrounding and shit. Don't go get mystical on me; it was better when you were up with the have a nice time chant. Hey I'm half drunk, I'm usually nicer than this and I'm not so hard inside. I'm like that picture over there, with that guy splitting in two or something, that's exactly how I am feeling right now, that face is what I feel. But what the fuck, what's the use? Why talk anymore? Why paint about it?

You'd probably feel better after painting it I guess, you know, some talk, some right, some paint or shoot it or something.

But you didn't actually do anything did you? I mean you got a load off your chest and that's it. You don't actually change anything do you?

So?

So why do it at all?? Why not sleep all day long?

It's like listening to music, a song, you don't actually do anything but just by listening to it you get that moment of beauty while the tunes are running through your head. Maybe after all, all we can ever hope to achieve is a true moment.

A what?

A moment. That's all we actually have and that's where everything is possible.

But how can we live only for a moment?

We don't need to try, we already do, always do, you just aren't aware of it. You only feel now, the present, you might have some memory of other moments but that's cloudy, distorted, and embellished. This moment is the only real one. And now it's gone and so has this one.

Now you're really fucking with me.

Just consider it for a second. Now, at this point in time, can you feel what you felt in exactly a second ago?

I know how I felt a second ago, I felt just like I'm feeling now.

That's not the point. You know how you felt a second ago because its differences from that second to the present one were a bit too small to actually register but the differences where there…Your brain is simply trying to give you a coherent picture by neglecting the irrelevant, by trying to give you a sequence which makes logical sense. If the details weren't neglected any single moment would become a separate existence without any in betweens.

Let's just say, for a second, that what you're saying is true, you're still in the same sinking boat I am in chap. Cause how does knowing that this is going on, without ever being capable of truly experiencing it, change anything?

I do experience it. I live forever in moments. I don't live life anymore, not this whole chaotic thing, always trying to figure it out. I'm done with figuring out things, I can't even try to do that anymore. I just feel moments, one after the other, but each one separate, each one true, no strings attached.

That's impossible.

I blew my brains out remember?

Fuck off. I'm off to take a piss.

Enjoy the moment.

Fuck off.

Have a nice day.

Fuck off.

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Literature by :

Anton Bonnici and Glen Galea

Soundtrack by:

Spooky Monkey