von Jacques Pinard Brown (Copyright)

I was perfect, I realized. Not Messiah perfect, like Jesus, or even Buddha, but a close second.

It was because one day, as I was walking down the street, it suddenly occurred to me that I was genetically perfect. That is, I was as genetically perfect as any human had ever been, therefore, I was perfect. As the realization of this genetical perfection of mine gradually sunk in, it dawned on me that I would have to do something constructive with my new found powers. In this regard I would need help, for I realized, the world was a troubled place. The local police station seemed like a good place to offer my services so I strolled over.

I walked up to the counter and said to the officer behind it “I have arrived.”
He looked up in a perplexed fashion and said “What?”
“I have arrived” I repeated myself, and added, “To solve some problems, of which I hear you people have your fair share, now, how can I be of service.”
The cop wasn’t busy with anything pressing so decided to humor me a bit longer.
“What makes you think there is anything you would be able to help us with?” he said smugly.

I explained my newfound perfection to him and assured him that it went hand in hand with vast cosmic powers, which in turn I would be able to use for the better of mankind, if I could only find a serious problem to solve.

“Why don’t you re-align the universe and solve all our problems?” he said and his fellow officers in the squad room laughed.
“That is the best idea I’ve heard all day.” I said and went to stand in a corner to re-align the universe. I stood there and concentrated, deciding that only a few minor adjustments to the cosmic wheels would be necessary. I re-aligned them slightly and then stopped to catch my breath and wipe a bit of sweat off my brow.

Just then someone off the street ran in and said, “ Have you people heard, George Bush just won the election.” ‘Shit, what have I done’ I thought to myself. I would better have to re-adjust the cosmic wheels back to the way they were. I went and stood in the corner and concentrated, but try as I might, I could not turn those big abstract wheels of time and space back to their original positions. I tried and tried till the sweat ran in rivulets down my face.

When I realized I was going to have no success, I turned back to the cop behind the counter and said, “ I confess, it was me, it is all my fault, and whatever happens hereafter is all also going to be my fault. I re-adjusted the wheels of the universe, but you proposed it.” I added accusingly.

The cop’s former good mood evaporated, because of what I had just said, or because of the news of the American presidential elections, I do not know to this day. But his whole demeanor towards me changed in a second, a bit scizo-like.

“Right, that’s it, off to the loony-bin with you.” he said, and momentarily six huge cops overpowered me and forced me into the most uncomfortable white sleeveless jacket I have ever been fitted with.

The ‘hospital’, as they refer to it, looks like one from the outside, with lovely rolling lawns and old Victorian red brick buildings. The inside, I found out later, looks more like scenes from Dante’s ‘Inferno’.

The white jacketed Doctor across from me asked the questions.
“What day is it today?” she asked. “Does it really matter, if you consider the bigger question? What is time? According to Janice Joplin ‘it’s all the same fucking day’ in anycase, man.” I replied.
A bit annoyed she continued, “What does it mean when I say ‘the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’?”
“It means the tree isn’t standing on a hill.” I replied.
Now genuinely agitated she tried one more “ What does it mean when I say ‘people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones?’”
“That would mean exactly the opposite of ‘ people in stone houses shouldn’t throw glasses.’” I replied.
Her final question to me was “Mr. Smith, do you drink?”
“It’s a bit early in the morning, but what the hell, make it a double.” I said enthusiastically.

So now I’ve been sitting in this little padded room for the last few years, while Bush is going bomb happy. Why don’t I change things back? You ask. Well, I’ve been trying all this time, but when I re-aligned the universe, my perfection slipped out of place a fraction, thus I am not perfect anymore, not even close. Being imperfect also means being virtually powerless. Certainly without any cosmic powers.

I can do nothing but try, under heavy sedation, but perfection eludes me. How can I ever regain my perfection and re-adjust the cosmic wheels again? If anything ever seemed impossible to me, this does. Turn Oh Cosmic Wheels, why won’t you turn?