Something about my Lizards

When I was a young boy, I kept lizards. My friends called me psycho. I had six of them. I could have named them after the days of the week, but I didn’t. I was never good with names. I had almost completely forgotten about the lizards until yesterday, when my friend wept about a dead lizard on his windowpane. Locked between the jaws of the hinge, it got crushed- unlucky bastard, just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Once upon a time I had taken up a toy gun and aimed at a lizard that was silently stalking a winged prey against a blue wall. The aim had turned out to be perfect and it fell down much to the ignorance of its prey. It died then and there, one plastic bullet was good enough to crush its little brain. But it wasn’t me who did that, it was a friend, but since I like taking credits for myself, the story should be ‘me’ centric. I am psychopathic enough to keep lizards but not enough to practice aim on them. But I know of people who keep aquariums in their homes and eat fishes, never from the aquariums though, but why these selective persecutions- well indeed as the poet would say, some are born to sweet delight, some are born to endless night.

You get the allegory, right?

 I am just trying to sound smart.

My lizards made my room a dirt-bag. They littered around everywhere. I hardly complained. I liked living things. Life was good enough for me. Life in most forms. Life as long as it didn’t come in the form of wings. I never liked winged creatures in closed spaces. They made me uncomfortable. My lizards, my little six lizards would always come to my rescue. They would prey upon all these winged things, you know.

O, the architecture of my walls remind me of the spiders too. They were a comrade of the lizards. They shared a mutual understanding and never bothered each other. My little army of glue footed warriors who treaded my fecund walls remained mostly busy in their eating, shitting and breeding.

Sometimes I would find them copulate and let a friend know that I am watching lizards copulate and I would get the stern social judgment that would cripple my observant self. We depend so much on the opinion of others who do things to be fit for the society someone else carved for us. No one observes the lizards anymore. Not saying it’s cool though, but you see all this yearning for the cool and acceptable stuff is what ruins us. Cool is stupid at times, you know.  

This is a society of mass production where our babies would grow up to work in industries that mass produce. Something is wrong with this uncouth abundance. So many things goes to waste, and worse than that so many minds goes to waste.

I think that the winged creatures that flooded my room were a mass production of the natural world. I could have negated them with the mass-produced chemicals, but since I am all green and environmental I preferred my lizards doing it for me.

Lizard babies eat up insect babies, but I have never seen an insect baby.

But, parasites do not make babies, do they?

I think parasites just make parasites.   

The icicles jingle in the wind and everything seems peaceful in this cold country.

Winter makes me an inward creature, like my lizards- who sleep through the winter.

But it’s summer here, and yet I think of winter.

Without my lizards every wall looks like winter to me.

Empty, barren and without activities.

That summer long ago, I had put up those mosquito nets in my window and

watched my confused lizards eat each other over the next few days.

I still miss them sometimes, you know.

I wish I had named them.