Distorted Future Visions

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Did you ever meet you from the future?

Submitted: January 04, 2008

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Submitted: January 04, 2008




Distorted Future Visions

3:53 am, Egypt, Cairo, My friend’s apartment, winter 1979. “That makes the day” I said with a dead tired voice getting my fingers off the guitar neck, “Okay, tomorrow at 9?” asked he preparing his mind for one goddamn night sleep, “Aright” I agreed, “Shall I accompany you?”, “No, I know my way, sleep tight” I replied, half dead, going out through the door.


I don’t know why the humidity and sustaining cold of the streets of downtown gave me the air of a burial site though I have never been to one.

It was ten minutes to the bus station that seemed ten years. I got something to drink and sat waiting for the bus my mind on chord progressions and soloing. Inharmonic chord progressions could kill a great solo, and it would be absurd to follow the familiar stuff; we had to innovate and keep a-one-heart beating lively structure.


The sound of the roaring bus came to my ears like a noise gate and I got on. 


It was one of those public buses, fully-lighted, very clean, but torn seats. I thought to sit beside that man, I was sleepy enough to fade out at any time. He was a tall fellow in his middle forties with long brown hair and a heavy trimmed beard, dark brown eyes and some meaningful wrinkles; He was dark handsome and looked very active.


“So you play well?” he began with a very hearable strong voice, “Yes” I answered positioning my head to face him “Have been playing for 8 years”, “A band or soloist?”, “A band, a Heavy Metal band, heard of Metal?”, “Yes I presume, a new category of Rock, same Guitar roles?”, “Yes , I am the Lead Guitarist” , “That sounds inspiring, good luck my son” he retorted with a look of attitude, “So, What do you do?”, “I am a passenger”, “sorry?”, “I mean I work of course”, “what kind of work?” I asked confused and somehow sober again, “Listen son” he began again “4o years ago, I got on this bus, passed through stations, met people, worked, taught, learnt, got married, had children, dreamt, succeeded, failed, fought, won, lost, betrayed, been honest, been kind, been cruel, been religious, been drunken, been oppressed, been oppressor, hurt, was hurt; I was good and bad. Every one’s station will come and he will get off to leave his place for a new passenger. Everyone takes his seat and acts as he likes, but he must know that this seat is neither his nor mine; it belongs to the driver and the bus. The journey will never last forever the station will come no chance. I opened my eyes widely but said nothing and felt my heart beating fast making my mind quite awake despite my weariness. “You see” he added, “My station has come, I arrived with everything I have done,” I hardly pulled myself together and said Goodnight and I didn’t know why the driver smiled at him.


I got off the bus before reaching home, I wanted to walk despite being badly out of my body strength. On my way I heard nothing but the man’s words echoing in my soul. Meanings and thoughts began to get rearranged and clear in my mind, I was beginning to get it through. I went home by 5:41, I was walking too slow, sat on the floor, leaned against the wall with my guitar connected to a distortion stomp box and a 10-watt amplifier, and began a new track which I later called “Distorted Future Visions.”


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