Continued Last Journals Of Klip The Seagull

Published by way of Graham Rapier

Graham Rapier,
Death
11/24/2007 -- [previous journal here]

Hi Mr. Journal, I hope I'm not bothering you, but I had some more feelings to share and I don't like how they feel in my head. I'm feeling worse. With every new lost soul we find, I just feel more lost myself. Before I met the Gulled One, I'd run around the shore free, and if I found someone then I found someone. I never put it in this big meaningful story like he does. I don't like the weight of being part of something so big.

So as would become the usual, Gulledy dragged me out of bed when I just wanted to sleep. And, like usual, I caved. Out to go scavenging we went, but I was really faking it this time. After wandering for a couple hours, we helped a little bottle find itself a new home. And even though Gulledy said we did a good thing, I only caught some more sadness. I really don't like being alone in my head with my feelings, so I asked him, "Are we trash?"

I think his beliefs are too bright for him to see me like this, so he just shook back with a shudder, "What, no. Why would we be...what do you mean?"

I just kind of shrugged and looked at him "I don't know? We're out here on the beach with not much going on. Why, aren't we like the bottles or the blister card? --sorry, I mean, I guess it doesn't matter. Let's keep walking, nevermind."

“No, not never mind. I wished you let me know you were feeling that way. Well, we may be trash, but that doesn't matter.or one, we’ve got each other, you, me, and Francis, and the beach too. We're not forgotten. And that's what trash is, it's forgotten and abandoned. It’s sad, sure, but that's why we're out here to find the lost "trash" and help to back home. You know that, right? You're the one who found me. You're the one who likes friends."

I can't forget the way he looked at me when he said that. I had to make sure I told you, Mr. Journal. I guess I didn't realize how much I hide myself. I like to be gleeful, but he saw that as something else and I don't know if I can live up his lifestyle, and I don't know why I would want to. I guess at one point I did like meeting peeps and potheads. But since the Gulled One’s hopes stole my life, my beach, my friends, I just can't shake the idea that these people are thrown out. How could anyone do that? I mean a good friend is fun, but it really ruins the friendship if it comes from rot and stink. So I just shrugged back at him barely noticing b the pain from my broken wing.

For the first time since I found him unconscious that night, he looks back at me with sadness, "We've always got tomorrow, Klip. Feeling bad because of all the rot in the world or feeling sad when you see a leaf fall? hat's what separates us from trash. We find ourselves through the darkness and get to know the root of these bad feelings."

I was kind of getting lost in his words. Even if I want to, I can't listen good if I'm not moving, and he just makes me feel so still.

"You shouldn't feel bad for feeling bad, Klip, it's natural. The best thing we should do is help find other lost ones, and maybe find ourselves along the way. It doesn't matter if others think we’re trash. If they threw us out, they don't deserve us. But we deserve each other. I couldn't take it if I lost you, that's how you can know you're not trash. Trash isn't missed when it's gone."

Gulledy was probably right, but I still don't feel it. "Okay, I guess," I said, wanting to shrug off my feelings and pretend I believed him. I didn't want him to feel like he used to. I wonder if his bad feelings followed me somehow. I never felt this way before, I just lived in sweet glee and salty breezes, but now the wind is slow. I know I just don't want to be trash.

I didn't even realize it, out loud in a fading whisper I let out, "I don't want to be trash."

I think the Gulled one didn't know what to say, and I didn’t want him to say anything. I just want to get moving again, I've never been sad when I'm moving.

How can you come from pure sadness and keep that twinkle he has? And there I go opening up like an onion to someone I just met a couple weeks back. I'm weird like that..like I said, I wasn't much for journaling. I just like to keep moving to keep "happy" to keep my wings flapping. The Gulled One was just thrown out a couple weeks ago, and now he's already refueled his whole life based on that. I don't even remember when I was thrown out and found the beach. I just liked the sand. Maybe if I squint I can still feel the hand that threw me away, greasy but warm.

I realized Gulledy heard me say, "I don't want to be trash". The whole world says that trash is bad, and I guess maybe I am trash, and I don't mind that, I just want to be me when I think about it in any other way I just get low.

But I don't think he could see me as trash. He just kind of ran away with his eyes and looked at me like a baby snail at the sky. Hoping to make me feel better, he asked, “Getting hungry? Want to head back behind Tripoli's and see if we can scrounge up a slice." I wish I had a glimmer of the stars I see in his peepers, but that sort of simple stuff, like sand and dancing or food, does make me feel better.

I wish I could still feel that way all the time. I don't know, I just don't want to be left behind, trashed and stuck in one place. But for now, I am looking forward to that pizza.

Well, that's it, mister journal, we'll talk later. your friend, Klip

A Note From Death: But Sadly, as was published in this paper's last issue, on the day of her last entry, Klip died and took the final walk with me. Even despite all the feelings good and bad she got from the Gulled One, she was happy she died in his hands. She died in peace, and she was even happier once she crossed the white curtain and went off to new seashores. I believe she would want you to know that, Mr. Gulled One, if you're reading this.

Until we finally meet G.R.

For more articles by Graham Rapier, click here. To get in touch with this writer, email death@surrealtimes.net.

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