The Writings of Dan Mencher

Prose

THE DREAM FROM WHICH ONE DOES NOT AWAKEN

- Walking along the lonely street, Diego realized that it was evening that Thursday. He had been walking since dawn that morning. Well, he had been walking since about two in the afternoon, headed towards his apartment. Until then, he had only been wandering around.
- Diego looked down. His green tie seemed orange, almost red, in the light of the street lamp. He sighed. It had been a long day for him. It’s true, he didn’t do anything special. He took a walk that lasted all day. But for the entirety of that time, Diego was thinking about his wife, Carmela. He had loved Carmela very much.

- Bang! Diego awoke to the sound of gunfire. He lived in a bad neighborhood. He looked at the clock. It was nine in the morning, Tuesday. He took a look around his apartment. It was dark. There was only a small ray of light entering through the window.
- Diego got dressed. He wore the same suit every day. It was dark blue, with a light yellow shirt and a thin, green tie. He was rather thin, and he wore his clothing loose, but not baggy or unseemly. His boots were black leather.
- He had some coffee. Well, he poured himself a cup of coffee, but he didn’t drink it. He just sat lost in deep thought, holding the cup handle with his hand.
- Suddenly, somebody knocked on the door. Diego became alert. He wasn’t expecting anybody. He grabbed his gun and, backing up against the wall next to the door, prepared to shoot.
- “Diego?” a voice so soft it was beautiful sounded.
- “Carmela?” Diego opened the door and his wife entered. “What are you doing here? It’s very dangerous! Do you know what...”
- “Diego, I don’t want to hear it. When we met for the first time, you were trying to kill me and I was trying to kill you. Remember? In the end, we were all fine. Except...”
- “Yeah, except I had a cut on my cheek and I was out of bullets. I remember quite well,” said Diego. He lit a cigarette. “But we fell in love since then, and if it’s dangerous, I want to protect you. I know that you think you can take care of yourself better than I, but...”
- “Diego, listen to me. I didn’t come here for this. I came here to tell you something very important. Give me a cigarette. Thanks. Look, the syndicate is looking for you.”
- “What? You risked coming here to tell me that?”
- “...damnit! Fucking lighter. Diego, I need you to light the cigarette for me.”
- “Carmela!” Diego stared at his wife for a few moments, with wide eyes. Then he calmed down. “Carmela, did you know that for a lady with such an angelic voice, you curse like a sailor?”
- “That’s the first thing you ever told me.”
- Diego sighed and lit the cigarette for her. “Carmela, the syndicate has been looking for me for five years. You knew that. Why have you come?”
- The cigarette burned away in Carmela’s hand. “Diego...”
- The two hugged. Perhaps they cried.
- “Diego, you’ve told me that you’ve already died once. You’ve told me that your life is only a dream from which you’ve simply not yet awoken. Now, I want you to forget all that. It’s nonsense. I don’t know what you take for real, but I’m telling you now...” There were tears in her eyes. “Diego they’re coming for you today. There are guns and bullets and people who know how to use them. And I don’t care about the shit in which you believe, that is real. Very, very real.”
- Diego was tense, but he didn’t let Carmela know. He was ready for war, as he had been many times in the past, and he knew that it’s fatal to show emotion in war.
- He looked at his wife. She truly was very beautiful. She had light skin (like her husband), long, blonde hair, blue eyes, and a face more beautiful than her voice. She was wearing a white vest and white, high-heeled shoes. “Why aren’t you wearing your red shirt? I like that shirt more than this vest.”
- “I always wear this vest. It’s my favorite. I just wear the shirt over it. But I lost the shirt.” She smiled. “Diego, you’re going to survive. I feel it in my heart.”
- At that moment, Diego felt fear strike in his heart. He didn’t feel the same thing about Carmela. But that fear passed. He was ready for war. There was no room for fear. “Carmela,” he said as he gathered his weapons, “you’re going to stay here today. I’ll be back before dinner, I promise. Remember, I’m the best with guns and I’m a redoubtable martial artist to boot. Don’t worry. Take a nap, I’ll be here when you wake up.”
- “No.”
- “Carmela...”
- “Diego, you’re a bounty hunter. You forget how strong the syndicate is. It’s become even stronger since you left it. But...” Carmela looked at her husband. “But they’re foolish as well. They sent me to kill you.”
- “I wonder why you stayed with the syndicate...” said Carmela’s husband indifferently.
- “Diego, I’m serious.”
- He lit another cigarette.
- “Diego! You need me.”
- “Stay here.”
- “No.”
- “I beg you,” Diego said, sweetly commanding her.
- “I don’t care,” she said confidently.
- “I command you.”
- “Fuck you.”
- Diego puffed on his cigarette. “Okay, you can come, but only if you stop swearing. It’s unbecoming.”
- “Fine. Give me another cigarette.”
- “No. Smoking is bad for your health.”
- “And so is playing dodgeball with bullets, but I let you do that.”
- Diego smiled and tossed her a cigarette. “OK, you have the cigarette. But how are you going to light it?”
- Suddenly, there was gunfire. The apartment was in ruins. Diego jumped to his right and ducked behind a couch. Carmela went behind the bed. The syndicate’s agents fired their guns. Bang! The cup with the coffee went to pieces. Bang! There was no longer any window. Bang! The faded walls got holes to go with the vertical stripes. Bang! Bang! Bang! Diego waited until the agents stopped shooting to reload, and ran towards the bed, shooting his gun. Two of the four agents fell. When Diego arrived at the bed, he reloaded his gun and looked at his wife. She was pale.
- “Carmela, you’ve stayed with the syndicate, even after I left it, but...” Bang! The two remaining agents began to fire bullets at the couple again. Diego leaned over the bed and returned fire to keep them at bay. “...now you look like you’ve never seen anything like this. What’s up?”
- “I don’t know...”
- Bang! “Argh!” groaned Diego.
- “Oh, have they shot you?” cried Carmela.
- “No, that was my favorite vase that they shot.”
- Carmela was dumbfounded. “A vase?” she thought. “But Diego is tense under that confident face, right? Why is he behaving so calmly, nonchalantly, almost sarcastically in the face of death, as though it doesn’t matter whether or not they shoot him, as though he were already d-dead...” Suddenly, Carmela realized the truth about her husband as she stuttered in her thoughts. In her mind, she remembered the conversation she and her husband had had earlier:
- “Diego, you’ve told me that you’ve already died once. You’ve told me that your life is only a dream from which you’ve simply not yet awoken. Now, I want you to forget all that. It’s nonsense,” she had said to her love.
- “Oh my God, I’ve made a mistake. Diego...”
- But Diego wasn’t there. Carmela looked up. Another agent had fallen. Diego and the last agent were reloading. Quickly, they pointed their guns at each other and fired at the same time.
- Bang!
- “NO!”
- The agent fell. So did Carmela. She had jumped between Diego and the bullet.
- “No! Carmela!” cried Diego.
- “I’m sorry, Diego, I’m sorry. I didn’t know...”
- “Carmela, don’t talk. I’m going to call the doctor. St...”
- “Diego,” she said softer than ever, “I understand now. Don’t worry.”
- “Carmela, you’re losing energy. Stop talking!” Diego began to tremble.
- “No, Diego, you were right. You shouldn’t fear death. It’s always there. If you show fear, it will spring at you faster than light. But if you don’t show fear, death will only watch over you gently...”
- “Carmela!”
- “Diego, I love you.”
- Diego sat dumbfounded by his wife’s side. That was the first and only time that either of them had said that to the other. “I love you too, Carmela,” said Diego, too late.

- Diego sighed and lit a cigarette. He held his suit jacket over his shoulder, as usual. His shoulder was bothering him as a result of holding it like that all day. His legs bothered him too, from walking all day.
- But Diego wasn’t paying attention to his body. He was thinking about the first time that he met Carmela. The syndicate had sent her, along with some other agents, to kill him for leaving. He took down the other agents with ease, but when he saw Carmela, he fell in love with her and didn’t want to do any harm to her, and for this love he let her win the fight. Thankfully, she fell in love with him too, and helped him to escape.
- Eventually, Diego found himself in his apartment. He thought about everything, and, lighting another cigarette, couldn’t help smiling.
- “I have awoken.”

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MUNDE

In Spain, or maybe it's France, there is a little-known town known as Porgaterre to the little amount of those to whom it's known. You must have encountered a town like it at some time or other; they can be found in just about all areas of the Earth. It lies in a plain surrounded by endless hills with valleys that seem to end and yet become deeper. The hills themselves are impossible to scale; indeed, they are mountains in disguise. And even if one does climb one of those hills, the victory of the summit is only to be followed by a descent back to the base and another arduous journey up another infinite mountain, and even that is only if the voyager can conquer the jagged valley below. And so, considering that the mountain range is as endless as the hills are high, Porgaterre has been an isolated town ever since its first inhabitants first inhabited it an eternity ago. The Porgaterrians surmise of an outside world, but they do not know such a place. They seem to be going about their lives in an ancient fashion, almost unconsciously waiting for the time to come when the hills and valleys will crumble and disappear and they will join the rest of society. But such a time will never come. Man can adapt to many forms of nature, but never shall he see its true might be conquered. And so the people of Porgaterre wait, wait for their chance to fly north with the birds of spring or south with the birds of winter - never east or west, for that would ruin the harmony of Vitae, the Porgaterrians' word for the world as they know it. Within Vitae, birds aren't birds but magical, wingèd creatures which can fly between and alight in Vitae, Diterros (the land to the north beyond the great valley), and Terrablum (the land to the south, beyond another great valley). To the east and west - who knows? All that the Porgaterrians know is that immediately to the east and west are two very similar rivers. They both shine with blue water, white foam, and green banks. Both ebb and flow and have tides, flora, and fauna. The sole difference is that one flows to the north and the other to the south. And so every time that a thought goes to what lies in the far east or far west, the thought must first cross the river. But even the rivers, which are as far east or west as any Porgaterrian can comprehend, end up north or south. So, to end up significantly east or west, be you abstract or concrete, real or false, human or other, would be impossible and ruinous to the harmony of Vitae. After all, everything else ends up in Diterros or Terrablum; where else is there to end up? The Porgaterrians hardly know that they're Spaniards (or Frenchmen, if that's what they be). How can they change all that they have ever known to be the basis of existance? Their eyes can see past the rivers and valleys, to be sure, but does vision not need to be registered in the brain in the same way that teachings, preachings, memories, and thoughts do?

THE ROOM

Once I saw a painting of a cup of coffee (or of tea) on a small table without chairs in a rich yet desolate room, and a hand was holding the cup handle but one couldn't see the rest of the body because it was at the edge of the canvas. The hand was painted very well, with more detail than anything else. It was holding the cup handle neither as though it had just put it down nor as though it were about to pick it up, but rather it held the handle as though the owner of the hand were in need of something to keep his hand busy while he was lost in deep thought. However, even though the hand was painted with such detail, I enjoyed looking at the room, which was painted more vague. The table was brown and wooden, and the walls were faded despite the fact that the sole window allowed only a small ray of light to enter. The room offered a very impressionist perspective. It gave the impression of a bittersweet place, probably in Europe before the world war; of classic room where nothing has ever happened except for possibly one thing of great importance fifteen, maybe twenty years ago. It seemed that a red rose with a green stem and a sole drop of dew that is about to fall off of the point of the farthest petal should have appeared from nowhere and fallen gently, almost floated, to the ground to add a bright and ironic contrast. I looked at the room, the table, and the rest, I felt the impression, and then I turned back to the painting.

---TO GET A TRANSLATION INTO SPANISH OR ITALIAN OF THE ABOVE WORK, E-MAIL YOUR REQUEST TO ME BY USING THE BAR ON THE BOTTOM OF THIS PAGE.---

ON DEATH

It is difficult to determine whether or not death is a part of life, the reason being that death is, by definition, the ultimate form of lifelessness. However, in terms of death being a part of life as a proverb describing death’s inevitable presence, it is more a part of life than birth. For birth is uncertain; medically speaking, abortions, stillbirths, and miscarriages are always possible, and figuratively speaking, rebirths, reincarnations, and reformations always seem to occur throughout life. But death, deep, mysterious, and overbearing in its presence, is the final and ultimate ending, certain to be there as the signature “THE END” to every life story. Thus, the focus of death should not be to avoid it; such is impossible. Rather, the focus of death should be how and under what circumstances it is met. One ought not to fear death (or anything, for that matter). As I have mentioned, death is inevitable, and to fear it is futile and a waste. Instead, one should be bold about death, and though one would not be in one’s right mind to seek it, one should not resist death when the time has come to take one’s final breath. The fact is that one should make the most of life, for that is the most uncertain thing of all. Nobody can predict life, but everyone knows that death will come. Life is an ephemeral moment in time; it seems to pass slowly, but soon has gone by quickly. To waste it being selfish, greedy, and useless while trying to elude death is a pitiful waste indeed. For the life lived is the life chosen; death will come anyway. One who spends life improving oneself, one’s environment, others’ well-being, and one’s society will go to one’s death knowing that his or her life was worthy and will need not worry about death; one will rest in peace. The fool who has squandered life trying to prolong it will not only miss the beauty of it, but will also die a miserable death, for no matter how long the fool’s life is prolonged, death will come, and the futile effort, doomed from the start, will have finally failed, making the life a waste. One should meet death face-to-face, eye-to-eye, bold, fearless, ready, and having lived a fruitful life, be able to accept, and, in a sense, look forward to a final, peaceful respite. Thus, I urge those still left alive or yet to face the uncertainty of birth to live a fruitful, productive life, free from haste and hate and full of spontaneous enjoyment. Live life by the moment, for death, already inevitable in its being, is also inevitable in its suddenness and randomness. Death is neither good nor evil, right nor wrong, passive nor aggressive, kind nor mean, gentle nor harsh, fair nor biased, harmless nor harmful. It just is, and it is final. It has no form; it doesn’t need one. Everyone wants to live, but sometimes one must realize the unimportance of life itself. It becomes important only when we make it so. Life is beautiful, and often must be preserved, but the ultimate meaning of life lies in how it is executed, in both meanings of the word. Otherwise, it is incomplete and cannot as yet be called a full life. To fully carry life out, it must be ended, for immortality is merely eternal uncertainty. That is the truth.

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ON FEAR

-Fear is the root of all evil, suffering, and loss. One who eliminates all fear from within becomes mighty; one who eliminates all fear from others as well becomes truly mighty. If one eliminates all fear from within, then suddenly nothing is stopping one from bravely and unhaltingly continuing any struggle of any kind that might come one’s way up until either end of the path. If one eliminates all fear from others as well, then there will be no struggle in the first place and harmony shall reign. However, one must be careful, for when eliminating fear from others, it is prudent to remember to remain fearless oneself; just as one is a predator if one is fearless while still allowing fear in others, one becomes prey if vice versa is the case. But where fear once resided, two people can create a bond such that fear has no place to which to return, and there is at the very least mutual appreciation. Each feels a fear neither of the other nor in the other. This principle applies to all creatures of the Earth.
-So now the question arises: How exactly is this fearlessness spread? To spread fearlessness, simply earn trust. Prove to others that you have no reason to hurt them. This sounds a bit odd, not to mention ambiguous, but the principle is used every day. For example, a child will rarely get the butterfly that he or she is chasing to alight on his or her hand. But the child’s mother knows better. She tells the child that if he or she simply stands still and offers his or her hand, then the butterfly, after determining that the situation seems safe, will indeed alight. If one employs this principle with all living creatures, both literally and figuratively, and also eliminates internal fear, then one will have achieved true might.
-As I’ve said, fear is the root of all evil, suffering, and loss. It creates the insecurity present in all doers of evil, from schoolyard bullies to people like Adolf Hitler. Some people might argue that fear is necessary, and even that a lack of it can produce madness. After all, such people might argue, if one has absolutely no fear, then one can jump from the top of a building and not have any internal emotions stopping one. But anyone who would argue this is missing the point. Fear and common sense should not be confused. Nobody should ever lose common sense (nor the sense of when to use it). The point is that once fear is eliminated, one is better able to meet and deal with any situations and challenges that might come one’s way; not that one should go to seek such situations and challenges. Indeed, fear itself is that which can cause madness, because those people possessed by it are often pushed to dire means to quell their fears (Hitler is a good example of this). To be afraid is to be under the influence of a powerful emotion whose source is some entity that wants to provoke and manipulate. One should never, ever, let fear carry out such a task. Once one becomes so deeply afraid, all is lost. And so it is clear – fear and evil are the embodiments of each other.

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