Half fiction and fact and wholly absurd all the same

I figured I would merge a bit of creative fictional writing with the other main theme of this site: my car. More focus on the Djinn than car, which will be at end in pictorial format.

A series of wishes followed by the bleak reality of it all:

If some sort of mythical figure descended upon me and offered me but three wishes, I should think my wishes would be a disappointment to all those about me. A Djinn, for those not in the know, is a being which appears in the Quran, sometimes good, sometimes bad, but always mysterious. I should think that upon arrival this Djinn would be good in nature with the very tricks he plans to unleash on me to be less than desirable. But like a helpless romantic, I would still wish away, for how could one not hope to improve their chances at the things which seem unattainable? And is hope more a sin or disease?

This post is not to be taken seriously, as it is merely a reflection of my economic state. In fact, it is most specifically about my vehicle, which I purchased since it would be cheaper than my last, but instead of maturing I have seemingly reverted back to some age of not enlightenment but juvenile aimlessness…I don’t know. I tell myself this descent is neither– I think this is just how stupid twenty somethings act, of which I belong to, no doubt. I am not broke. Though I always wish I had more….

Without further ado! A Djinn story:

I sit in the middle of a dark room—the kind those whom consume drugs often sit in, their red-banded eyes staring into walls which have not changed and never will with a fascination not dissimilar from ancient peoples staring into the above. Those who studied the real and unknown and formed questions to things that have answers though we may never know them. But in this room I am under the influence of no such altering concoctions. Clear mind. Sound thought. Hapless hope. These both identity and fill my head in this room of darkness.

But like the drug altered minds, my mind too wanders the darkened walls. Falls into them and sees things beyond the wall only to have them fade away. And it was in the midst of one of these oscillations that a Djinn arrived.

Something more smoke than material yet more material than immaterial. This creature more a horror than a pleasure to behold, save for the words which immediately followed its murky arrival.

“Hello, Alex, I have come to you in this darkened room as I see you have nothing to do and as such I am obliged to offer you three wishes to satisfy the wants of both mind and heart.”

Yes, this Djinn was somewhat eloquent in dialogue and spoke in run-on. Poor grammar. When to use a comma, he does not know, for there are no steadfast rules on these things. He probably puzzles over how best to spell buses and busses. Which is correct? And if there is no correct way, then how can we define speech patterns? Yes, the Djinn is a bit verbose, not dissimilar from me, as those who have the displeasure of conversing with me soon realize. Often they saunter away, a scolding look cast over their shoulder I catch when they are far enough away that I can say nothing which will bring them back. Indeed, these conversations are no doubt more a punishment than pleasure to others. And oh what a tormentor I am.

But with this Djinn, I did not mind its verbose delivery. I soaked it in. Watched the mutability of its form as it blended with one portion of the darkened room and disappeared into the wall. Though it was not visible, I could still feel its presence. That immaterial blanket hanging over the room. And then it emerged once more with a fire only hell could surpass.

This re-emergence had frightened me, but in the brief time that it had disappeared I had already developed a couple wishes I felt the need to capitalize on. But first there would be pleasantries, for how could one meet a Djinn and not ask for its name? It seemed this to be the most likely place wishers before me had gone wrong. Jumping right into the demands without any verbal foreplay. Flatteries and compliments can take one far. Metaphorical garments come toppling off. Hypothetical beauties weep in the face of endearing words more façade than truth. And yet the truth of it does not matter, for fiction is always more exciting than fact and often more believable and thus more real for it.

“Why hello, Mr. Djinn,” I had said. “You sure did surprise me. I have never spoke with a mythical figure before. May I please have your name? It would honor me to know it.”

“Sorry to have frightened you,” the Djinn replied. “No one has ever asked me for my name. Come to think of it, I have been visiting your kind for some two thousand years, never to utter my name aloud. It has been so long, I fear I have forgotten it.”

“Forgotten?” I asked. “Then what shall I call you?”

“The Wish Master,” it said, fire on its face forming a half smile. Indeed, it was pleased with its perspicacity.

“Well, Mr. Wish Master, I think I have my first couple wishes lined up.”

“In full?” it asked, drawing its smoke built arms over each other in some complex fold. Body twisted the way demented minds are.

“I think so.”

“Fire away,” it said, expunging a small stream of fire from its charcoal lips.

“Awesome,” I said. “Awesome. Hey, one last question, Wish Master. Have you slain an Angel before?”

“Never slain, only tricked.”

“Do you plan to trick me?” I asked.

“You seem smarter than an Angel.”

I adored this. “I have my wishes!” I said.

And as they formed in my head I suddenly realized how uninspiring they were, but I knew from Aladdin that Djinn’s did not linger for long, for they had better places to be than in this dark room. Angels to slay and gods to deceive.

“For my first wish,” I said, “I would like the opportunity to take Rachel McAdams out to dinner.”

“The actress?” he said, form pluming and curling.

“Yes. She is too beautiful not to buy a dinner for.”

“You do realize she has money to buy dinner for both you and her, do you not?”

“Why yes, I am aware she faces no economic hardships, but I face no real hardships either, and it seems to me any self-respecting man should attempt to purchase for the woman they’ve tricked out of the house a meal that may satisfy them. That is my only aim. To appetize her and merely admire her beauty from a distance that is not such.”

“It will hereby be arranged,” said the Wish Master. “I can give you no concrete time in which this meeting of not chance but fate will occur, but I will tell you it will happen within the next two weeks. You must purchase her meal. She must eat well. You must be witty and charming.”

“I have to be?” I asked.

“Yes,” said the Djinn. “How else does one earn the heart of a beauty unlike most others if not from wit and charm?”

“But I have neither,” I said. “I stare into walls. Stumble through speech. I can only offer food and company and the awkwardness of my fixated gaze.”

“I wish you luck,” it said. “Next.”

I could now tell it was becoming aggravated. This self-deprecation of mine a misery it could no longer bear.

I despaired at what it had told me. Of the wit and charm required to keep Rachel McAdams at the table so that she may depart from the clutches of her current beau and make me that instead.

“Monopoly money,” I said. “I should like that to be real, only for me, this way I could disperse the money to those whom I thought needed it. To create a socio-economic climate I saw fit.”

“You do not have the mind of an Angel, and clearly not the heart. A selfish gesture, this monopoly money metamorphosis, but for you I will oblige. The world may collapse in your greed, and you may collapse from the weight of this burden.” It paused. Fire rippled thought is legs and torso. Its grey form grew in size. “And your final wish?”

I did not have a final wish, and so crushed was I by the weight and foolishness of my first two wishes that I could not summon a wish.

“I shall think of another wish later.”

The Djinn swelled and plumed and in a puff it vanished. But thought it was not present I could still hear its booming voice in the room. An echo diminishing away.

“The most uninspired wisher I have ever fallen upon,” it rang. Again and again and again. Each time causing me to wince more than the last, but now I had at least been blessed with time to think of my final wish.

I have not had dinner with Rachel McAdams. A disappointment I am still not over.

Monopoly money has acquired me nothing, save for being a tycoon on a thin sheet of cardboard.

But my real money has bought me some things. Onto the car stuff…

Purchased some Race Comp Engineering Springs. Alongside those are Whiteline Camber bolts and oil change stuff. Next picture shows the elaborate process required to back my car into the shop.

Removed the shocks and with the help of my friend over at Concrete-Project.com and a pneumatic impact driver we removed the old springs and replaced them with the new yellows.

A long day of work as numerous mishaps and misadventures arose. Pictures around 1AM. I look more broken than usual. Thankfully, Billy and I got it done, him more so carrying the load as the hours carried on. He endured, I did not, but I am thankful for his help which came at no cost save for a Subway sandwich. I owe him many things, and I am thankful for all the things he provides. Some erotic stories will be written as collateral, no doubt, which are both hilarious and awkward to write.

The new stance of the car. Maximum negative camber the camber bolts would allow for the front. Car dropped a healthy amount. Yellow Springs provide a plush and firm ride at the same time. Camber bolts make turn in and grip insane. Could not be happier. Monopoly money well spent. Now onto the big ticket items….

Wheels should go into powder coat this week, with everything hopefully being mounted by the week’s end. Really need my Djinn to turn that monopoly money into cash money soon.

Transformation almost complete…Wheels are in motion…Poor pun? Awful alliteration?

Updates to follow.