The Nelson Mandela Effect
Did you ever wonder how that great leader of the ANC came by his visionary prowess? I never did neither. Why would I? But it came to me anyways – like a vision of my own. See I was sittin’ by the screen door leading to the balcony at our place, gazin’ out to the north over top the buildin’ next to ours, when it occurred to me that’s what it’s like lookin’ out the window when yer in solitary confinement in prison.
Well of course our place ain’t really like that. It just feels that way. See, we’re under construction – our balconies, that is. So what they done is nail a couple’a two by fours over the door so we can’t get out an’ fall off it or get in their road while they’re workin’.
That’s all well an’ good except for one thing. THEY’VE LOCKED ME OUT OF MY BALCONY FOR CRIMENY SAKES! Are they not aware that this is the place I go to meditate, where Nestor Kropatnik writes his letters to whomever, where I do my little woodworking projects, where I sneak out for the odd smoke? There ain’t no justice!
I guess Jodi Mitchell was right after all with that parking lot song of hers, sayin’: “You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til its gone”. Well it ain’t really gone. It’s sittin’ out there full o’ crud an’ dirt, hemmed in by a mighty scaffold, right on the other side of my screen door. It’s just that I can’t get on it. Oh, I could just go out the front door of the place and go for a nice stroll, or go to the park and sit in the grass, but hey, it’s not the same. IT’S NOT MY DAMNED BALCONY!
So I sit in front of the screen door and peer out, lookin’ at the sky an’ the buildin’s all around an’ meditate anyways. That’s what made me think of Nelson Mandela sittin’ in prison, peerin’ out his little window an’ dreamin’ about the freedom of his people from the oppression of Apartheid. Well it’s sort’a the same thing, except for the hard labor pickin’ at a rock pile or whatever else they done there. He must’a sat there starin’ out at the wild blue yonder thinkin’ about brave an’ noble things just like I do. Well he was finally freed an’ went on to do great things for his nation, while I’m still incarcerated behind the dang-farned screen door.
But my time’ll come when they finally tear them dad-blamed two by fours off it an’ I can once again step out over the threshold into freedom an’ meditate to my heart’s content. I may not be cheered on an’ hailed by the whole nation as its savior but at least I’ll once again hear that familiar refrain; “You take your blasted woodwork outside, No more whitlin’ in the house!” At least that’s how it seems to me from up here on the top shelf.