Gerdi Weisz

He saw the light, and the light was red.

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a character in “An Imperfect Parable”, as played by Tæfarós


It trudges up to the mirror and smiles, and its smile is crooked--not in a toothless, elderly sort of way, but more of an unnerving kind of crooked, the crooked of a creature who is ever skittish and anxious for no apparent reason. This positivity does not reflect upon its stance, which is perpetually non-straight, never grounded, as if one poke could send it flitting away like a petal on a breeze. It laments the gain of those fifteen pounds; it blames late-night infomercials and take-out, point and calorie tracking, bicycle neglecting. Like a man interrupted mid-coitus, its expression always appears surprised at what stares back from the glass, at the premature lines marking his cheeks at a mere thirty-one years of age. Laugh lines, it tells itself, until it realizes that it doesn't laugh--it chokes. Forcedly. Its short, dark hair remains fresh from last weeks trimming, and its face shows only a faint sign of the daily stubble. If one could look up and go, "Why, yes, I would like a few inches added to my height," then it most certainly would, at least to cross the line of six feet anyway. It would also more than likely ask for a chance to be reborn--preferably as an American, because everyone loves to hate an American--with eyesight that wasn't so piss poor to alleviate his facade of the dreaded square grandmother glasses, but it, for all its ideals and hopes, accepts its flaws.

It steps out the door. It is called Gerdi.

(Not Gertrude--Gerdi. Dangerously close to female territory, he understands.)


Most would refer to Gerdi as being too naive for his own good, especially for a man of his age. He would not argue with this. Most would refer to him as being pleasantly passive and unpleasantly neurotic as well. He would also not argue with this.


Aside from the everyday essentials (a wallet and a pocketful of change), he carries nothing of importance but himself.


He once tried living. When that didn't work out, he contemplated snuffing it, with "contemplated" actually referring to a brief glance at a butter knife and a quick shudder thereafter. Thus what followed was a quick reflection on all his past achievements, or lack thereof: There was that one girl toward the end of grade school, of course, and...well, not much else. The middle part of his years saw him taking interest in some rather obscene desires, many of which will not be specified, and lusting after the wrong people. And so it was theorized that Mr. Weisz, the specimen at hand, every lower middle-class, gender-questioning fiber of his being, was woefully unremarkable.

So begins...

Gerdi Weisz's Story