The Inner Monkey

Inside of everyone is their inner monkey. The inner monkey is that eternal being the world doesn’t see, yet perhaps should. The inner monkey is the eternal being that flows with the least resistance, that gathers the nearest fruit, that won’t hunt at all. Everyone’s inner monkey has the capacity to evolve, not in the sense of a huge leap from primate to man but in the sense of moving from one caress of doziness to another.


When I was younger all my inner monkey wanted to do was play computer games. When I was older all it wanted to do was masturbate. It evolved again to wanting to play computer games and masturbate. Nowadays, all it wants to do is hang out with my girlfriend, read and play records. Nothing else. The inner monkey doesn’t want to work, doesn’t want to see anyone else, doesn’t want to walk, stroll, run, nor any other activity which deviates from its holy trinity.


More often than not, whatever vestige of a person is shown to the world has to have a talk with their inner monkey. The vestige of a person who has made friends, seduced others, had success and yearns for those good old things like respect and money has to have a talk with their inner monkey. It has to remove the bottle from the hairy hand and take the needle off the record to whisper, for you never want to shout at the inner monkey, and say: Hey. I know you’re having fun. I know your blood is like butter and your bones are like marshmallow but it’s time to tell you…it’s time to cajole you…it’s time to announce…you’ve got to create. For the pleasure not to become pain, for the rest not to become restlessness, for the desire not to die…you’ve got to create.

Sometimes the inner monkey listens.