Lazy Bull [The True story about a Bull of an Ant]
Advance: my imagination has been running wild a long time, and it occurred to me in October of 2005, my first story I ever conjured up was called “Lazy Bull,” about a supernatural ant. I had done a poem on the name Lazy Bull, and put it into my first book called “The Other Door,” but I didn’t employ the ant, as proper, I should have, since he was the originality of the story. I wrote the story down in my head in l969-60, when I was going to the Conservatory in Como Park, often; I’d sit in the summer along its thick walls, look inside its million windows at the plant life, let sun hit me, and dream away, I was but twelve years old at the time. And I caught the vision of an ant, they crawled all about. Red ants and thick black ants, and so forth and on. But this tale seems to come back to me, because I suppose, every time I went to the Conservatory that summer, the story progressed, and new episodes came about. The following year, I was of course, thirteen, and my head left Lazy Bull, where I dreamed it up, at the Conservatory, until I say, until October 4, 2005, when I wrote out my remembrances of the story, and now here in my home in Lima, Peru, it comes back this fresh month of April, 2006. You might think t a strange tale, but no stranger than a lot of them. I shall wrote it down as I take it of my napkin, I just found upstairs in a back drawer, I had forgot I had written it.
Lazy Bull, Chapter One: The Story
I was daydreaming, but I’m getting ahead of myself: I had hiked down to Como Park, the conservatory was there, it had ever kind of plant life you can imagine. I often went there, to the park that is, and through the conservatory, and the animal part, the zoo, and the rides, or the Midway section, and here is where I’d sat, leaned against, almost fell to sleep, and started my daydreaming, or at least it was where I sat for the summer of 1960, and did some daydreaming, and came up with Lazy Bull, my favorite of all ants, my super ant you could say; I had come here a few times after school also, after school had started back up—my new school: Como Jr. High School, but right afterwards, as fall crept into the scene, the story melted, and I was into a new world. But I will stick with the summer, and the creation of Lazy Bull, for it was a certain I saw, that triggered this story, a black ant, crawling, working, and then there were more black ants and I lost sight of the original, but every black ant that was his size became Lazy Bull, as the daydreaming commenced. As I came back to the same place week after week, by and by, I knew this story would be carved in stone within me; I had to come back to this spot to finish the story, I had no choice.
As I seen this first black ant (the original Lazy Bull), I watched him a while, he lifted up things twice his weight, no…no, perhaps three or four times his weight, and leafs three times his side and width. Back and forth he went all his friends went, but he seemed to be lifting the biggest of and heaviest leaf around. ‘Why,’ you are perhaps asking, “why then did you name him Lazy Bull,” for he was surely not lazy. But he handled that leaf so easily, that it seemed he could have lifted a hundred of them lying down. So I came up with the name, Lazy Bull, he looked like a bull, a strong ant indeed. Oh well, imagination can go a long way in such cases, and so let me tell you what happened next. This will really sound far fetched, but this is what daydreaming can do: I stared at this ant before he went into his ant hole and he said to me: “Hay…you are like me, Lazy, lazy.” And I was lazy, sitting there doing nothing, listening to my daydreaming, and an ant talk me; my eyebrows almost hit the back of my head, this was frightening. Was I sleeping, or in a trance, I don’t know, I just remember him talking, the voice said:
“Me, I’m the fat ant—Here!” (Now you know why I had to return to get the rest of the story the whole summer.)
I said, “Lazy Bull!” With a tone of confusion to my voice—and he said,
“How about that, and what is the Bull, part of it for?”
“Try to stand up Homey,” he said to me, and I did try, but couldn’t, he was bitten into my pants leg; he was like a bull pulling me so I couldn’t stand.
“Ok, ok,” I said, “you make your point,” and that was really how we first met, and as time went on that summer in particular, and spick of all, I got to know him quite well.
Thinking about it now, I wonder if I was daydreaming or if it was real, that was a long time ago, and every time I’d return he’d tell me new things about his life. I’d see that back ant by the ant hill, think it was him, and who knows, and I’d lay back start to daydreaming, and when I woke, somewhat woke up and out of my disassociation pattern, I had realized I had come from a world of my own; and I had a new story to tell, or save or simply look over, for whatever.
While in this stupor, of sorts: Lazy Bull would tell me how he helped these ants out, in particular when a spider would come around, exacting his help, a big one, big spider, he’d have to fight him off, throw him, toss him a long distance from the ant hill, lest he harm his kind; oh, this was old business for him. Once I guess they sprayed the inside of the conservatory and he had to open up the windows for the ants and the maintenance man and janitors get blamed for it in the morning, but it was ‘a gas attack,’ he, Lacy Bull, explained to me, what else could he do.
Lazy Bull
Chapter Two, An Adventure
There was a big crowd of ants around this area (the side of the conservatory, where I normally rested): it was mid-afternoon, this one summer’s day, seemingly looking at the towering face, looking down at them: me. Lazy Bull told me he couldn’t sleep, I thought about asking for some of their names, the ant names, but there were really too many of them, big black ants. Lazy Bull was kind of a hero to the horde of antes, a molder of his people’s thoughts…
“Ciao, ciao!” bellowed apoplectic sounds, a million ants waiting for Lazy Bull’s arrival, and avalanche of wisdom—full voiced they were. Then a voiced cried:
Help! Help! Help! —It was one of the ants beneath a man’s shoe who was standing by his home ant-hill—, as the man walked forward, and he lifted up his foot, I leaned halfway across my knee, looking sternly at Lazy Bull (the ant was free, but the hill was destroyed). Between the ants and a buzzing noise, and the guy who had walked now, into the conservatory, Lazy Bull had became white with anger—surely not only his teeth, his whole body turned white.
“You humans just destroyed the biggest underground home at Como Park Conservatory. He was kind of a big man, a fat one I’d say, tall, and he walked carelessly, half hazardless, and stumbled over by me, and stepped in the wrong area. But what could I say, I was a kid just observing. I thought in my mind: all they want is a place to sleep; finding food was no big thing, just keeping a nice place to sleep was a hassle, evidently.
I left that day, and came back the following week, to find the maintenance crew had filled the cracks and holes in the stairway, and put new cement on the sidewalk, and yes, all the anthills were destroyed; a bad day at Como Park.
“Will you listen to me?” Lazy Bull said.
“Sure,” I said.
“Look about for a new home for us,” said Lazy Bull.
The Conservatory had been around since the turn of the 20th century, and this area had never been touched up, and now the whole area was, and so I walked around this big complex, it would had taken Lazy Bull, or his horde, forever to do this I suppose. I wanted to find a place that would not be worked on for another fifty years or so.
The Home
Chapter Three
In to shadows I looked, as I walked around the Conservatory, and I found a statue of an Indian along side the Conservatory, a platform it was on, I had seen it since I had come to Como Park (and now at 58-years old, it is still there, same place it was 40-years ago). Here by the statue, the ground was untouched by machine or human hands; it was under the lip of he statue, in the back of it, perfect for a generation of solicitude. When I went back to explain to Lazy Bull, I had found the perfect spot, a caravan of ants left there old domicile, and headed out to live under that statue, that was 43-years ago, and I predict they are still there. And that was the last time I saw Lazy Bull, and had that ongoing daydream. It sure did feel real, I wonder if they are still there, still under that Indian Statue, I have went by it a few years ago, but I paid it no attention, only gave it a quick stare or two, and smile.
Note: officially written in Huston, Texas [while waiting for my flight for 70-minutes, to go to Lima, Peru; coming from St. Paul, Minnesota, October 4, 2005: see Advance for more information on the story.]
Lazy Bull, Chapter One: The Story
I was daydreaming, but I’m getting ahead of myself: I had hiked down to Como Park, the conservatory was there, it had ever kind of plant life you can imagine. I often went there, to the park that is, and through the conservatory, and the animal part, the zoo, and the rides, or the Midway section, and here is where I’d sat, leaned against, almost fell to sleep, and started my daydreaming, or at least it was where I sat for the summer of 1960, and did some daydreaming, and came up with Lazy Bull, my favorite of all ants, my super ant you could say; I had come here a few times after school also, after school had started back up—my new school: Como Jr. High School, but right afterwards, as fall crept into the scene, the story melted, and I was into a new world. But I will stick with the summer, and the creation of Lazy Bull, for it was a certain I saw, that triggered this story, a black ant, crawling, working, and then there were more black ants and I lost sight of the original, but every black ant that was his size became Lazy Bull, as the daydreaming commenced. As I came back to the same place week after week, by and by, I knew this story would be carved in stone within me; I had to come back to this spot to finish the story, I had no choice.
As I seen this first black ant (the original Lazy Bull), I watched him a while, he lifted up things twice his weight, no…no, perhaps three or four times his weight, and leafs three times his side and width. Back and forth he went all his friends went, but he seemed to be lifting the biggest of and heaviest leaf around. ‘Why,’ you are perhaps asking, “why then did you name him Lazy Bull,” for he was surely not lazy. But he handled that leaf so easily, that it seemed he could have lifted a hundred of them lying down. So I came up with the name, Lazy Bull, he looked like a bull, a strong ant indeed. Oh well, imagination can go a long way in such cases, and so let me tell you what happened next. This will really sound far fetched, but this is what daydreaming can do: I stared at this ant before he went into his ant hole and he said to me: “Hay…you are like me, Lazy, lazy.” And I was lazy, sitting there doing nothing, listening to my daydreaming, and an ant talk me; my eyebrows almost hit the back of my head, this was frightening. Was I sleeping, or in a trance, I don’t know, I just remember him talking, the voice said:
“Me, I’m the fat ant—Here!” (Now you know why I had to return to get the rest of the story the whole summer.)
I said, “Lazy Bull!” With a tone of confusion to my voice—and he said,
“How about that, and what is the Bull, part of it for?”
“Try to stand up Homey,” he said to me, and I did try, but couldn’t, he was bitten into my pants leg; he was like a bull pulling me so I couldn’t stand.
“Ok, ok,” I said, “you make your point,” and that was really how we first met, and as time went on that summer in particular, and spick of all, I got to know him quite well.
Thinking about it now, I wonder if I was daydreaming or if it was real, that was a long time ago, and every time I’d return he’d tell me new things about his life. I’d see that back ant by the ant hill, think it was him, and who knows, and I’d lay back start to daydreaming, and when I woke, somewhat woke up and out of my disassociation pattern, I had realized I had come from a world of my own; and I had a new story to tell, or save or simply look over, for whatever.
While in this stupor, of sorts: Lazy Bull would tell me how he helped these ants out, in particular when a spider would come around, exacting his help, a big one, big spider, he’d have to fight him off, throw him, toss him a long distance from the ant hill, lest he harm his kind; oh, this was old business for him. Once I guess they sprayed the inside of the conservatory and he had to open up the windows for the ants and the maintenance man and janitors get blamed for it in the morning, but it was ‘a gas attack,’ he, Lacy Bull, explained to me, what else could he do.
Lazy Bull
Chapter Two, An Adventure
There was a big crowd of ants around this area (the side of the conservatory, where I normally rested): it was mid-afternoon, this one summer’s day, seemingly looking at the towering face, looking down at them: me. Lazy Bull told me he couldn’t sleep, I thought about asking for some of their names, the ant names, but there were really too many of them, big black ants. Lazy Bull was kind of a hero to the horde of antes, a molder of his people’s thoughts…
“Ciao, ciao!” bellowed apoplectic sounds, a million ants waiting for Lazy Bull’s arrival, and avalanche of wisdom—full voiced they were. Then a voiced cried:
Help! Help! Help! —It was one of the ants beneath a man’s shoe who was standing by his home ant-hill—, as the man walked forward, and he lifted up his foot, I leaned halfway across my knee, looking sternly at Lazy Bull (the ant was free, but the hill was destroyed). Between the ants and a buzzing noise, and the guy who had walked now, into the conservatory, Lazy Bull had became white with anger—surely not only his teeth, his whole body turned white.
“You humans just destroyed the biggest underground home at Como Park Conservatory. He was kind of a big man, a fat one I’d say, tall, and he walked carelessly, half hazardless, and stumbled over by me, and stepped in the wrong area. But what could I say, I was a kid just observing. I thought in my mind: all they want is a place to sleep; finding food was no big thing, just keeping a nice place to sleep was a hassle, evidently.
I left that day, and came back the following week, to find the maintenance crew had filled the cracks and holes in the stairway, and put new cement on the sidewalk, and yes, all the anthills were destroyed; a bad day at Como Park.
“Will you listen to me?” Lazy Bull said.
“Sure,” I said.
“Look about for a new home for us,” said Lazy Bull.
The Conservatory had been around since the turn of the 20th century, and this area had never been touched up, and now the whole area was, and so I walked around this big complex, it would had taken Lazy Bull, or his horde, forever to do this I suppose. I wanted to find a place that would not be worked on for another fifty years or so.
The Home
Chapter Three
In to shadows I looked, as I walked around the Conservatory, and I found a statue of an Indian along side the Conservatory, a platform it was on, I had seen it since I had come to Como Park (and now at 58-years old, it is still there, same place it was 40-years ago). Here by the statue, the ground was untouched by machine or human hands; it was under the lip of he statue, in the back of it, perfect for a generation of solicitude. When I went back to explain to Lazy Bull, I had found the perfect spot, a caravan of ants left there old domicile, and headed out to live under that statue, that was 43-years ago, and I predict they are still there. And that was the last time I saw Lazy Bull, and had that ongoing daydream. It sure did feel real, I wonder if they are still there, still under that Indian Statue, I have went by it a few years ago, but I paid it no attention, only gave it a quick stare or two, and smile.
Note: officially written in Huston, Texas [while waiting for my flight for 70-minutes, to go to Lima, Peru; coming from St. Paul, Minnesota, October 4, 2005: see Advance for more information on the story.]
posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk at 11:12 AM
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