Status: updated frequently
We Who Wander
Samson
“Where must we go, we who wander this wasteland, in search of our better selves?”
I never actually paid attention to Mad Max: Fury Road, but the very end has managed to stick with me for the past 4 years. George Miller may have written that for the sake of the movie, but I see the meaning behind those words far beyond whatever ideals the movie portrayed.
I’m thinking about that quote now, as I walk down the ever-busy Figueroa street. I’m here to see one thing; The Chicken Boy. `
You may be wondering, why in the hell would I have traveled for over an hour in horrendus LA traffic to see something called The Chicken Boy? To be honest, I don’t blame you. The Chicken Boy is just a very old and weird statue that was salvaged from a chicken joint sometime back in the 1900’s, and got relocated on Figueroa street in LA. It’s labeled the Statue of Liberty of Los Angeles simply because it has this odd charm to it that people seem to love.
The reason i’m here in search of that statue is because I don’t really have anything better to do. Well, that depends on what you mean by better. If we’re talking better as in something more productive, then yes. There’s a million things I could be doing right now- like studying for the finals that my grades so desperately depend on- rather than scoping out Highland Park for The Chicken Boy.
But If we’re talking better as in something I would enjoy more than this, then no. I happen to be a very big fan of unusual attractions, places of the odd or macabre sort are just my type. I spend most of my time searching for places and things just like The Chicken Boy.
Back to the present, however, I’m growing ever impatient as i’m being shoved by strangers on the sidewalk. I quicken my pace and focus on trying to make myself small and flexible, bending between the small gaps of humans in the crowd. I glance up every few minutes or so, looking for any sign that would point me in the direction of my destination. All I saw were pieces of buildings and the sky through the cracks of multiple heads. I thought I was tall, but it seems that there are more guys 6 feet and taller in LA than i expected.
Then, like how the Red Sea parted for Moses as he led his people away from the Pharoah, the crowd split and allowed me a large view above; And there was The Chicken Boy, in all his very unique glory.
I made my way to the side of the street closest to the shops- and, more importantly- The Chicken Boy. Once I passed the traffic, I was able to sneak along the side until i reached the small shop that rested exactly beneath the feathery behemoth. I looked up, and his gaze seemed to tear through my soul. It was as if The Chicken Boy was very much alive with the soul of an omnipotent being. An entity that knew everything about me. One that knew who I was, where i’ve been, why I was there, and why i’m here. It was an unsettling sight, to say the least.
I let my head fall forward, and fixed my eyes on the run down Chicken Boy gift shop. It was as sad as the statue itself, but thankfully not as intimidating. I opened the door, and allowed myself in.
Nearly everything in the store had some sort of Chicken Boy resemblance to it. Postcards, stuffed animals, shirts, hats, and everything in between all paying homage to the one and only Chicken Boy. Honestly, the printed images of The Chicken Boy were all prettier sights than the real thing. I let my hands wander the wooden shelves, being careful of splinters getting stuck in my fingers.
You may also be wondering, what in the hell does the end quote of Mad Max: Fury Road and it’s meaning have anything to do with wanting to see The Chicken Boy? To be honest, I don’t blame you for that one, either. I’m not completely sure myself why that sentence ran through my head, but maybe it means that somehow, something about this dumb statue will show me my better self. I glanced over at a postcard with an image of The Chicken Boy looking quite pissed; his expression most likely accidental. Or maybe, just maybe, the soul inside of The Chicken Boy is angry at me for calling him a dumb statue.
Note to self: Be careful about calling strange figures or objects stupid. You might upset something divine and vengeful.
As I stared blankly at the card, I heard a voice call out to me from the back of the store. “All postcards will cost you ten dollars.” I looked back at the man. He was short, fat, and had grey hair framing his red face. His voice was surprisingly high pitched for someone with that kind of appearance. “Ten dollars? For a card with a creepy picture of The Chicken Boy?” “You heard it.”
“Damn, business must be rough.” “Someone’s gotta pay for the building he calls home.”
I looked at the card again. Even though it was a pretty unreasonable price, and the image itself really unsettled me, I grabbed two of them and walked over to the counter. A small smile spread across the man’s face. “Had a change of heart now, did you?”
“Well, someone’s gotta pay for the building he calls home.”
I never actually paid attention to Mad Max: Fury Road, but the very end has managed to stick with me for the past 4 years. George Miller may have written that for the sake of the movie, but I see the meaning behind those words far beyond whatever ideals the movie portrayed.
I’m thinking about that quote now, as I walk down the ever-busy Figueroa street. I’m here to see one thing; The Chicken Boy. `
You may be wondering, why in the hell would I have traveled for over an hour in horrendus LA traffic to see something called The Chicken Boy? To be honest, I don’t blame you. The Chicken Boy is just a very old and weird statue that was salvaged from a chicken joint sometime back in the 1900’s, and got relocated on Figueroa street in LA. It’s labeled the Statue of Liberty of Los Angeles simply because it has this odd charm to it that people seem to love.
The reason i’m here in search of that statue is because I don’t really have anything better to do. Well, that depends on what you mean by better. If we’re talking better as in something more productive, then yes. There’s a million things I could be doing right now- like studying for the finals that my grades so desperately depend on- rather than scoping out Highland Park for The Chicken Boy.
But If we’re talking better as in something I would enjoy more than this, then no. I happen to be a very big fan of unusual attractions, places of the odd or macabre sort are just my type. I spend most of my time searching for places and things just like The Chicken Boy.
Back to the present, however, I’m growing ever impatient as i’m being shoved by strangers on the sidewalk. I quicken my pace and focus on trying to make myself small and flexible, bending between the small gaps of humans in the crowd. I glance up every few minutes or so, looking for any sign that would point me in the direction of my destination. All I saw were pieces of buildings and the sky through the cracks of multiple heads. I thought I was tall, but it seems that there are more guys 6 feet and taller in LA than i expected.
Then, like how the Red Sea parted for Moses as he led his people away from the Pharoah, the crowd split and allowed me a large view above; And there was The Chicken Boy, in all his very unique glory.
I made my way to the side of the street closest to the shops- and, more importantly- The Chicken Boy. Once I passed the traffic, I was able to sneak along the side until i reached the small shop that rested exactly beneath the feathery behemoth. I looked up, and his gaze seemed to tear through my soul. It was as if The Chicken Boy was very much alive with the soul of an omnipotent being. An entity that knew everything about me. One that knew who I was, where i’ve been, why I was there, and why i’m here. It was an unsettling sight, to say the least.
I let my head fall forward, and fixed my eyes on the run down Chicken Boy gift shop. It was as sad as the statue itself, but thankfully not as intimidating. I opened the door, and allowed myself in.
Nearly everything in the store had some sort of Chicken Boy resemblance to it. Postcards, stuffed animals, shirts, hats, and everything in between all paying homage to the one and only Chicken Boy. Honestly, the printed images of The Chicken Boy were all prettier sights than the real thing. I let my hands wander the wooden shelves, being careful of splinters getting stuck in my fingers.
You may also be wondering, what in the hell does the end quote of Mad Max: Fury Road and it’s meaning have anything to do with wanting to see The Chicken Boy? To be honest, I don’t blame you for that one, either. I’m not completely sure myself why that sentence ran through my head, but maybe it means that somehow, something about this dumb statue will show me my better self. I glanced over at a postcard with an image of The Chicken Boy looking quite pissed; his expression most likely accidental. Or maybe, just maybe, the soul inside of The Chicken Boy is angry at me for calling him a dumb statue.
Note to self: Be careful about calling strange figures or objects stupid. You might upset something divine and vengeful.
As I stared blankly at the card, I heard a voice call out to me from the back of the store. “All postcards will cost you ten dollars.” I looked back at the man. He was short, fat, and had grey hair framing his red face. His voice was surprisingly high pitched for someone with that kind of appearance. “Ten dollars? For a card with a creepy picture of The Chicken Boy?” “You heard it.”
“Damn, business must be rough.” “Someone’s gotta pay for the building he calls home.”
I looked at the card again. Even though it was a pretty unreasonable price, and the image itself really unsettled me, I grabbed two of them and walked over to the counter. A small smile spread across the man’s face. “Had a change of heart now, did you?”
“Well, someone’s gotta pay for the building he calls home.”