Anal: The Voice of the Common Man

By Hank Fredo

In this thought-provoking tale of self-discovery, join Hank as he navigates the complex tapestry of life, art, and the human experience. With an avid passion for writing, a deep love for movies, and an unyielding curiosity about the world, Hank embarks on a journey of reflection and growth.

Having lived as a nomad for years, Hank finds himself at a crossroads, yearning for a place to call his own. As he settles into his new home, a breathtaking refuge overlooking downtown L.A., optimism courses through his veins. Finally owning a piece of the world he passionately observes, Hank discovers the power of personal commandments—ten guiding principles that light his path and redefine his perspective.

Amidst the backdrop of a vibrant city teeming with contradictions, Hank delves into existential questions, embracing vulnerability, change, solitude, imperfection, gratitude, authenticity, and the enigmatic allure of the unknown. With each revelation, Hank's journey unfolds, inviting readers to embark on their own exploration of life's complexities and the boundless depths of the human spirit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seagull Editions
• Release date: Jun 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223975694

Book preview

Forward

I stepped back, wiping the beads of sweat from my brow as I surveyed my small, modest house. It was the first one I had ever owned, a symbol of stability and security that had eluded me for so long. The gray exterior blended seamlessly with the quiet street, where rows of houses stood like sentinels against the passing of time. It wasn't a place where people strolled leisurely on the sidewalks, as there were only houses in the neighborhood. But it had its perks. There were shops and necessities just a short drive away, and a small university nestled a few blocks down from my dead-end street.

My house had a charm of its own, a quaint simplicity that resonated with me. The front yard boasted a neatly trimmed lawn and a couple of flowering bushes, adding a touch of vibrancy to the otherwise serene surroundings. However, it was the back deck that truly captivated me. From there, I could glimpse the glimmering downtown Los Angeles skyline, a distant promise of bustling life against the tranquil backdrop of my own haven.

Underneath the deck, a small garden awaited me, complete with a shiny new BBQ grill. It would be the perfect spot to indulge in my passion for cooking and barbequed meats. As I set down the last of the boxes in the living room, I couldn't help but feel a surge of optimism. This place was mine—a sanctuary I had worked hard to acquire.

I gazed at the stack of boxes and totes that still littered the room, remnants of the move I had just completed. They were my companions throughout my nomadic lifestyle of the past few years—L.A., Vegas, New Orleans, Chicago—cities that had each left their mark on my soul. But now, here I stood, ready to plant my roots deep into this new chapter of my life.

Unpacking had always been a tedious task, but today it held a different allure. Each box I opened revealed a piece of my past, mingling with the promises of the future. I imagined the walls adorned with framed movie posters, magazines I’d written for, all capturing memories made in far-flung places. Even the shelves were lined with books and movies I had collected along the way.

With a renewed sense of determination, I began to unpack. The sound of tape ripping and cardboard being broken apart filled the air, a symphony of progress. As I carefully arranged my belongings in their newly designated spaces, I couldn't help but appreciate the stability that enveloped me. No longer a wanderer, I was now a homeowner, a provider of my own sanctuary.

The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow on the room. It felt like a gentle embrace, a reminder that I had finally found my place in the world. As the boxes were emptied and discarded, a sense of contentment settled over me. This was where I belonged, where I could build a life of my own, and where I could write, and live, in peace and solitude without the worries of landlords and urgent commissions.

I took a moment to sit on the edge of the sofa, surveying the room that was slowly transforming into a reflection of my personality. The walls whispered with stories yet to be told, and the air hummed with the promise of new beginnings. I had come a long way from the transient existence I once led, and as I looked around, I couldn't help but smile. The journey had been worth it, for it had led me to this humble abode I could finally call home.

I sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a sea of still unpacked boxes. Each one was a treasure chest of memories waiting to be rediscovered. As I sorted through the contents, folding clothes and placing them in drawers, I couldn't help but let my mind wander back to the journey that brought me to this point.

My life had been a whirlwind of movement, a perpetual dance with transience. I had become accustomed to waking up in the dead of night, momentarily disoriented, not recognizing the room I found myself in. Anonymous places filled my memories and mind, a collection of fleeting impressions that had become my norm. It was a sensation I had grown used to over the years.

I had never attempted to establish a base, to settle down and call a place home. It felt unnatural, almost foreign to me. And while the comfort of my new abode should have embraced me, making me feel at ease, it seemed to elude me still. This unfamiliar sensation left me questioning my own desires and searching for a sense of belonging that remained elusive.

The comfort I now possessed was a double-edged sword. On one hand, my mind found rest, liberated from the constant pressure of delivering, paying rent, seeking new opportunities, and juggling plans. The weight that had always burdened me as a traveler was lifted, allowing me to savor the simple joys of stability. On the other hand, this newfound comfort distracted me, pulling my attention away from the sense of home I yearned for.

I confessed to myself that adapting to this new way of life required time and patience. It was an adjustment, like learning a new language or finding a rhythm in a different dance. My mind still wandered into the depths of that other world, the realm where sleepless nights fueled my creativity, and the world outside my window was constantly changing. That life felt like a distant memory, a chapter that had come to a close, yet its echoes lingered.

Deciding to take a break from the task at hand, I rose from the floor and made my way to the mirror. I adjusted my peppered hair and donned a worn-out hat and a pair of sunglasses. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I glanced at my reflection, ready to venture out into the world.

I stepped outside, my small silver sedan parked neatly in the driveway. It had carried me through countless adventures, its faded paint and worn seats bearing the stories of my nomadic lifestyle. Today, it would take me on a different kind of journey—a quest for comfort in the form of picture frames, art pieces, and lamps from the local flea market.

As I pulled out of the driveway, I noticed one of my new neighbors retrieving his mail. I rolled down the window and exchanged a kind smile with him, a gesture that spoke volumes of the welcoming community that surrounded me.

Driving down the quiet street, I felt a flicker of anticipation. The flea market was just a short distance away, offering an array of treasures that would breathe life into my new home. With each passing moment, I inched closer to transforming this space into something that resonated with my soul—a place that truly felt like home.

I returned from the flea market a couple of hours later, my