Archive for the ‘Rant’ Category

Journal Blurb

There are no pros and cons to being a clown.  I can ask, “why am I this way?” or “what does being a clown even mean?” but I’m not able to say if this method of dealing with social interactions is a good one.  I am the kind of clown who is highly aware of his clowniness.  While I realize I am capable of being a polite, reserved, belonging member of a culture, I feel that my thoughts are always possessed by an omniscient sense of awkwardness that keeps long lasting peace at bay.  A white noise of misplacement fogs my consciousness.  Nervous, carbonated energy builds and releases pressure in a restless, unpredictable progression.  This awkwardness is not regulated by the physical presence of others.  The apparitions of other humans populate my own constructed invisible jury.  This jury may also be labeled an organization with access to all of my vulnerabilities whose ultimate goal is to build anxiety within my soul and exponentially increase that anxiety every following year.  No real person is at fault for being a member of the organization, yet I may blame them when we meet.
This organization of mine reminds me of T.V. news.  The news and the people who know me are both vague, perpetually shifting organizations.  They are more alive in my mind than they are true and accountable.  Both find satisfying energy in confrontation.  Both draw judgments from me naturally.  Both have deeply confidential motives and connections.  I am ready to reject both, but unable to define what I am without either.
If I feel it, it must be real.

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Why would you like to work for our company?
(Please remember to be honest and let your true personality shine free.)

Have you never been convicted of a felony in the last twelve years?
In the last any number of years?

If you weren’t quite full from lunch but you only had twelve minutes before the end of break, would you:
a)    Chance it and order a delicious cheese steak sandwich to go?
b)    Walk down a few blocks and snag a Slurpee from 7-11 as a sort of dessert?
c)    Say to yourself, “My sense of responsibility can only be overpowered by my loyalty to the company.  I should write an anonymous thank you letter to the manager for making sure we have comfortable chairs.”

Have you ever shaved in a public restroom?
Please, explain.

We are a company that likes to laugh.  Write down your best “a (blank) walks into a bar” joke.  Don’t make it offensive.  Don’t talk about minorities or women.  It’s ok to reference sex indirectly.  Don’t mention drugs.  Or political opinions.  Have fun.  Relax.  Write.  Down.  Your.  Answer.
Right.

Now.

Why were you fired from your last job?

A future version of yourself emerges from behind a sycamore tree on your first day of work as you walk up to the office.  Your future self says to you, “Hark!  If you choose to enter into this new occupation, be prepared to face violence, abuse and a morally ambiguous ending.”  How do you interpret this prophecy?

We will be filming you while you work.
Problem?  (Write “Y” for yes or “N” for no.)

Group praying at the work place is:
a)    The biblical definition of “progressive.”
b)    We don’t work on the Sabbath, maybe we oughtta think about this…
c)    Hallelujah!

Write something painfully self-deprecating.  A story about clogging the toilet on a first date or something like that.

No one has ever said, “a business is like a fat little pink man with no eyebrows who rides around town in the front seat of a taxi while reading contemporary erotic fiction.”
This isn’t so much a question as it is a meditation.

If someone from upper management approached you and said, “I’ll trade you a promotional favor for a sexual favor,” what would be the structure of your response?  (If you are a girl, please skip ahead three pages.  Before doing so, though, tear this page in half, starting from just below the previous question.)

What is it about women?

Isn’t the concept of “labor laws” kind of totalitarian?

The internet:
a)    Is a trip.
b)    I’ve never been?
c)    Belongs to those in ivory towers.
d)    Takes business away from libraries.

Thank you for your time, youthful worker person.

Notebook Blurbs

Cop shows on TV radically manipulate reality.  The reality is: police officers occasionally break the law.  Cop shows only broadcast law-prevailing, successful interactions between police and criminals.  There has never been an episode showing a police officer beat somebody who is in custody or disregard someone’s rights in any other way.  In the world of cop shows, these instances do not occur.  In the world of people who watch cop shows but do not read about cops, cops may be more easily perceived as infallible.

Exceptions to rules that I create in my mind are unpleasant because they force me to reevaluate and reinterpret old notions.  The older a notion is, the stronger its permanence.  Rule: This person is out to get me.  Exception: This person did something selfless and human.  Hopefully this rule is not yet permanent.  Rules and notions and mental constructions are oftentimes out of my control because they are oftentimes left unchecked.

1)   Memorize the words that you are writing in this sentence with your fingers pressing letters down and down.  Pull your bed away from the corner of the painted white walls.  Stick your hand into the gnawed hole without using a flashlight.  Pull out the box with a lid on it.  Carry the box with a lid to a level surface, open it and take out the yellow papers.  (Before you burn them, when they are mixed up yet all together in the fireplace, pick out one sheet at random.  Read it for inspiration’s sake.)

2)  Take every picture of yourself to the backyard.  Find all of your drawings, too.  Add them.  Go through every cabinet drawer, closet shelf, lidded jar.  Collect everything that you’ve ever made or has been made about you.  Find those plates with your miniature handprints on them.  Form all of these objects into a pyramid.  Try to make the pyramid as symmetrical as possible.  Make sure the pyramid obstructs a few sprinklers.  Write on a sheet of paper:

PLAQUE

“The official monument of mine.  Monument Me.”

Tape the paper to the base of the pyramid after writing on the back in very small print, “You did what you thought was right.”

3)  Dig up the pornography near the shed that you stole from your father.  Do your best to clean off the mess.  Organize a neat stack by date.  Tie a string around the magazines.  Replace the package back to your father’s original hiding place in the attic.

4)  Sell the clothes that fit best and hide the money around the kitchen.

5)  Go to a tattoo parlor you’ve never heard of.  Pay for the initials you once carved on your shoulder to be tattooed.  Frame the initials with a symmetrical heart.

“What does it mean,”

(you ask the concept of “paint”)

“to be raking leaves in a forest while wearing tan overalls?”

answer:

“I’ll answer with a question,”

what is a pond,

skimmed surface and chloronated?

Here _ is the Crux of mass and over production

The moss farted.

White guys bled the ocean.

Social problems = “This is the way society is.”
Through the eyes of an outcast narrator in a story, either the world is a problem or the narrator’s way of seeing things is a problem.
(What does it mean if the way of thinking that makes the narrator an outcast has been developed as an attempt to adapt to the society in the first place?  Certain individuals will inevitably be disconnected?)
Society as an untouchable superpower.
The same people who create it are somehow powerless to change it.
Society: anything constructed by a group of humans that cannot be changed by a single human.
*    *    *    *    *
The narrator’s word is the only word.  The narrator is the God of its own story.  Yet this God is imperfect and unaware of its implicit patterns and contradictions.  The reader is aware of the God’s imperfections and takes pleasure in realizing all of its hidden patterns.  The reader is on par with God and therefore becomes a God herself.
*    *    *    *    *
It seems that we are collectively annoyed by advertisements.  After years of repetition, the increase in advertising has numbed our ability to analyze or even verbalize our annoyance.
The billboards; shall we tear them down?
Perhaps a sarcastic drum circle will suffice.
*    *    *    *    *
The suburbs are demonstrated by hilariously artificial boundaries.  Low wooden fences and narrow tracts of flowerbeds signify the self-compartmentalized division of lives and properties.
Nature is also sequestered and molested at whim.  Grass is kept separate from the ivy.  Trees are neatly framed by cement set rings of red brick.  Suburban areas where plants are allowed to grow free should be approached with a sinking feeling of distrust.
*    *    *    *    *
A thin, faceless man films himself with a camera connected to his computer.  He threatens to cut off his right arm, live on the internet, if his favorite celebrity won’t have a face-to-face conversation with him.
The video is picked up by blogs and eventually the mainstream media airs his story.  Word comes from the celebrity’s agent that there will be no meeting.
Stunned, the man chokes when he hears the news.  He decides to back out and stops updating his website.  A few weeks pass and the man actively tries to forget about the whole incident.
During those few weeks a group of angry forum users discuss the incident and decide to force the man to keep his promise.  The forum users find the man’s address by hacking into his personal accounts.  They arrive at the man’s house as a mob.  The man is punched in the face by the first one through the door.  For the next three minutes, the man begs for his life.  The mob destroys his couch and leaves.

You untethered blimp of potential, flitting to hallway’s corners, areas unshakable by earthquake, ingesting weighty objects of association of feelings, a lone choice, the solace of your meshy, anchor-free, swung wide, self-classified condition.  There, above the underside of a reeking, pity-inducing crevice, with only your self’s servitude simmering socratic symbolism, you find the time never to sleep.  And what is piece to you, if not, upon gaging, a stair above the spotted linoleum floor’s foundation, argument, sexless twin sister of rivalry, shuffler of power, satisfaction’s lonely effigy.   But, whether abstracting, undulating above the cement bed on inaction, pursuing an enclosed offer to no one but alone, sea-sawing, generating submersibal patterns, concluding, marinating in potential of sandstorm, you can’t manage, while managing, the right, the pill of nature, to shed old skin.  Unfathoming countless pencil tics, the me factory gone upwards, those potentials may be stamped into quantification.  Rightfully, with sly mobility of, nonetheless wincing, pergatory’s cartoon agent, reruns, the white noise of dull hum, static defense system, sensory clogs of colored variety, bar genuine query, children’s society.  The conflict, long running, something of a classic breeding, purposes not depth of height, discovery catalogs, elemental, omnipotent, emphathy, but, forthrightly, low waves of safety’s frequencies, emitted habit enforcement, trust dumbers, remembered imagined potential, fizzles and burps a steady win.

Anticipation

Characater A:  Short, fat and bald male.  This person is extremely attentive, focused, determined and relatively dispassionate.  Judging by the words this person chooses and the way this person carries himself, it is obvious that he is proud of his own education.  The technical terms and strictly informal speech used by this man point towards an upper-class lifestyle.
Character B:  Tall and lanky male.  Lost in thought, trying to concentrate, this guy ultimately has a hard time concentrating.  He desperately wants to write, but keeps getting tripped up on his own thoughts.  Judging by the way this person dresses in old clothes, it seems he is poor, although he does speak with an air of intelligence when he can focus.

B:  Maybe I can have them starting at the end, squaring off on the edge of a cliff, and right before one of them looses footing and drops to the rocky shore below, we can go back in time to see where it all began…
A:  If you don’t mind me saying–and only because it’s my job and I’m trying to save you some trouble, that idea has already been executed.  The cliff scene has been used in a number of films, cartoons, children’s adventure stories and comic books.  The interweaving of time plot device is evident in more recent films.  Most of them popular, yet very poorly reviewed.
B:  Ok, alright.  What about a guy who has an identity crisis…One of his personalities has a corporate job, while the other is a corporate terrorist!
A:  Before you start working your magic and getting all specific, you should probably be aware of the film “Fight Club” starring Brad Pitt and Edward Norton.  While this movie may be on the top ten favorites list of every college student in America, few can tell you why, and fewer have read more than ten books.
B:  Alright, this guy, a misfit, wanders around a city, and—
A:  The Catcher in the Rye.
B:  A sociopath decides to—
B:  The Stranger.
A:  Two People—
B:  Romeo and Juliet.
A:  What do you want from me!  What are you waiting for?!
B:  Are you quoting the pulp horror classic Scream, or is your question directed at me, sir?
A:  You!  Why can’t you let me write!  Once I get started I know I’ll come up with something original.  If you could just let me finish one idea, I’d be on my way.
B:  Original?  Boy, there is no such thing as original.  I am a trained professional, here to perform my job.
A:  What job?  I thought you were a janitor, talking to your self.  How did you get in here?
B:  Silence, pathetic mortal!  My brain is the world’s most powerful computer, a database filled with every story, movie, poem, and piece of media that can be found on TV, in movie theaters and in all the dusty libraries of the world.  I am so efficient that I can detect a regurgitated idea from only a few brief words.
A:  Is that so?
B:  But of course.
A:  Oh yeah…well, an archaeologist—
B:  Indiana Jones.
A:  Dammit!
B:  Haha.  Yes, nothing can surprise me.  It’s quite safe to say I lead a pleasant life, being free from the stress of pesky surprises and all.

Friend: So…how was your weekend?
Me: Hmm.
(I think about all the insignificant details that construct a whole weekend. Which one of them is important enough to define the overall quality? Is it a combination of all the events? An absolution stating if the sum parts were a majority of overall enjoyment or down right negativity?)
Me: It was…good.
Friend: That’s nice.
Me: But that’s not really what I mean.
(I remember the pasta I ate on Saturday night. The pasta, rigatoni style, was not too hot, but the marinara sauce must have been served at a boiling temperature. I couldn’t wait for the delicious plate of food in front of me to cool down, so I stuck my fork in and proceeded to take a massive bite. Here I am, sitting in my last Monday class, and the roof of my mouth still feels tender from the burn. Although, I can’t forget or deny how good that crispy piece of garlic bread tasted once everything cooled down…)
Friend: So it was bad?
Me: No…it’s just kind of an intricate question when you really stop and think about it.
Friend: What? I asked you that forty-five minutes ago. Stop talking to me.

And here is my essential problem with spoken language. Typical speaking situations inherently possess time frames. There are definite time limitations that a person must meet in order to maintain a non-awkward, two-sided and healthy conversation. Unless the conversation is trivial, like when you can just fall back on repetitive formal responses—as I couldn’t even do in the example given above—a person must make quick decisions with flowing ease while choosing from a slew of possible words in order to convey the clearest meaning possible. Although thrilling at times, the high-risk life of a conversationalist usually proves to be difficult and stressful. Too often have I snatched at a word in the heat of a good talk, only to look back with regret and think about how I could have made myself clearer if I had more time to think about what I really wanted to say. Thesauruses and dictionaries are to spoken words what S.T.D. ‘s are to a first date: you just don’t bring them up. If you were to stop a political discussion and pull out a thesaurus to look up another word for “jerk”, “communist”, or “Gerald Ford” your conversation would not be recovered when you found the perfect word for your specific argument or point.
And that is why I sternly believe that sitting down, taking your time and clarifying yourself through the ancient craft of writing is…really, really…good.

“i have reached a conclusion that the computer is an impure, despicable device. the reasons are scientific, phrased in mathematical terms. we are at an age of deprecation and irrelevance, but we have just begun. i have not discovered a way to rid our dependence of this machine due to our interdependence on each other. i feel so lonely, and i fear it is going to get worse unless i throw this machine away, but then i will be alone.”

I agree, but that doesn’t mean we haven’t wasted countless possibilities.