Aidan Badinger

A Matter of Audience

Every single person on this earth has an audience of some kind, whether it resides in your pocket or in a movie theater. Nothing is equal in this universe aside from the fact that nothing was created to be the same as anything else (aside from behavior of particles under the laws of physics), so everybody will have different kinds of audiences and influences. Nobody should feel compromised simply because they have a small audience, and nobody should let their ego devour the soul that got them to the point where their audience would like to strip them bare and make juicy love to them for days on end.

There’s obviously a secret to attaining “fame”, in that sense. I happen to know that many (many) people possess this secret and choose not to use it. I have the utmost respect and admiration for these brave individuals, and I will spend my life trying to find them. I’ve already found a bunch, and I hope a bunch more will follow.

Well, Yeah XXIX

Seven grimy little speculatives prindle across my gallery floor, after I specifically told them to wipe their feet upon engaging in heavy humiliation for the sake of their beloved ancestors. I’m a liberal sort of person, but only so many things can run across my field of vision before my temples begin thumping and causing me a severe headache. The blurry vision and stammering retinas are not good for my prolonged curatory career, and I poured my heart into this endeavor. It’s a real shame when speculatives can’t obey my commands or even accommodate a quick gesture, and it has become clear to me that I must plow forward in this project by myself, leaving behind those little goobers for a sweeter reward. It’s on the horizon, blurry (due to my migraine or near-sightedness, I’m not sure) and promising colors galore, subdivided into hues unimaginable to folks behind me. I’ll get there first and gloat for seven seconds as my competitors reach my apex, only to find that I’ve laid a booby trap for them. As they tumble into this pit of despair (and crocodiles), I’ll be watching their descent and waving, hoping they’ll have the wherewithal to look up and regret their lemming impersonations.

Chronicles of I – #6

For I told my butcher: “I want gravy with that”. Now and forever, I shall always demand gravy on the side, never on top. I could care less whether or not my butcher has this gravy readymade for me at any given moment, as I pay the premium prices to keep him in business. The least he can do is simmer a pot in the back for my saucy pleasure. I will give him six business days to amend his practices, after which I shall seek new routes for obtaining my prepared meats and gravies.

Chronicles of I – #4

I haven’t folded any siblings at the present moment, though I’m confident to say that my upcoming moments will involve exponential growth in that arena. I’ve stumbled upon a great new widget for bending my brothers and sisters to my will, and I’m certain that, with a little practice, I can effectively coerce them into doing my bidding (at least 96% of the time). There are always going to be a few kinks in the system, but my reign as tyrannical overlord is bound to get its feet off the ground within the next calendar month. You can count on that, you cynical renegades, you.

Chronicles of I – #2

I took some money from the drawer; it gathered in a pile. I watched the pile dwindle slowly and consistently in time, as though I would never be content with any amount of it. I kept taking money from that sacred drawer, and it just as consistently flew away, never to be grasped again by my own hands. Then the drawer dried up; I had nowhere to go for a currency fix. I asked everybody I knew if they had drawers they could lend to me, and they gave me the cumulative stink eye. I was alone in my destitution, doomed to traipse along a desert of moneylessness. Parched, weak, tired, and overall just not a happy camper.

Well, Yeah XXVIII

Take the cucumber from the box and measure it against the zucchini. Are they the same size? If this is the case, one must be shortened by biting an end and either chewing vigorously or spitting (this is entirely your choice). I cannot emphasize enough the importance of having one vegetable shorter than the other before you proceed. Okay, so we have produce of different lengths sitting adjacent to one another, just far enough apart for no monkey business to take place. We don’t need a vegetable mutiny on our hands before we go on this picnic, do we? Nobody signed up to be humiliated or injured for the sake of cuisine.

Well, Yeah XXVII

I’ve built a life for myself alongside the skyscraper dreams I’d learned to toss aside. I haven’t taken out the trash yet, as the pile isn’t too high for comfort. I know that any day I’ll have to rid myself of all this rubbish, but I’m hoping that something will come along to make me forget it all. A kindly old man who falls and breaks his hip while I’m waiting for the bus, or a sad little kid waiting for her dad to pick her up from soccer practice, or a charismatic oaf getting his clock cleaned by someone he didn’t ever view as a threat. Any of these things could possibly make life more interesting for me in that moment, but I’ll shrug them all off and keep on with the drudgery. I’m afraid to root through this pile of aspirations; I don’t want to give myself any more bad ideas that I’d already nipped in the bud. They seemed so promising at the time, but something made every single one unfeasible. Are there any at my disposal that I can achieve after all my struggles? Let me take a look here. “Fly like a bird.” Stupid. “Eat a 64 ounce steak.” What was I thinking? “Write a book of short fiction.” Well, nobody would read it anyway. “Settle down in the suburbs.” That was a dream? More like a nightmare. I’ll have to burn that one.