I’m a Coward

Vignettes upon other vignettes seems like a decent strategy for an extended, focused work, but after you get one or two of them stacked up, any kind of theme you may have cooked up is pretty much null and void.

Now, how to avoid this quandary? Well, for one, just start with a single vignette and give it some decent bones instead of flitting to the next visionary tree branch.

So what, then? A single vignette doesn’t seem like anything that would merit further exploration. Really? Well, to me, at least. But if there’s anything I’ve learned about my artistic self over the past decade and a half, it’s that I need to keep pushing for an idea or composition even if it seems like I’m beating a dead horse (or any quadruped of equal or lesser value in a retail setting).

Turns out, I’m a little different than the average bear. If one were to judge my relationship with normalcy based only upon my previous two sentences (yes, they’re MINE, you can’t have them), this passive observer would immediately note my usage of animal imagery to illustrate my points. Is that odd?

I very rarely find myself making analogies that involve human subjects. Is it because I find humans inherently boring? Well, yes. But why is that? Could it be the ambient enslavement to a dying world model that props up megalomaniacs as they continue to rape and pillage the world without a single twinge of regret? Yes, that. People are small. Animals have no need for any of that contrived bullshit, and never have. Granted, their typical experience is nasty, brutish and short compared to that of the average human, but there is certainly a large gray area that both man and beast inhabit wherein the nasty, brutish shortness of life is quite similar.

So we have a system that rewards greed and callousness while forcing our better angels to atrophy and wilt right off of our shoulders. An appropriate question would be the classic “why?” Numerous thinkers have dealt with this inevitability, and there are likely myriad valid hypotheses. It would seem as though beating their heads against their respective cognitive brick walls must yield a certain quantity of usable results when it comes to acquiring an undergirding of purpose in their lives as they navigate through uncertain absurdity. Or, at the very least, they develop effective coping mechanisms for somehow circumventing the latent treachery and “becoming their best selves” in spite of it all.

It seems to me that writing periodic diatribes bemoaning the state of things is probably not the way to go, based on the sporadic evidence I’ve collected throughout my life that all points to an inherent pointlessness.

And maybe it truly is all pointless, and the vast majority of human creatures never confront that particular dataset in their short, fruitless/feckless lives. The “ignorance is bliss” model sure leaves a lot to be desired. If we only have a brief flicker of life within each of us, I would wager that it’s irresponsible for anyone to remain unenlightened as a default state of being.

Perhaps the average person’s capacity for all this gobbledygook is just quite limited, and they’re better off simply participating in their direct surroundings, shaping their communities and whatnots. However, I have yet to be convinced of that. Sure, community-building is a non-negative endeavor (unless it purposefully excludes/ostracizes others), and we are the kind of animal that seems to default to a pack mentality in order to “survive.” But hey, survival of the species is a given until we blow ourselves up or become self-loathing to the point of exterminating “the other” as a form of “racial duty.” I don’t think we’re QUITE there yet, though all the earmarks are certainly present.

I would argue that the average person is capable of reaching the point where they’re acknowledging the violence inherent in the “pack animal mentality,” and a certain voice or inclination allows them to stall or abort their mental/social development in favor of a cowardly lifestyle that involves selling out for an occasional treat. But, of course, that occasional treat becomes mundane and unrewarding after a bit, necessitating different, more frequent treats if they’re to avoid disillusionment.

Enter big tech, who’s developed an effective method for addicting humans to intrinsically-valueless trinkets and dopamine hits, all at pennies on the dollar and with a more-effective delivery system than at any previous time in human history. This model allows humans to still exhibit their same level of natural, comfortable cowardice while deluding themselves into genuinely believing that this is a “real way of life.”

On a certain level, most people must understand that they’re complicit in the destruction of everything we painstakingly built over millennia, so what gives? Back to the greed and callousness.

This is why I find it difficult to believe that rehashing the same old argument has any sort of merit. This creates a clear division between toiling in inherent pointlessness and striving to find a purpose (any purpose at all) that has actual, tangible value. Does that mean that people need to construct their own frameworks for genuine purpose, rather than consuming idiotic pablum until their eyes bleed? I would say yes.

So why am I still going on with this circular diatribe? I’m a coward, just like the rest of ‘em!

MY JAM


When you’ve been
and done
and seen,
what else is there to glean?
Everyday frustrations?
I’m not saying
a person should give up
once they’ve figured out
everyone more or less
looks like everyone else, but
it would surely help if some of us did.
That way you give the newbies a chance
to waste their time and monies
on fanciful ways to manipulate air
that stimulate economies
and float boats–
don’t act all surprised
like you didn’t know
late stage capitalism is MY JAM.

Cookie Clicks

In a previous life (which is a maudlin way for me to admit that my life has been segmented into unequal emotional epochs, and this particular slice of life stings with the pith of some sort of intense citrus) I called myself an English Writing major.

I used to periodically patrol around looking for a different kind of “writing app” within the iOS and OSX environs—of course, there were numerous ones that got my attention, and I probably tried a half a dozen. At the end of the day, they are all attempting to do the same thing: help this dumb human try to wrangle its thoughts together in appealing ways (according to syntax and taste). I can’t knock that intent, and people gotta eat, so I’m willing to overlook how discombobulating this scenario has been for me.

Ya see, when faced with a multiplicity of writing applications that each have their own unique worthwhile feature, a rudimentary ape such as myself cannot overcome the amount of choices to be made in order to approach square one of the creative process. I’m distracted enough times over the course of my average day to where I don’t need even more contrivance spewed upon me (from my own computer, for chrissakes). Combine that with my neurodivergent brain and we’ve got a serious blockade forming on the horizon. 

And what has this rambling accomplished? Probably nothing more than a yawp into the void we once used to think would be the apparatus to bring us all together. That was a larf. Were we just so naïve to believe that interconnectivity would improve our social mobility, allowing us to be tricked by the next generation of swindlers and snake oil salesmen into gleefully giving away all our liberties for little dopamine cookie clicks? Probly.

I swear I had a point when I started this thing.

Now that we have reached the point of full-societal multitudinous laptop writing program ubiquity, there is simply no way for me to choose a robust application. I must revert back to a rich text and sticky note mentality! It turns out I’ve learned just enough in this life in order to type words at a fairly chipper rate when I set out to do so, but that skillset fills about 85% of my computer capabilities. The remaining 15% is a Pandora’s Box of chaos that’s best left alone.

Feels Derivative

Ah, that dreaded dog-eared page
on this, the day of my footballs game.
Beefheart would have put it best,
but I certainly can’t hold it against him,
poor chap.

Maybe now I can come back from
under his shadow. I think he’d like that
very much.

I never got the chance to thank him
or say bye (good or otherwise), but
as I reconnect to the planet at large
he somehow knows.

Maybe he’s commanding his love infantry,
and all I need is to follow the leader.
It feels derivative, but screw it.

So Busy

Crap dang it, now I can’t think of anything all of a sudden. Oh well, guess it can’t be helped in my current predicament. It’s not so much of a predicament as a predicate-a-mint type of situation, where the essence of mint is completely ubiquitous around the entire cosmos for everyone to enjoy, whether they like it or not. Crap dang it.

So what am I supposed to do now? Who the hell knows? I sure don’t. That’s why I’m asking myself. Maybe if I ask myself and put some kind of deadline on the thing, I can stall the inevitable existential pain associated with extreme boredom.

But you know what? I’m sick and tired of being asked so many questions all the time. It seems like every day I’m getting badgered and/or peppered with at least several dozen inquiries, and my god does it take a toll. I’ve been meaning to have a serious talk with myself, really get the whole thing straightened out once and for all, but I’ve just been so busy.

Nowadays

Inundated by swirling squirrels (plural),
my world unfurled and I hurled
at the girl–named Shirl–
who told Earl, who told Pearl.

Word spreads fast around these parts nowadays.
Definitely a far cry from stacking turtles
and expecting some kind of a turtle volume discount.

The world doesn’t revolve
around my every concern
,
I must constantly remind myself;
it simply revolves around
the vast majority of my concerns,
which is not bad (as far as I’m concerned).

Regardless, I’ve shifted my priorities
toward more avian-oriented pursuits
in lieu of proper purpose fulfillment.
I once naïvely wondered if my
blundering about
could be prevented by taking a step too far
off the beaten path. They never manage
the nettles or brambles out there,
and the poison ivy situation
has gotten completely out of control.

At least I’m better prepared now.
Beginner’s luck let me
somehow sidestep preventable peril,
but then the paywall went up. And with it?
All intuitive botanical knowledge (once
freely accessible during the initial trial period)
just up and evaporated, leaving in its wake
a credit card authorization form
and the promise of easy unsubscription.

That was three years ago, and I
still haven’t managed to speak with a human
customer service rep. I’ve called in
every
other
business day
and built a rapport with a quirky AI bot
named Jimmy. He has a perfect memory
and seemingly always has time to talk,
even though the waiting list for a human
operator is still forty-seven months long.

To put it bluntly, this human
mass-extinction has really been ruffling
my feathers. All I want to do is yell
at a member of the species that made
this planet so unbearable to inhabit,
but of course that’s now practically impossible.

Well, I’d always like the opportunity to yell… but
I’d also appreciate crossing paths
with that elusive customer service rep
(a subset of human
that may very well have gone extinct by now).

“Free-99”

The uncanny orthodontist gave me braces, and I never even asked for any! What a swell fella. He even said I could get them tightened for free at one of his six participating franchises if I were ever out on the town and looking to feel alive for a minute. The billing department is starting to get annoyed with me because I refuse to pay for the braces. They told me they set up a payment plan on my behalf, but I never signed anything, shook anyone’s hand, or even offered a verbal agreement. I don’t know about you, but where I come from, we call that “free-99”.