Friday, January 29, 2010

I;II


A & B

A: Dude, it’s just a rock. It’s just a fuckin rock in the middle of a fuckin road. There’s nothing to it besides the fact that it is a small little piece of shit. Nothing more to it. No meaning, no symbol, no nothin.

B: How can you go about saying that?

A: Because I can and I will. The problem with you people is that you are always trying to give a bigger meaning or a bigger somethin’ to shit like this. It’s just a fuckin rock for God’s sake! Stop trying to add so much shit to things like this. That’s the difference between me and you: You people always try to complicate what’s already nothin’.

B: But complications are just a part of life? Simplicity is merely a form of ignorance at its most basic level?

A: Ignorance? Fuck that man. It’s just living life like it should be. Instead of making up words and phrases and vocab and everything else you people do – by living with simplicity we get to enjoy what we do. We don’t have to over-think and over-analyze what it is. What it is… is what it is. Why fuckin fret over it more than that? Live your life and move on man.

B: See, that’s what’s wrong with your entire mindset. You try to dull everything down to the most naïve level so that you can barely comprehend the subject matter and then move on. What even gets you going? How can you ignore that a small rock plays such a drastic and symbolic role in society - signifying so many aspects and layers of life? A rock is not just a rock. It is a representation of the terrain, the composition of molecules, the pressure of tectonic plates in your area, the weather patterns, the erosion that has happened in the past thousands of years around here….

A: See! There you go at it again! You’re pullin’ all this shit out of your ass – and for what reason? Why should I give a shit what a rock does or does not do. It sits there. All. Fuckin. Day. Long. And unless someone kicks it, it’ll sit there for days on end. Maybe until the wind blows, it’ll sit there too. It’s just a fuckin rock man. I don’t understand how you people live with all this b.s. nonsense. It’s fuckin crazy talk.

B: Crazy talk, right. Just like everything else I say.

A: Yes! Everything you say is fuckin crazy talk. You babble on and on and on and on and on! Don’t you have anything better to do than over-think about a rock? I don’t even know why I’m fuckin talkin’ to you about a rock right now man! I’ve got shit to do. A job to finish! You think cars get built by themselves?

B: No, not at all. Which is why you are dependent upon the advancement of technology to produce that car. Your bare hands would never be able to produce that car without the use of technology and the numerous hours of development that went into its constructional planning.

A: Bullshit! It’s my hands that make it. It’s my sweat that is poured day in and day out to put together shit like that. Ain’t no rock gonna do that for me, is it?

B: No, of course not. But like the process that was required to create the rock – so are the elements preceeding your physical strain in order to create the car. Listen, please. For a second. This might require some iota of concentration.

A: Concentrate my ass. Whatever man, continue.

B: Ok. As I was saying, the planning that goes into the production of the automobiles you produce first require the tools to create it. That means, even for the designer who sketches the car – he requires time, materials, creativity, a present-day automobile market to contrast against, economical factors to consider, his boss’s satisfaction, his own respect for the profession, the will to do it, the….

A: Whoa, whoa whoa man. Who gives a shit about a designer? He just draws the fuckin thing. He doesn’t have to process all this b.s. crap before he draws it. He just does it!

B: Yeah, you would like to think that. But there are far more factors that go into it than you may think. The way the mind processes information may not be readily written or said, but each element and each thought is translated through his work. Even the final product may be far from a representation than what he had in mind, but it is still created because it was influenced by his idea. It’s an idea spurned off an idea. And though it may not be the idea he wanted created, it was nonetheless an idea that was created in opposition – or even inspiration – due to his original thought.

A: Whoa, whoa whoa. Seriously, I asked you to simplify this b.s. and you go talkin’ ‘bout ideas of ideas. How did we even get to this from a rock talk?

B: Haha, funny you ask. See how crazy things can be if you don’t connect them? That’s your short-term memory working for you. Without it, we wouldn’t be able to recall how we got to the point where we are at now. Your memory is what allows you to connect the cognitive process your mind consistently follows. Which is why you know when to eat lunch after breakfast – or why dinner follows lunch. Not only are you reflecting back on the last time you consumed something, during that day (also an abstract idea), but you’re looking at the weather, the light outside, the conversations people around you are having.

A: Are you telling me I eat dinner because of other people? Dude. I eat dinner because I’m hungry.

B: And what tells you that it’s time to eat? What tells you that you’re hungry?

A: Me? My fuckin’ grumbling stomach?

B: Yes. Your grumbling stomach. And do you know why it “grumbles?”

A: I don’t fuckin’ know man. Who fuckin’ cares anyways? It is what it is!

B: Well, you could say that. But it “grumbles” because your nervous system is sending you a signal that runs from your nerve connections within your stomach and intestines to that of your brain. Without that signal, you’d have no idea what is going on. This is why we can explain what happens to people that have nervous breakdowns or lose nerve endings. They don’t feel anything because their body’s own form of communication has shut down.

A: Or…. Maybe people get fucked up in accidents n’ shit. And when they don’t respond, that just means they got fucked up even more. So basically, shit sucks for them.

B: Yes, “shit sucks for them.” That’s an excellent way to put it.

A: Are you makin’ fun of me?

B: “Mocking” would be the term. Sorry if that offends you. Your lack of understanding made it too easy.

A: Listen, yo. Don’t be makin’ fun of me when I’m tryin’ to talk to you about…. Hey! Wait a minute! What happened to car talk?

B: Wow, I’m impressed. See how good our short-term memory can be? Ha, it really is amazing.

A: Err, yeah man….

B: So, back to “car talk.”

A: Funnn.

B: As I was saying about the designer, while he’s juggling all those ideas and finally gets going by sketching what he imagines would be a good car design – he’s applying pressure to the pencil, forcing the graphite to rub on to the paper which acts as a receiver in the process. Going off on another tangent – which I won’t expound upon too much – that paper itself is a form of technological genius that took years upon years to develop. It was the Egyptians that invited papyrus way back when - which then, throughout the ages, evolved into the paper we have today. One of the most innovative creations of history was the printing press which used paper as its inspiration.

A: Dude. Cars. The designer. Sketching. Lost you after that.

B: Sigh, of course.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Commodious






“But, Monsieur Brunet may further protest, explain to me how a dealer can sell for 200,000 francs a painting for which he paid 100? The answer is simple: the dealer picked the lucky number. I’m reminded of what someone said one day to Odilon Redon: ‘Do you understand how a Delacroix can possibily sell for less than a Muckaczy?’ To which Redon replied: ‘The reason is that no one has the power to make the price of a painting go up. An occult force controls these things, against which we all are powerless.”

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Le Chevalier de Nuit





Mark walked up to the counter and told the man, “Two sandwiches please, extra spicy.”

The man looked down at him and shook his head. He was out of bread, but he still had some sauce.

“That’s okay,” Mark said as he nodded his head.

“Gimme whatcha got.”

So the man walked to the other end of the trailer and ladled two scoops of sauce into a bowl. He sprinkled the top with some lettuce, a few slices of tomato and a spoonful of diced onions. Just as he reached for the turkey, his heart began to give out.

Mark could hear the groaning sounds of a man twice his age. First they were low and almost inaudible. Yet each moan grew louder and more painful. It sounded like a helpless man who had fallen. Wait. He had fallen. Am I still going to get my turkey bowl?

20 seconds later the man was dead. A few slices of turkey - still fresh – were somewhere smudged between the floor and the man. Mark didn’t know what to do. Maybe he had a bad cold? I’m sure he’s alright. I’ll just… wait here.

So Mark waited for a bit. Then another bit. He even tried to peep his head over the counter and into the trailer to see if it was a-okay in there.

Shit, man. Where’s my fuckin’ sandwich?

He had already given $6.50 to the man.

But Mark never got his sandwich. A young woman across the street in a short black skirt, ripped lace stockings and 3-inch heels was storming past him. Some oversized oval-shaped glasses shielded her slender face. Her bag… Oh her bag. Is that Balenciaga?

Mark never got his two scoops of sauce in a bowl. But he did walk across the street.

And the man? Last time he did that was in the morning.

Saturday, January 16, 2010