have it squeezed into position and follow me. not once but twice i asked for the finer points. oh for those delicacies to be shown and made known to all those who wished to look upon such work. what was left however was the mind-numbing work of receptionists and temporary employment types. those who dribbled on and gruelled for the tedium in order for their otherwise fruitless livs to continue. the working dreams and drinks of yet another frustrated artist caught in the trenches of a capitalist society. work-time-was-paid. this will never do.
<><><>the insipid characters; left to their own devices would chatter inanely to themselves about the latest pornographic flick to pass through the soiled - and closing - 'Arthouse' cinemas. or - as it was often done - separated from anything that may remotely represent a free-thinking individual, the 'worker' has been placed in a position with communicable access. in the latter case screaming communique may be intercepted. such writing would denote the despising of said workforce and the need to create, divided of course by splatterings of occasional drivel posted to labelled 'loved ones' on correct thoughts, issues or banalities that may have at some point been remembered by the sieve thay call their memory.
<><><>these great works of the ordinary fill the greater majority of minds and pop culture, with them - such works - so conveniently labelled alternate culture. a life that is in all reality not worth living, but alone worth the expense to be marketed, categorized, and sold to the mainstream in palatable meat dishes. the nine-to-fivers flitter in a media pipedream, as they are flooded with the excitement of an alternative - an other to the boring pathetic existence that they grapple to hang on to; that which they call their 'lives' - lifestyle that involves saving little coupons, having a monogonous relationship/marriage, caring about their children and drinking beer - is heightened by the 'other' - lifestyle that involves saving cute animals, having promiscuous sex, caring about world politics and taking drugs.
<><><>music may have something to do with it, but no-one knows what that is anymore. and art has always had a pretensious language unto itself to preclude and exclude absolutely everybody.
<><><>ultimately the whole mess was completely tied up. people had begun wondering why it had not collapsed in upon itself, but concluding that they had no answers, they stopped thinking about it (in fact they stopped thinking altogether) and returned to socially important jobs; such as answering telephones. the fact that it had not collapsed on itself thus far was a satisfactory indicator for them that it never would; and if that was not the case then it would probably definitely not be likely that it would collapse in their lifetime. therefore it would be a problem for another generation - different people - a different world. as long as it didn't affect them than that was o.k. they would be too busy anyway. what with tickets to stamp, telephones to answer, and files to be filed, who had time enough to consider the consequences of it all giving up on it itself. sure it would be catastrophic - it was agreed. and most likely at the point of recognition it would be inevitable. so at what point should one care if the insurmountable consequences were precisely unstoppable? the answer is simple - at no point. and their never was one. however the consequences were never quite expected. the consequences could never had been better. not even if someone had planned it.
the idea had seemed ridiculous at first. but Jack was never at all worried about first impressions. it was as he thought it would be, the last impression that really impressed - made that first painful cut a little deeper and got the blood flowing - this got Jack's heart racing and he knew he was on to something.
<><><>so it would work and if, nay, when it did the idea would effect enormous change. what change to be expected exactly was still quite unknown to Jack. the change however, he was sure would be stupendous. how it would bring about this stupendous change Jack was even less sure about. he was certain that it - the idea - could do it because change was part and parcel - inherent - of the idea. yet the idea itself would indeed have to be understood and ultimately enacted. this worried Jack greatly. the concern for Jack was not time, resources or initiative - those three treachorous things that thought to torment the think-tank - the concern laid directly with Jack's most present inability to persuade his thought into a concept - into a form, but not into just any form, specifically into an intelligible form. not just any intelligible form, but an intelligible form that Jack may be able to work with, to come to understand. the idea was presently unworkable and therefore utterly useless to Jack. this frustrated him endlessly.
Bill never suspected anything. not in the sense that he was wandering, rambling, the world unnnoticing. rather he knew too well of his suspicions that drove him mad with idiosyncrasies. as such Bill rathered to be considered slightly pretensious and naive rather than suffer from himself. so in a way Bill allocated his suspicions the way of his expectations. in a sense he deposed them onto a nameless someone else. someone belonging to a social class that he conveniently self-omitted and denied any trace connection to. thereby removing any suspicion or expectation from his self. it proved to suit his purpose well enough and sat well with his parents, both of whom were under the unjustified illusion that their son was a well-adjusted performing member of the society they loved and nurtured (unlike their son). the truth was that Bill was far from a well secured man in a nurturing society - whatever that may have or may not have been.
<><><>Bill enjoyed the surplus of emotional surprise he gathered from his lack of expectation and suspicion. considering that he never thought ahead of suspecting negativities or expected the best or worst of something. Bill experienced dizzying wafts of greatness of emotion in its most joyous and catastrophic. this also made him an unsociable character, but on the other hand this trait simultaneously made him someone that most people wanted to talk to, in depth, personally and usually alone with disturbingly quiet background music.
<><><>Bill's reaction would constantly be honest (and honestly shocked) and uncensored due to his peculiar nature. not that everyone enjoyed that response at all, or all the time, but the beauty of such a repose took a hold in everyone he interacted with. this was the drawcard - this sensibility is what drew people to Bill. Steven would never admit to confiding in Bill. and Bill would never speak of their - or anyone's interactions with him. sometimes, however, Steven would lie in bed, unable to sleep, thinking, reposing, considering his flatmate Bill. perhaps it was love.
Bill's parents had done a better job of nurturing the community they lived in, maturing their society, than they ever could have with their only son, Bill. how both of them spoke of loving children, but that Bill was such a handfull all on his lonesome; and that would be the end of Bill's applause. the conversation would stem to the little league, and then the parklands maintenance, who was on the PTA and why hadn't the GST been introduced into the taxation system yet. oh there were, are, greater concerns at hand than the raising of one's own child.
<><><>actively involved within all the going PTA's, community services, extinguished clubs and political concern groups - Bill was in turn enrolled into every kiddies, mock and junior association partner committee of his parents' involvement. in this sense Bill was cared for. in this sense, Bill never met any real kids outside the local public school, and because he would not meet up with other kids outside of school because of 'prior engagements' - as his mother would say - Bill's peers thought him a weirdo and never looked upon him politely. on the odd occasion when the children of other members in Bill's parents' chosen group were old enough to join the said group - or join the army - Bill's parents would set-up a kiddies association in which Bill comprised the only member. in these times Bill would daydream - of imaginary battles in which he had a battalion of men in terrible odds in which he would always rise the victor, or sometimes about winnning the local cart race down the big dipper - a local event that his parents disqualified Bill from participating due to its lack of intellectual challenges.
<><><>Most of the time spent day-dreaming, however, was spent creating a girl. of course at this point Bill had no idea of the full potentials of girls. that the could fight in combat (if they wanted to), they could administer a nation (if they wanted to), and they could even break a man's heart (if they wanted to). Bill just thought she was pretty and that she would be a fun playmate. Bill did not know about love just yet. and Bill certainly did not know about Amy, just yet.
Labels: shortstory
¶ 10:38 am
