Month: June 2011

Becoming Jaded in a Team Environment

1. Offer an efficient solution.

2. Be shot down.

3. Explain why the solution will save time in the least judgmental way possible, as has been noted you tend to be.

4. Listen to asinine reasoning to try and mask the fact that it will take longer but it’s alright because it’ll kill time until the end of the week and make one look busy even if a task that should take a day takes a week.

5. Stare blankly.

6. Ask “Are you fucking kidding?”

7. Receive retort consisting of “Relax.”

8. Consider importance of discussion and brief flash of anger.

9. Don’t give a shit.

10. Fervently fantasize about a solo career as some sort of writer, farmer, assassin, or woodsman.

Becoming Jaded in a Team Environment

1. Offer an efficient solution.

2. Be shot down.

3. Explain why the solution will save time in the least judgmental way possible, as has been noted you tend to be.

4. Listen to asinine reasoning to try and mask the fact that it will take longer but it’s alright because it’ll kill time until the end of the week and make one look busy even if a task that should take a day takes a week.

5. Stare blankly.

6. Ask “Are you fucking kidding?”

7. Receive retort consisting of “Relax.”

8. Consider importance of discussion and brief flash of anger.

9. Don’t give a shit.

10. Fervently fantasize about a solo career as some sort of writer, farmer, assassin, or woodsman.

stop and ask

We stop and ask for directions to the falls. Up the road, they say. We go. Up, up the road. Little birds flutter in the dried fields searching for desiccated meals. The crows have followed me here as well. I want to be an assassin, I say. And have us live out here where I cannot be found. You tell me they always find where the assassins live. They do, in the movies. This is real life. I would not want to be the best anyway. I don’t want to be the president of assassins. Or king, you say, but this is America, and you are sweaty. I tell you you’re sweating. Hot flashes, don’t look at me. You look beautiful. I stop glancing at you in the rearview and look out across the fields again. I don’t even see a mountain. There can be no falls. Local tourist trap fuckers, and scratch the back of my hand. I think of moving my seat back to make room for a good blow job, or pulling over for more. Hot flashes is a preemptive warning like a frog’s blue spots. Later is best. The dashboard is dusty and free of litter. This is an almost new car. I turn the air up and you smile. The air is more dry than I expected. You say, I know, it’s terrible. The sky is too clear for a day like this. It will swallow us whole. We do get to the falls, the meek river flowing into a pit in the earth. This is not the time of year to see them. When we return, and I am an assassin, we will be sure to visit again.

stop and ask

We stop and ask for directions to the falls. Up the road, they say. We go. Up, up the road. Little birds flutter in the dried fields searching for desiccated meals. The crows have followed me here as well. I want to be an assassin, I say. And have us live out here where I cannot be found. You tell me they always find where the assassins live. They do, in the movies. This is real life. I would not want to be the best anyway. I don’t want to be the president of assassins. Or king, you say, but this is America, and you are sweaty. I tell you you’re sweating. Hot flashes, don’t look at me. You look beautiful. I stop glancing at you in the rearview and look out across the fields again. I don’t even see a mountain. There can be no falls. Local tourist trap fuckers, and scratch the back of my hand. I think of moving my seat back to make room for a good blow job, or pulling over for more. Hot flashes is a preemptive warning like a frog’s blue spots. Later is best. The dashboard is dusty and free of litter. This is an almost new car. I turn the air up and you smile. The air is more dry than I expected. You say, I know, it’s terrible. The sky is too clear for a day like this. It will swallow us whole. We do get to the falls, the meek river flowing into a pit in the earth. This is not the time of year to see them. When we return, and I am an assassin, we will be sure to visit again.

Slave Leia Outfit,

Look, Slave Leia Outfit. We need to talk. I know you’re popular, and you’re great, really. I mean, gold bikini. That’s, like, totally classy. And you’re awesome, I’m sure. It’s just that… Well, I’ll be frank with you, because you deserve it. You just don’t do it for me. It’s nothing personal, really. It’s me, not you. I mean, I was a year old when you first showed up. We’re from different eras, you and I. Fate’s plan for my adolescent fantasies just didn’t include you. Your heart belongs to so many others. No, just, please don’t be upset. Do you know how many lightsaber wielders want you? I mean, you’re Slave Leia Outfit! You had Jabba, easily the most badass crime lord in the galaxy, all over you. I bet Boba Fett was eyefucking the hell out of you through that helmet of his. You know, before the whole pansy scream into the sarlaac.

Is there someone else? I, well… Yes. Yes, there is. She’s wonderful, Slave Leia Outfit. She covers up more, you know, to leave some to the imagination. She’s got these a-fucking-mazing striped legs and black boots that could easily stomp some fool’s face in. Blood splatters on her apron, a serious-looking blade. A cute skull pendant just above her ass. It’s just a really good thing we have going and I couldn’t be happier.

So, I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, you easily outnumber her at all the conventions. And you don’t look scary or wield a weapon or anything, so I bet all the boys want a picture with you.

Slave Leia Outfit,

Look, Slave Leia Outfit. We need to talk. I know you’re popular, and you’re great, really. I mean, gold bikini. That’s, like, totally classy. And you’re awesome, I’m sure. It’s just that… Well, I’ll be frank with you, because you deserve it. You just don’t do it for me. It’s nothing personal, really. It’s me, not you. I mean, I was a year old when you first showed up. We’re from different eras, you and I. Fate’s plan for my adolescent fantasies just didn’t include you. Your heart belongs to so many others. No, just, please don’t be upset. Do you know how many lightsaber wielders want you? I mean, you’re Slave Leia Outfit! You had Jabba, easily the most badass crime lord in the galaxy, all over you. I bet Boba Fett was eyefucking the hell out of you through that helmet of his. You know, before the whole pansy scream into the sarlaac.

Is there someone else? I, well… Yes. Yes, there is. She’s wonderful, Slave Leia Outfit. She covers up more, you know, to leave some to the imagination. She’s got these a-fucking-mazing striped legs and black boots that could easily stomp some fool’s face in. Blood splatters on her apron, a serious-looking blade. A cute skull pendant just above her ass. It’s just a really good thing we have going and I couldn’t be happier.

So, I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, you easily outnumber her at all the conventions. And you don’t look scary or wield a weapon or anything, so I bet all the boys want a picture with you.

never desired

I never desired anyone who knew nothing of heartache. I don’t understand the correlation between desire and emotional experience, but I begin to think that perhaps I need someone who is aware of the pitfalls, even if they are forgotten in the initial grasp and share.

The tips of the iron bars of this headboard look like putrified penis heads, or perhaps my own after a dive in a mud bath. The bars themselves have the appropriate ridges and lines, and now I will see nothing but cocks when I look at it. Men are preoccupied with their cocks and how they can be used, do not believe otherwise.

When I lie down and think about the past, as sensors will do, it is usually a preoccupation with the present. I desire a woman, how did I desire in the past? What decisions led to the pitfalls? Sometimes, I feel an earthquake, and my body flies toward the headboard at a hundred miles an hour several times over the course of about five seconds. I lay as still as possible and feel the breeze from the open window to the west blow past the hairs on my shoulders and upper back, and then the earthquake is over. It is impossible be certain of everything that will happen, and in some moments the certainty of everything that is going to happen comes crashing down.

Last week, at dinner, they asked me about the girls in high school. Topics of conversation, you know how it is.

“High school?”

“Yea,” with a buzzy laugh.

“That’s been over ten years ago. Um, it’s been. It’s been over ten years. They were all wannabe cholas.”

“A what?”

“It’s been too long. I just know the one girl I loved bit my shirt and growled like a puppy. I fell in love too quickly.”

“Aw! What else?”

“Nothing else.” She had a beautiful daughter. “Stop living in the past,” jokingly. I got drunk and came home.

never desired

I never desired anyone who knew nothing of heartache. I don’t understand the correlation between desire and emotional experience, but I begin to think that perhaps I need someone who is aware of the pitfalls, even if they are forgotten in the initial grasp and share.

The tips of the iron bars of this headboard look like putrified penis heads, or perhaps my own after a dive in a mud bath. The bars themselves have the appropriate ridges and lines, and now I will see nothing but cocks when I look at it. Men are preoccupied with their cocks and how they can be used, do not believe otherwise.

When I lie down and think about the past, as sensors will do, it is usually a preoccupation with the present. I desire a woman, how did I desire in the past? What decisions led to the pitfalls? Sometimes, I feel an earthquake, and my body flies toward the headboard at a hundred miles an hour several times over the course of about five seconds. I lay as still as possible and feel the breeze from the open window to the west blow past the hairs on my shoulders and upper back, and then the earthquake is over. It is impossible be certain of everything that will happen, and in some moments the certainty of everything that is going to happen comes crashing down.

Last week, at dinner, they asked me about the girls in high school. Topics of conversation, you know how it is.

“High school?”

“Yea,” with a buzzy laugh.

“That’s been over ten years ago. Um, it’s been. It’s been over ten years. They were all wannabe cholas.”

“A what?”

“It’s been too long. I just know the one girl I loved bit my shirt and growled like a puppy. I fell in love too quickly.”

“Aw! What else?”

“Nothing else.” She had a beautiful daughter. “Stop living in the past,” jokingly. I got drunk and came home.

the film’s over

Those familiar with me know that I have a fascination with eyes. Those familiar with me might have also noticed that hands are a recurring theme. Eyes and hands… And feet. If you draw a line from hand to hand, and a line from eyes to feet, you get a cross. These are all the hardest things to draw, really. I’ve been trying for years. There is a film starring Martin Landau as an artist who is unable to achieve true mastery of his art because he does not capture the soul of the subject in her eyes. He does, by the end of the film, but I’m fairly certain that by then it’s too late. The film’s over, after all. Everyone’s ready to go home or go to bed.

the film’s over

Those familiar with me know that I have a fascination with eyes. Those familiar with me might have also noticed that hands are a recurring theme. Eyes and hands… And feet. If you draw a line from hand to hand, and a line from eyes to feet, you get a cross. These are all the hardest things to draw, really. I’ve been trying for years. There is a film starring Martin Landau as an artist who is unable to achieve true mastery of his art because he does not capture the soul of the subject in her eyes. He does, by the end of the film, but I’m fairly certain that by then it’s too late. The film’s over, after all. Everyone’s ready to go home or go to bed.