It's a little after 8:30 in the morning, and my cell phone buzzes to existence. The woman I've tried to make nice with has just sent me a text that her car is fixed finally (after an overstayed delay with "the mechanic"). I know I'm not the first guy on the list, but I'm not the last. I find those odds amicable.
"The car is finally fixed... We shall see how long it lasts. John found some other things wrong with it," the text reads.
Only one response pops to mind. "I'll bet."
I fire it away without thinking. If I could think, I would. My brain is a throbbing reminder of all the gin that went into my system last night and of all the bad things I may or may not have done that would rip this little "suburban community" apart. After all, why not? Who really cares? At the end of the day, we're all programmed machines operating on a level of bullshit so subconscious we don't even notice the synchronicity between our lives and 'Days of Our Lives'.
Many people seem to argue that if writers were to take their lives and produce a show, that the show in question would be interesting and have the climatic timing of what's expected in any legitimate drama. These people are right. The show would be awesome. It would have all the right nuances, timing, and flow of any "serious work".
A show off any number of friends' lives would be awesome. Like me, they have watched enough television and enough movies to grasp the concept of plot. Like me, subconsciously they've constructed themselves and their lives through this format, and that is why the impeccable dramatic timing exists. They will it. I will it. We all will it like a soap opera champ in our daily lives.
I suppose if there was a difference between most of my friends and I, it's that I'm aware. I watch it coming, and I let it happen. Once the programming is actualized, the meaning is lost anyway. The tension dissipates. The subtleties of "being human" (or lack thereof) subside as the whole perverted awareness of what is really going on becomes the running gag. The punchline.
It is now fifteen minutes after 9 in the morning. Sitting up has made my head shriek as I type this. I enjoy the pain. I imagine it's my subconscious shrieking at my realization that my life is one big catalogued joke constructed after watching too many movies. It's not as depressing as some people may imagine. In fact, it's very liberating. It means I'm disjoint from a reality in a sense, able to weave in and out of the realities of others like a snaking cobra intent on poisoning the rest of the masses.
I call myself Dr. Nonsensical and reject the cliche birth name my parents yanked out of a name database. The one I have chosen has meaning, and it may be one of the few shreds of meaning I actually adhere to. One of the others is a dawning realization of a physical connection that exists with a magnificent deity of a woman who shares a similar journey and mindset with me. A last vestige of meaning is that human "society" is perpetual nonsense in motion - a circle jerk bukkake festival of animals re-enacting an "adult video" they found somewhere.
I'm not a religious person (go figure), but I do enjoy the phrase, "God is dead". We killed it, and we built the backs of our utopia on the spiritual.
Do you know that kid who sits in front of the TV all day watching cartoons? That's us. You can take the TV away from him, but you can't take the cartoons away. He's been sitting there so long they're etched across his brain - meaning composed by man without the magic, mystery, or allure of "spirituality" in a sense. Please note that I'm not advocating any one religion or ideology. Those are all in my big bucket of nonsense too as most of these supposed "True Paths" stem from some of the most violently and sexually graphic texts I have ever read. Yes, I am referring to the Holy Bible, among other works. Read it if you haven't. There's incest, rape, sex, masturbation, mutilation, beheadings, mass genocides, murders, plagues, more sex, more rape, more masturbation, a talking snake, drinking, nakedness, and more.
I guess when I say spiritual then I am talking about all the mysteries abound that remain unsolved and ignored because of the complicated nature to them. They haven't gone away, just like Merlin didn't truly go away when King Arthur was able to assert himself and stand on two legs. These mysteries may very well be the key to the secret of the Holy Grail, the rejuvenating ether that reminds us what it is to know what a full heart is again.
But these are just ramblings from an asshole with a hangover. The ungrateful middle class prick isn't even going to edit this. Instead, he's just going to go back to bed because his phone stopped buzzing with "updates" about the "broken car". It's better that he sleeps anyway. He may have said and/or done some things to perpetuate a cliche drama in a suburban modicum of reality of unconscious actions.
