"recalcitrant
\rih-KAL-sih-truhnt\ , adjective;
1.
Stubbornly resistant to and defiant of authority or restraint."
Party, they told him. Have Fun!, they demanded. Enjoy yourself, be kind, smile, laugh, dance, eat, drink, and be merry. Just why did they have to demand so much of him? It didn’t make any goddamn sense what all the necessity of frivolous enjoyment even was. Jerry couldn’t make heads or tails of how this helped the world they lived in. Alien abductions, returning messiahs, hell, even a tidal wide from space and still these idiots pranced around their daisy fields and popped ecstasy like it was going out of style.
Jerry just couldn’t believe it.
Ever since the great swine uprising of 4074, Jerry had found himself continually abused by this one sided system. Was there no more sorrow, no pain or grief in the world any longer? Jerry doubted it. If he felt this way, then certainly others must feel the same too. Jerry sat hunched over his tofu jelly doughnut and mulled the possibility of forcing confessions of unhappiness with a pointy stick.
These thoughts and ideas had plagued Jerry since the government had mandated a constant dose of uppers to the adult population. Since then, productivity had plummeted, society had fallen apart, the world had ceased to function in any way imaginable, but people just didn’t notice. They were too blasted out of their minds on pills and powder, too terrified of another Swine Insurrection to ever consider rescinding these plans. Everything his world had stood for had slipped through his fingers in these few short years since the World Parliament delivered the shocking news. And there wasn’t a damn thing Jerry could do about it.
Not a damn thing except not enjoying himself. Since the revelation had hit him, Jerry spent each and every waking moment cursing everything possible, and even a few things not possible, in his mind. Nuns became beacons of insanity, babies were death on all fours, even puppies and kittens reeked of immorality and humanity’s demise. Jerry couldn’t find one damn thing to make him happy anymore, except for being unhappy, of course.
Moments after this thought flashed through his head, Jerry resolved to take his own life.
“It’s all a lie, a goddamn lie,” he said to the city as he closed his eyes and took a step.
Sunday 13 December 2009
Friday 11 December 2009
UnJournal 2009 12 11: Silly is...
[PROMPT]
Silly is a middle-aged man who combs his remaining limp strands of hair into an elaborate swirl over his bald spot, gluing them in place with hair spray and hoping no one will notice.
Silly is a golden retriever who slinks sheepishly off the sofa whenever his owner comes home, hoping -- despite the piles of hair all over the cusion -- that she won't notice he's been sleeping there.
What is silly? Give three more examples.
[/PROMPT]
Silly is a well stuffed couch, groaning under the weight of his owner’s children as they bounce across his surface, hoping they will leave him alone if only he stays extra, extra still.
Silly is a woman, tracing her steps along the rushing traffic filled streets as she searches for a contact lens now trampled under the relentless crowds and prays for the clock to grant her five extra minutes before her corporate meeting.
Silly be those that quest for glories and treasures sought not by men but deamons.
Silly is a middle-aged man who combs his remaining limp strands of hair into an elaborate swirl over his bald spot, gluing them in place with hair spray and hoping no one will notice.
Silly is a golden retriever who slinks sheepishly off the sofa whenever his owner comes home, hoping -- despite the piles of hair all over the cusion -- that she won't notice he's been sleeping there.
What is silly? Give three more examples.
[/PROMPT]
Silly is a well stuffed couch, groaning under the weight of his owner’s children as they bounce across his surface, hoping they will leave him alone if only he stays extra, extra still.
Silly is a woman, tracing her steps along the rushing traffic filled streets as she searches for a contact lens now trampled under the relentless crowds and prays for the clock to grant her five extra minutes before her corporate meeting.
Silly be those that quest for glories and treasures sought not by men but deamons.
Word of the Day 2009 12 11: Cogitate
A second ticked by on the wall-mounted clock. Then a year ticked by. Another second passed, followed succinctly by a decade and then a century and then -20048 Martian weeks. Still Jerry stared methodically at the clock, deconstructing it from the top down, from the surface in, from the inside out. Jerry stared and stared, then blinked and stared and finally stared some more. He visualized the crystalline face of the clock, shielding its components and hands from exterior manual manipulation. He formulated the entirety of the clock’s being, itemizing and cataloging all the various components from shell to body to gears and batteries. He visualized the atomic structure of the elements used in the clock’s construction. He witnessed the electrons whizzing throughout the wiring and snapping off into the latent atmosphere as the air dried with the growing winter.
There was not a facet of the clock Jerry had not encapsulated within his mind. Now he organized all the pieces of its construct into a sequential ordering and interviewed each one.
“What are you? What is your name? What do you call yourself? What is your function? What is your purpose?”
Each question was answered countless times until Jerry could finally progress to the next gear. Each atom of the clocks structure was subjected to the same interview. There was not a facet of functional being of the clock that Jerry did not possess in his mental archive. Once completed, he reorganized the line, back to front, and began the interview again.
“Why are you here? What is the meaning of your existence? What is the meaning of existence?”
Jerry tackled existential meaning and unquantifiable hurdle after hurdle with each element of the clock’s construction. He inquired the origin of the universe from its sweeping hands, found an odd but expected sense of rebellion in the second hand and decided to pair it with the batteries instead. He witnessed the political upheaval and social unrest amongst the electromagnetic field encompassing the battery, but smoothed it out by sending the wall tack to negotiate. Jerry eased the lives and brought spiritual wellness to the entirety of the clock’s populace. The clock ticked more exactly than ever before, finding new purpose and meaning in its being.
And then Jerry interviewed Time.
“What is your name?” Jerry asked.
“Cuh,” Jerry waited. “Roh,” Jerry continued waiting. “Noh,” Jerry drummed his fingers upon the desk, subsequently loosing his train of thought as a small poodle bounced across the imaginary meadows of his mind. “Ohs,” Time finished.
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“Cuh,” Time began again.
“Fuck,” Jerry thought.
“Pardon?” asked Time.
“Nothing, nothing. Excuse me, but is there some way we could speed this up a bit?” Jerry peered at Time. “It’s just that I have a finite lifespan and this is taking a while.”
“I am Time, Jerry,” Time began. “I have lived ages before there were ages to be lived. I pass seasons, birth children and then bury them again. There is not a race that has lived before I, nor one that shall outlive me. There is nothing outside of me, nothing apart from me, nothing without me. I am Time.”
“Yes, Tim, thank you sir. Now, may I-“
“T-I-M-E. Not ‘Tim.’”
“Pardon me, sorry about that. Now, may I-“
“It’s alright. You can call me ‘Tim’ instead if you’d really like.”
“So is it ‘Tim’ or ‘Time’ then?”
“Either. Whichever you are more comfortable with.”
“Thank you. Now may I-“
“But my mother calls me Francis.”
“So ‘Francis’ it is then…”
“Unless you’re more comfortable with ‘Tim’. It’s really all the same to me.” Jerry tried to wipe the slate of his mind clean and took a few moments to count backwards from ten.
“May I ask you about your mother?” Jerry inquired.
“Yes,” Time replied. Jerry waited.
“So you’re mother then…”
“Yes, my mother.” Jerry paused again.
“Well if you’re everything-“
“I’m not everything. Infinity is everything. I am Time.”
“I’m sorry. Now if I may-“
“Or ‘Tim’ if you prefer.” Jerry’s mental pencil snapped in a flurry of wooden shards.
Jerry came to, finding himself sprawled upon the floor beneath his seat, his clothes dampened from salty tears. He righted himself, readied himself, stared at the clock and concentrated once more.
“Who is your mother?” Jerry asked Time.
“Earth.”
“But Is Earth not constricted within you? How then could she be your mother?”
“It’s a metaphor.”
“For what?”
“Can’t explain it. Don’t have the words for it.”
“Well could you relay it through some other means?” Jerry inquired.
“Let me try.” Time leaned back in its chair and hummed. The hum was low and quiet. It grew in intensity until Jerry couldn’t hear a note of it, but felt the universe quaking around him. Atoms slowed, electrons hung in midair, chemical synapses froze and Jerry stared, bewildered as to what was occurring. He peered at his hand, focusing upon the lone hair that grew from his thumb and stroked it. The hair passed through his finger, then his hand and arm. Jerry was shrinking until the hair encompassed the entirety of his being, falling into the gaps between the particles of his own hand. He was caught in a continuous spiral into the infinity of nothingness, collapsing himself into the point of entirety that was encapsulated on the end of his thumb’s hair. Galaxies exploded around him and his being stretched across the entirety of the cosmos. Nations rose and planets were devoured by stars. Genocide and mass murders continued all around him as utopian societies progressed step by step to a brighter and greater tomorrow. Fear and Love raged in their torrential quarrel of mutual rape as the nations of man bowed before each one and slew themselves. Eventually the universe collapsed into nothing and Jerry was left in and without his being.
“It’s beautiful,” Jerry muttered, tears streaming from his eyes.
“Yes, that’s her,” said Time.
There was not a facet of the clock Jerry had not encapsulated within his mind. Now he organized all the pieces of its construct into a sequential ordering and interviewed each one.
“What are you? What is your name? What do you call yourself? What is your function? What is your purpose?”
Each question was answered countless times until Jerry could finally progress to the next gear. Each atom of the clocks structure was subjected to the same interview. There was not a facet of functional being of the clock that Jerry did not possess in his mental archive. Once completed, he reorganized the line, back to front, and began the interview again.
“Why are you here? What is the meaning of your existence? What is the meaning of existence?”
Jerry tackled existential meaning and unquantifiable hurdle after hurdle with each element of the clock’s construction. He inquired the origin of the universe from its sweeping hands, found an odd but expected sense of rebellion in the second hand and decided to pair it with the batteries instead. He witnessed the political upheaval and social unrest amongst the electromagnetic field encompassing the battery, but smoothed it out by sending the wall tack to negotiate. Jerry eased the lives and brought spiritual wellness to the entirety of the clock’s populace. The clock ticked more exactly than ever before, finding new purpose and meaning in its being.
And then Jerry interviewed Time.
“What is your name?” Jerry asked.
“Cuh,” Jerry waited. “Roh,” Jerry continued waiting. “Noh,” Jerry drummed his fingers upon the desk, subsequently loosing his train of thought as a small poodle bounced across the imaginary meadows of his mind. “Ohs,” Time finished.
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“Cuh,” Time began again.
“Fuck,” Jerry thought.
“Pardon?” asked Time.
“Nothing, nothing. Excuse me, but is there some way we could speed this up a bit?” Jerry peered at Time. “It’s just that I have a finite lifespan and this is taking a while.”
“I am Time, Jerry,” Time began. “I have lived ages before there were ages to be lived. I pass seasons, birth children and then bury them again. There is not a race that has lived before I, nor one that shall outlive me. There is nothing outside of me, nothing apart from me, nothing without me. I am Time.”
“Yes, Tim, thank you sir. Now, may I-“
“T-I-M-E. Not ‘Tim.’”
“Pardon me, sorry about that. Now, may I-“
“It’s alright. You can call me ‘Tim’ instead if you’d really like.”
“So is it ‘Tim’ or ‘Time’ then?”
“Either. Whichever you are more comfortable with.”
“Thank you. Now may I-“
“But my mother calls me Francis.”
“So ‘Francis’ it is then…”
“Unless you’re more comfortable with ‘Tim’. It’s really all the same to me.” Jerry tried to wipe the slate of his mind clean and took a few moments to count backwards from ten.
“May I ask you about your mother?” Jerry inquired.
“Yes,” Time replied. Jerry waited.
“So you’re mother then…”
“Yes, my mother.” Jerry paused again.
“Well if you’re everything-“
“I’m not everything. Infinity is everything. I am Time.”
“I’m sorry. Now if I may-“
“Or ‘Tim’ if you prefer.” Jerry’s mental pencil snapped in a flurry of wooden shards.
Jerry came to, finding himself sprawled upon the floor beneath his seat, his clothes dampened from salty tears. He righted himself, readied himself, stared at the clock and concentrated once more.
“Who is your mother?” Jerry asked Time.
“Earth.”
“But Is Earth not constricted within you? How then could she be your mother?”
“It’s a metaphor.”
“For what?”
“Can’t explain it. Don’t have the words for it.”
“Well could you relay it through some other means?” Jerry inquired.
“Let me try.” Time leaned back in its chair and hummed. The hum was low and quiet. It grew in intensity until Jerry couldn’t hear a note of it, but felt the universe quaking around him. Atoms slowed, electrons hung in midair, chemical synapses froze and Jerry stared, bewildered as to what was occurring. He peered at his hand, focusing upon the lone hair that grew from his thumb and stroked it. The hair passed through his finger, then his hand and arm. Jerry was shrinking until the hair encompassed the entirety of his being, falling into the gaps between the particles of his own hand. He was caught in a continuous spiral into the infinity of nothingness, collapsing himself into the point of entirety that was encapsulated on the end of his thumb’s hair. Galaxies exploded around him and his being stretched across the entirety of the cosmos. Nations rose and planets were devoured by stars. Genocide and mass murders continued all around him as utopian societies progressed step by step to a brighter and greater tomorrow. Fear and Love raged in their torrential quarrel of mutual rape as the nations of man bowed before each one and slew themselves. Eventually the universe collapsed into nothing and Jerry was left in and without his being.
“It’s beautiful,” Jerry muttered, tears streaming from his eyes.
“Yes, that’s her,” said Time.
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