There is a conversational void, not created by me I swear, between an encounter with someone you have never met and an encounter with someone in which you are close friends. When meeting someone for the first time there is a wide array of "getting to know you" questions to fall back on when they are unreceptive to wider topics. Once the questions are depleted it may be the perfect opportunity to make, if possible, an exit. The void comes into play once you meet that person for the second time; the GTKY questions are not an option and the level of friendship is not up to Janice-bought-another-cat-what-is-up-with-that-woman type conversation. Where do you turn?
I have a solution for this problem. We need to open up. We need to be more friendly and discuss real world topics that benefit both parties involved. When making small talk I can't help but feel that the entire conversation is pointless. I just met a new person and I remember nothing from the entire conversation; my brain has begun to ignore useless information. For example: I found out where he was from. What good does that do without a substantial follow-up question, e.g. how do you think growing up in a rural neighborhood has given you an advantage in your education? This, I believe, is a true conversation that could benefit both parties, i.e. insight. Every person has a vault of information and insight inside of them that cannot and will not be opened without insightful and purposeful questions.
Let's really get to know someone and let's use our time with human interaction more wisely.
Convivially,
Kyle
We live in a world where charisma takes charge, leads the army into battle, and picks up a few chicks along the way. Can charisma be learned? Earned? Gained? ...and how. The feelings inside my head are telling me to speak with more people, interact as a periodical and not a classified ad space. If I want change, that change must come from me and not an exterior force that will transfigure my disfigured figure into a figured figurine. In the words of the late, and early, Jason Mraz:
It takes a thought to make a word
And it takes some words to make an action
It takes some work to make it work
It takes some good to make it hurt
It takes some bad for satisfaction
Good stuff. Bad stuff. It's still just stuff. Now take that stuff, add an -ing, get a turkey, and welcome to thanksgiving. A freaking happy one too given change and new beginnings.
A.P.S. (almost post script) I took a shower today. I smell like berries.
Ingloriously,
Kyle
Key:
[ ]= additions
( )= more additions
{ }= additions on additions
>^.^< = cat
I took a pill [white, oval, repugnant]. It gave me side (both in and out) effects [mouth dry, eyes jitter, mind race] as well as front (both row and "The Old -ier) effects [focused, awake, non-dangerous to humans]. It had back (both alley and -wards) effects [teenage angst, time travel, wake up-wrong side...bed]. I assumed the doctor had a degree [Fahrenheit or PH] in order to prescribe me medication (and not other drugs) for my well-being to stay well. They told me in a word: Narcolepsy [in which sleep is an assassin in the back seat - piano wire]. This word was to give a name to a face, or illness. [Renaldo was not chosen].
Weeks: Three [since first pill]. I am now a seasoned veteran who fought alongside the WBC [they're white and bloody cells] 14th division. I was a diplomat. I was the general. I was the _____. I was chosen to negotiate the Esoph [-agus] treaty pact. There was no resolution [we still meet and debate]. He requires one pill. I require one pill. We both require on pill. Our common enemy is a narc [-olepsy] yet, this narc requires the same drugs (that he takes extreme dedication , two coffees, and a divorce to expunge from the same social network from which he obtained them) [D-R-U-G-S, We are the best! Go...Armodafinil! (Nuvigil {Wakey Wakey Medicine})] in order to feel [awake].
Amusement: Found
Narcolepsy: Handicap parking sticker? No.
Saw off my legs: Handicap parking sticker? Yes. Bicycle legs? No. Overall result: goodbye parking [for my bicycle] and Goodbye bicycle [for my parking]. Winning was never my strong suit [Armani]period
'till the day after [next],
Parenthetically,
Kyle
The little phone sat inside the black container feeling hopeless. He was fatigued, a small blinking bar reminded Samsung that he didn't have much time left in consciousness. No way to call out. No service. This was it? He was going to power down alone? There had to be more that he was intended to
accomplish. At least his family would be protected, his warranty was good for another eighteen months. He tried to focus on those eighteen months to hold on to the mere hope that he would once again see the inside of a pocket, or sit on the desk with the warm charging sensation rushing through his hardware, or the joy of reuniting two friends from across the nation. Hope. Then he heard the light jingle begin to swell, the musical notes echoing through the box that would imminently become his coffin. The last thing he noticed was the missed messages and lost calls that would not be seen or heard. The phone powered down with all the luster and dignity of a $79.99 cellular phone. His sat there for six days, lifeless. No sign of an afterlife. No heaven. No hell.
***Six Days Later***
"Hey, I found my phone!" I shouted.
"Awesome! Finally!" Said my brother.
Samsung was brought back to life with the insertion of a small chord attached to an outlet in the wall. He continues to live a great life, and is now in the process of writing a novel called, "Coming back to life: A personal account of the afterlife."
