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."
One step in the wrong direction is one step away from the right one. One more day working pizza was one more day I wasn't taking steps to ensure a future away from fast food and other mediocre jobs. I was recently in a discussion with an old friend. We equally voiced concerns about prospective employment opportunities. Everyone is looking for someone with experience in the given field, yet no one is willing to give it. The only things I am qualified in are call centers and the food industry, neither of which I want to be doing. The only way I could get a position in the English world is to have experience, and the only way to get experience is to have a job in that field, which I can't get unless I have previous experience. I am at a crossroads with a morbidly obese plumber with four arms. I ask this man which way I should go. He
responds after a short coughing fit by pointing twice upwards and three times down, leaving me worse than when I started, and hating plumbers to a degree only understood by carpenters.
Abashedly,
Kyle
The child was born without sight. He entered into the world without a single image of mother or father and no hope for recovery. His parents were originally frightened for the difficulties that lay ahead, until they saw a billboard with the words, "Yes you can," written in a font that by itself could motivate a river to become a slightly larger river. They took this billboard as a sign, to help their son become anything he wanted to become. Tears filled their eyes as "yes you can" filled their minds. For the first time in this young boy's life, he heard the words "yes you can."
"So, what do you want to do with your life? You could do anything!" His parents were falling off their seats in anticipation. The blind child couldn't see why they kept falling down, but continued to think nonetheless.
"I want to be-"
*Thud* "Sorry." The mom said as she pulled herself back onto the couch. The anticipation was at its peak. Her various organs got black eyes for how hard her heart was beating.
"I want to be a cartographer." Said the blind boy.
"..." The parents shared glances of sadness and several other glances that usually don't get invited to those types of parties.
"I can feel those looks," said the blind boy, "I am going to be a cartographer, because 'Yes I can'.
The mother was sad because she was anticipating a more "exclusive" career path.
The father was sad because he thought "cartographer" was another word for "homosexual."
*Twenty Years Later*
I was walking into the university looking for the philosophy section in order to write down names and quote things they never said, to people that never read. I walked up to the fifth floor and located the map. I looked for philosophy....Ah ha! Philosophy, section B-BJ Alpha 3.443 x Annual rainfall sideways Blue. Okay...so...maybe I can just find it on the map. I stared at it for long enough to know that I did not speak korean. I looked around and saw a group of students with t-shirts that said "Korea is for Leavers" on it. I decided they would be able to assist.
"Could you come help me read this map, it's completely in korean."
The small group stared at the map in horror. One of them grabbed a cup of water and poured it over his head, lit his shirt on fire, and ran in circles until he passed out. Two of them jumped out the fifth floor window. The fourth sat reading his textbook casually. He looked up for just enough time to say "I'm from Cambodia."
A small library assistant walked past.
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"Hey! Can you help me? I'm looking for the philosophy section and this map is completely illegible."
She let out the loudest scream she could get away with in a library, and then vanished into a very quiet puff of smoke. I sat and stared at the smoke for a while and then back at the map. My only option was to try and decipher it. Could it be the picture of the half-horse, half-banana peel, or maybe somewhere near it? It most definitely isn't the cereal box top or the section marked with four dots and one square, unless that's what it wants me to think. After four hours, I began to lose hope. Then, not knowing what to do, I sat down on the floor, in a matter of seconds the world went dark. After the odd phenomenon I woke up in the philosophy section wearing a large sticker on my chest with an arrow pointing down that said, "You are here."
Opportunistically,
Kyle
Disclaimer: No punctuation was harmed in the making of the post, except for the ampersand. We beat the crap out of him, and ate his dog.
I'm was going to measure my room each morning solely to prove that it really does get smaller the more time I spend inside it, but since I eat in my sleep and my yardstick looked like a churro, I didn't. My room gives me a feeling similar to how mickey mouse would feel endorsing rodenticide; which would only happen if an underground organization of communistic midgets suddenly inherited Disneyland.
"You must be this short to ride." The power-hungry grin of the small man compensating for his size, and then some.
"Darn," said the tall man, "I'm six-five."
Rev. Revvvv Revvvv Rev Revvvvv.
"Hey! Hey! What are you doi- AHHHHHH!!!"
"Look," the midget said, "now you're three-foot-four and three-foot-one. You'll have to buy two seats. Next!"
Tip of advice for the world, and a few of its inhabitants. If you are trying to accurately define the word "boring" and the only thing that comes to mind is a sketch of yourself followed by a period, you have an incomplete sentence as well as a personality problem, and I have something to tide you over until those get worked out. What you need is a creative new idea to boost your juices and get you feeling sixty eight again.
Sometimes we have a lot of ideas that we share externally
. These thoughts are the kind that often question their existence, never pay rent, and end up only being used for reality tv shows aired from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m.*
The smarter thoughts might figure out what's going on and destroy themselves before they get a chance to be thrown out into the universe. It's a scary place out there, especially for ideas. These thoughts are usually thought right before you wake up and are gone right after giving you the feeling that it was an amazing idea. That day you feel frustrated, telling everyone what a brilliant idea it was if you could only just remember it.
And lastly, there is the brilliant thought, the hardest to find, and worth a fortune to whoever has tripped over one or two in their day. This type of thought, more often than not, requires a damp, dark area, often a basement of a parent's home, or maybe an abandoned meat cellar. They are prone to feel more comfortable in an environment with half eaten hot pockets, a roommate named Ryan, and the stench of unused potential. This way, the thoughts can remove all possibility of being turned into an action. When they come out in a non-cellar-like environment, they instantly feel awkward, like one does when they find out they are the smartest one at the party, by a lot. The idea feels a bit queasy at first, throws up into a plastic fern, gets a phone number, and then makes a quick exit, only to realize that the phone number was given to him by a pyramid scheme with soft black hair and a $350 dollar deposit.
Those relationships always leave him with an empty feeling in his stomach and a large manual containing 350 different ways of explaining the phrase "go for it."He has his thoughts on the meaning of "go for it", they usually go bowling together.
Activity for creative juice pumping: start with the phrase "what if..." This will take your mind instantly from thinking one dimensionally to thinking in however many dimensions you have the time to imagine. So rekindle that imagination and welcome the absurdities that are sure to follow. And always go for it! (unless "it" represents stabbing a coworker in the face with an icicle). What if... a hypothetical question changed the world?
What if...it was your question?
Impersonally (from a safe distance),
Kyle
*Such as: Mediocre Moms: A very personal and extensive look at moms that aren't special in any way.
Who's Wearing the Pants Now: Will a new pant suit tear this family apart?
Dog Wedding Planner: When one happy couple puts their wedding in the hands, or paws, of their cocker spaniel.
