There

There

Garlic, onions, something else and definitely fresh black pepper wafts through the air and hits me square between the eyes. Pastries, butter, bread, garlic butter, char, everything I need to make a simple meal for my stroll along somewhere one ought to perceive as beautiful but that is now no longer defined as such. I scratch that bit of scalp where your hair becomes face at the top of your forehead and worry, in dismay and self-conscious awareness, that I may perhaps someday go bald. Grey is a story all its own, one for which I eagerly await.

Nevertheless, the air feels damp, and my hair smells of the sort that is all nah-tchur-ahl, unadorned, raw. The smell reminds me of myself, oddly enough, but a younger self, a self that rarely went a day without a shower. When the rare occasion would arise wherein I need not shower on a given day, my hair always took on a certain quality all its own after about two days of being left alone. Fondness, a sense of feeling, being alive when I smell the scent. Garlic overwhelms me all over again.

The streets feel hard, lined with concrete, cinder-block, cement. Chairs are stiff, of the upright, iron-wrought, tiny wooden circle, bistro type. Tables barely hold enough items to satisfy one much less any company. Vanilla. I smell it in the air, and then, the taste hits my tongue. Vanilla bean. Following my nose, I stop in for a small scoop of iced cream. Tiny, the wooden spoon feels fragile but sturdy, the first plunge proves the latter. Bursts of cold and soft and the sensation that my mouth will indeed fill completely with the supple sensation of my mouth filling completely with flavor. Cool, warm, home-like vanilla.

 

 

Monday Moment

Monday Moment

If you’re just waiting for this ephing day to end, here’s something for YOU. I had the perfect image pop into my head today, and I’d like to share it with you, if you don’t mind. *shrug* Cool. Imagine with me …

Will Farrell, sitting on a bed inside a childlike bedroom, hair a-baby fro, dressed in a purple, magical-white-horse printed tee, and John C. Reilly atop his own bed, with a baby belly and crazy hair, they discuss the prospective future of Prestige Worldwide. “Oh, Jesus. My heart is beating so fast. Right now,” Will Farrell admits, shaken, nervous. He shakes himself off and begins:

“Peep hole ARE talk-in’

Talkin’ ‘bout PEEp-ho-oh-ole

I just ignore it, BUT

THey-eh

keep-uh sayin’

We la-AFF

just a little too

LA-OUD”

[JCR wipes tears from eyes while looking in awe; WF sings]

“We staanand just a little too clo-ose

WE STAA-air just a little to

Lah-ah-ahng

maybe they’re seein’ sumthin’

WE DO-ONT dar-Lin’

let’s give ‘em sumthin’ to talk ah-Bou-aout

let’s give ‘em sumthin’ to talk ah-bout

How about Luh-uve, LOO-OVE, love

Love-a-dove-a-shoo-ba-dee-a-canna-dig-an-hah!”

 


Songwriter: Shirley Eikhard

Step Brothers Screenwriters: Will Farrell & Adam McKay

‘We Follow Because We Must’

‘We Follow Because We Must’

[an excerpt from “We Follow Because We Must: Building on the David Foster Wallace definition of ‘addict’ in the 2019 era of social media” by TK Camas]

 

Honestly, I’m not keen on forcing a writer who cannot defend himself and his work to do exactly that. Instead, I will present my own theory on entertainment’s role in fostering an addictive landscape not unlike that of religious devotion, and social media today, through the lens of David Foster Wallace’s definition of addiction.

Some context: On the surface, of course, he’s right; dig deeper, and he’s a bit wrong, but then, dig deeper still, and there, you will find him, right again. This is the power of David Foster Wallace, his total existence within the deep depths. He challenges you; he asks that you simply use that “map”* between your ears. To this end, David Foster Wallace will always be right, if and when you actually reach the deepest depths of the deepest depth. But for now, I will answer the question (hopefully) looming in your mind, What is she talking about?

I am talking about David Foster Wallace’s (from now on abbreviated as DFW) assessment that —with the dawn of the internet—people will desire a “gatekeeper,”** a person (or thing) to whom or which we may “give ourselves away,”*** because with regards to this information overload and the “Interlace grid,” or internet, he argues, “We’re going to beg for it. We are literally gonna pay for it. But once we do that, then all these democratic hoo-hah dreams of the Internet will of course have gone down the pipes. And we’re back again to three or four Hollywood studios, or four or five publishing houses …”****

[end excerpt]


*A well-known (and my absolute, personal favorite euphemism) DFW-ism for the brain, used in both Infinite Jest and Lipsky’s Although.

**Lipsky (2010) p 87 and all heretofore footnotes of the solo-page-number type will reference this Lipsky book.

***p 157

****p 88

 

Bibliography

Lipsky, David. Although Of Course You End Up Becoming Yourself: A Road Trip with David Foster Wallace. New York, NY: Broadway Books, 2010.

McCarten, Anthony. The Pope: Francis, Benedict, and the decision that shook the world. New York, NY: Flatiron Books, 2019.

Owens, Simon. January 17, 2019. “Is It Time to Regulate Social Media Influencers?” New York Magazine. http://nymag.com/intelligencer/2019/01/is-it-time-to-regulate-social-media-influencers.html (accessed 03/30/2019).

Wallace, David Foster. Infinite Jest. New York, NY: Little, Brown and Company, 1996.

‘There’s a Fungus Among Us’

‘There’s a Fungus Among Us’

 

Etiquette in the Age of Social Media: Admirable Conduct as a Disconnected Human

by Alyas Whilebitz

 

Chapter 2

“There’s a Fungus Among Us”  – Mangus Fries

 

“It’s the intention that drives us. It’s the unintended that defines us.”

– EV Maddox

A person who brags openly admits that she (for the sake of redundantly repeating she/he, each will be interspersed throughout, randomly) feels inadequate when she looks at the world and compares herself to it. A person who is not only confident in who she is but who is also confident in what she does, lacks the need to brag. A person who is awesome, amazing is known by the world as awesome and amazing, thereby removing any need for the awesome, amazing person to then tell the world, in effect bragging, that she is in fact awesome and amazing. Thus, a person who brags, does not feel as though the world thinks him awesome or amazing, which then requires the braggadocio as a statement by the braggart, himself, to the world that he thinks he is awesome and amazing.

This then is the reason why I say here that braggarts are losers. Give them no attention. Do not worry about a braggart’s brag. Do, nevertheless, know what the different types of braggarts are in order to distinguish the various, potential harm a certain braggart in your life is capable of inflicting. Outlined throughout the rest of this chapter are the different Tiers and Levels of harmless to harmful types of braggarts. As we progress through the various Tiers, know that all higher-level Tier behavior includes the already stated lower-level behaviors within the same Tier. (For example: a Boletus Tier, Level III, also exhibits all of the behaviors applied to Boletus Tier, Levels I and II, etc., etc., but a Polypore Tier, Level II, may not necessarily exhibit any of the behaviors of any Boletus Tier Levels, but for the most part, all braggarts exhibit behaviors of multiple Tier and Level combinations, just not necessarily.) Let us begin.

[ Continue reading “There’s A Fungus Among Us” by TK Camas ]

Lyle

Lyle

It wasn’t fear; it was shame.

If he were to tell you himself, he has never experienced fear. And if he were to tell you why, he would say that he has never known the feeling, the emotion, the plague. But what he would not be so willing to share would be the impetus behind his lack of fear, his lack of normal human experience, and the obvious answer is simply that he is not human. No educated reader, however, would take this as a good explanation or effective explanation. To which he would coolly reply, “So what.”

 

Little ‘T’ Truth

Little ‘T’ Truth

Only the color red was absent

“But red isn’t a color,” the kid in the front with the newly grown-in, oversized two front teeth points out. Looking fondly at the kid, the teacher asks, “What is it, then?” “It’s a state of being. It’s the way that someone would describe themselves when in a state of truth.” “Very good,” the teacher proclaims and then attempts to move on. “But why did you ask about it as if it were a color?” the kid pipes in. “What do you mean?”

“You asked which color was missing.”

“I asked which color was absent.”

“Yea, then Pete raised his hand and answered that it was red.”

“To which you replied …”

“Red isn’t a color.”

“Yes.”

“But why did you ask about the color in the first place?”

“I didn’t.”