fiction: gravitational hernia

"There is a point at which space itself ruptures, and, when it does, it hurts like a motherfucker." 

The Howling Universe hadn't changed in several weeks. The quote, from Clacker's thesis, wanders like a kitten back to the fur and warmth of it's copyright. There were and are cosmic pains, comparable to human experience, but traumatic to celestial horseshit. Planets arcing around the sun get bruised, like an over-ripe peach. Space in which the planets roam is subject to ordinary wear and tear. As when the ball sack ruptures, and someone has to get surgery and wear a truss. The Earth itself, invisible to it's residents, has it's terrestrial ass in a sling. 

At the same time that a person may be overwhelmed with the power and beauty, he/she may be getting bored to suicide fielding resistance to a harmless train of thought, or to fair enough hope of landing a paycheck. It isn't enough to notice that certain honey bees would look nice in a tiny gaberdine business suit, one has to submit a cartoon that adequately proves people enjoy looking at silly pictures of a conjecture. A man has to look philanthropic by installing a library in his apartment. 

Irwin Clacker would be retiring in the same apartment he had been living in since Cedar Avenue changed from charming to hellishly obnoxious. The shift from worker to retiree will probably weigh in among other happenings much the way yellow jackets look cute when drawn in caricature. Clacker was still a person of hard science, and was worse for wear. Years of friction wore thin the patent leather bag that holds our secrets. His secrets, your secrets, too, assuming his work isn't completely a load of shit. Unless Clacker turns out to be a complete asshole, his work will help people to better love themselves, and in turn, everyone else. 

It is no longer stylish to carry a hard shell brief case. Clacker stopped wearing a neck tie to work in 1981, and it seemed like science itself had changed. It has. 

Irwin Clacker is facing a forced retirement from the state college, and he thinks he still has it in him to make hay out of his work, The Howling Universe. His pension should carry him to his expiration date. He'd fallen out with youth in the 1990s. By 9/11, he had become a tolerated relic in his department at school. Soon he would be the exact same person, by another name. For now, people should be content in accepting that his bullshit has some type of merit, and gears and wires inside it work exactly the same, in or out of school.

If, per chance, you have a suspicious type of mind set....

...that's excellent, I think everyone should, considering (Kennedy intrigues, sun spots, gamma rays, the Jimmy Hoffa disappearance) a blanket human condition that could be described as 'hopelessly hinky.'   World news has been teasing the limits of credibility.

A good conspiracy theory mitigates itself for entertainment value alone.  If anyone got a big toe in the doorways to greater perception (not seeing this as too likely) that could end with  one very, very special little  blog entry or scientific paper, filed under 'not too fucking important, but the author is a clever piece of shit.'  People concerned about possible globalist domination deserve a few seconds of attention between shock treatments and hair care appointments.

For today's complaint to God, Man and Nutritious Green Snacking Items, I despise the popular meme, "learning curve."  People started using the term over a decade ago, and right away the phrase began consorting with words like 'cool' and 'awesome,' the way juvenile delinquents flick switchblades together.    The phrase has the cult following that 'degrees of separation' had in 1990s.

To put the process of leaning on a curve, such as on a graph, rather than on a straight line, challenges the way in which people think and act.  It suggests that nobody takes a direct course of action.  One never hikes directly to the convenience store for a pack of smokes.   He/she, for reasons beyond the ordinary, probably has to do something other than buy cigs.  Any social interaction, positive (like saying 'hi' to a cute babe,) negative (e.g. some asshole screams 'get the fuck out of street, shithead,) has to be analyzed and factored into the simpler hope of smoking one's next Marlboro.  Returning to the folly of basic human needs,  the only thing the phrase 'learning curve' does add spice and mystery to anything bland and common.

Hopping for a moment on the word 'learning,'  the phrase 'learning curve' may be political sabotage at it's most syphlitic. The 'curve' could mean that no matter what an individual learns, he/she will ultimately crash and burn.   If, on the other hand, little Bob or Mary was learning in a plain linear model, he/she might live and work in a continuum of forward motion and ongoing purpose.  The path to discovery and to invention is not curved.  It's straight.  Like John Fucking Wayne, in a fucking stupid cowboy flick.  "Learning Curve" is a psycho-linguistic monkey wrench flung into big, greasy indexing cogs and cables.  Bastards from the Illuminati are fucking with everyone's head.

There is no such thing as a learning curve.   A groovy complex of straight lines far better graphs human achievement and status.   As usual, it isn't good enough to demand people stop saying 'learning curve.'  People may stop saying it, but the worse problem remains: people who liked saying it, back when it was still seemingly cool.  There is a human element in society that gives me a royal pain in the ass.  Nothing can be done about them.  There will always be annoying people who latch onto stupid fucking memes.  I'll settle down.

Well, I guess this isn't getting your dick sucked....

Sour grapes.  The puckering.   The way the bitter fruits taste.  The thinking that runs foul with hindsight.

I'm embittered because my career bites the big one.   Any wide banded existentialist should agree I have an inalienable right to blame it on other people.  The fact that I met people proves grounds for animosity.  Imagine what a fat prick Jean Paul Sartre would have been if he couldn't land a book deal.  I want one, and no one is helping me find an agent.  I need one, bad.

To know (know, know) certain people is to muster animosity (animosity, animosity, like in Phil Spector's tune "To Know Her Is To Love Her."  But it doesn't rhyme.)  The social process is bullshit.  People are pernicious toxic waste.  

Remember that garbage about business and professional networking?   Forget it.  Everything here is done by political quid pro quo.  You can be as charming as a dancing gazelle, but the dope addled narcissistic rhinoceros gets the brass ring.   The plumb work.   As a favor to his/her coke addicted magisterial royalty father/mother/gay legal guardian.    Tis true.  If you give a deviant piece of shit a high paying job, he/she/it will take on greater influence in society.   And he/she/it is in a social class above you.  And you just aren't one of he/she/it's kind of people.

It takes other people to keep others down.   We are a balsa wood airplane with rubber band propeller.  Always aimed at the shit can.  

Is Futility Really This Bad?

How awful could boredom be, assuming everyone gets a few unappetizing meals a day, too much sleep, and a flashing, pestering awareness of mortality?   The professionals may speak of clinical depression, poets might enjoy saying 'melancholia,' but 'boredom' is the least judgmental term for being alive and not too fucking lively.   When bored, one wishes to have fun, and isn't having it.

 There is no law, yet, against  saying aloud that you are bored, depressed or melancholic, though for the last thirty years there were consequences.   "You should get some professional help," people might say, as if everything will be just fine between you and them if you do, and will remain hopeless if you don't.   But once people peg you as a bore, they don't start liking you better anytime soon.  Again, this suggests people are what they are, and attempts to change don't help.  Silence, in a state of robotic compliance, is often one's best modus operandi.

But what of happiness and being sociable?  Doesn't boredom negate all that?   Fuckin' A.

Just because I feel like shit right now, there's  no reason for you to be bored, angry or sad.  Have yourself a ball.  I've been at least this down in the dumps before, and bounced back.   Next week, I'm going to blog like a regular Norman Vincent Peale, every syllable reeking of positive thinking and love for daily life.  Two weeks hence, I'm going to blog of mania.   Now that's fun.

While you are still having fun (and I'm not) please take time to enjoy my video cartoon, "Captain Firegroin."