Moving toward, forward, then away and backwards
Third, fourth, fifth gear, whatever.
Gridlock of course. So I make a right, and I obviously didn't know where the hell I was going. Then I got to a red light and took another right.
"Sir which direction is best for constant movement?"
I didn't say that to anyone, maybe out loud to myself as I sometimes do. It's a good way to remind yourself you still have a voice. A good reminder that whats coming out of your mouth is under your control, a subject I had just begun debating. What is a voice? It's not really personal but we'd like to think it is, voices are personality and personalities are local advertisements.
"Shit where the hell am I?"
I'm almost certain I said that one out loud. Goddamn merging eighteen wheeler, right in my lane. Of course.
But it hit me a little late, I'm not going anywhere.
And suddenly I was pulled into a replay of my life, one of those exaggerated metaphors that can last a week. Weeks of nonsensical debating with no one, I guess it's years really. What I started thinking was, I was never going anywhere. My life was now a shitty metaphor for not only not going anywhere but basing most of my decisions on moving away from something else. It's not about what you become, it's the things you avoid becoming. Yes and all of my decisions were motivated by escaping and movement and rebellion.
Rebellion is a cute one, the one you're supposed to grow out of.
"Oh look your son thinks he's different, oh wow so do you."
Yes this is what I do, I drive around when I'm upset and make it a contest of how aimless I can be. Then I will inevitably come to another metaphor like "wow I'm just a waste of gas". Sure. But if using gas is this fucking therapeutic then why don't I really become the "gas guzzler" I just equated myself to. Skip the middle man and fix myself a tall glass o' gas, three ice cubes, NOT four.
"Jesus honey I'd like to taste the gas a little bit. Four ice cubes? Really? I'm trying to commit suicide and you give me four fucking ice cubes?"
I digress.
I eventually got it in my head that I need to really go somewhere. I set out on the road and started speeding eastwards. After two days and seven truck stops I arrived in New York state.
I was twenty minutes outside New York city when it hit me again.
"I'm still not going anywhere, I'm attempting to move away from moving away from things."
Now is the point in the story when, you the reader says, "Wait a second this story isn't going anywhere and he's actually using the subject of moving away from things to move away from the problems that he should be addressing in this very post."
"Ah good point reader, good point. Shall i continue?"
"I don't know, I don't think either of us are getting anything out of this. I mean it's getting kind of long also."
"Remember the part about rebellion? Yes I inserted a reader (ahem) so that I could rebel against him to continue my digital scroll of nothing-speak." Got it?
So back to moving away from the opposite of the story. I was twenty minutes outside of New York city after a vague sentence about how I got there. And suddenly it re-hit me. Yes, after the previous hit. A new hitting of me emerged.
"You can't go anywhere, you can't have concrete goals, anything about ending up at point B is a way of mapping out the confusion of reality." So that revelation was extremely helpful, not circular at all.
"But thats the point!" exclaimed Theodore. Okay sorry, so there is no Theodore, I was trying to be interesting. I forgot the five steps to introducing characters with amusing names from my fiction writing class.
Real or not, Theodore was right. "That is the point" Really I'm just shuffling different philosophys of what the point is. "Which point" Oh yeah I um, forgot the, um, point. But that is the point, right? The point is that when you keep turning things into metaphors it leads to over-generalizations.
Then the next steps are.
1. mini-crisis
2. cigarette
3. (optional for you but not me) beer
4. livejournal entry
and then acceptance.
You see I drove right back home from New York. No direction is metaphorical, but I gave east my best shot. I came out of it with less money and slightly more sanity. I hope you noticed my transformation. You see at the beginning of this tale I call myself a "waste of gas" (Kenan Yargicoglu's livejournal of irrelevance, entry 254) but after wasting almost three tanks for absolutely no reason I say nothing.
"Thats fictional gold at it's goldest, which is platinum I think."
When I was driving back through Ohio I played a little game. "So now am I going through moving away from things?." But it lost it's actual meaning by then, it was just playing with words that were out of batteries. Empty empty words. At least I ran that circle though. I can't get sucked into it again. The words were all empty now, I've apparently used them up. What I want and what I'm going to say everyone else wants is an occasional finish line. So that in your head you will say "Something was happening and now it's officially over." Thats what people need, thats what I need. It's kind of like the day she won't kiss you anymore, it's that day.
and it's today.
Gridlock of course. So I make a right, and I obviously didn't know where the hell I was going. Then I got to a red light and took another right.
"Sir which direction is best for constant movement?"
I didn't say that to anyone, maybe out loud to myself as I sometimes do. It's a good way to remind yourself you still have a voice. A good reminder that whats coming out of your mouth is under your control, a subject I had just begun debating. What is a voice? It's not really personal but we'd like to think it is, voices are personality and personalities are local advertisements.
"Shit where the hell am I?"
I'm almost certain I said that one out loud. Goddamn merging eighteen wheeler, right in my lane. Of course.
But it hit me a little late, I'm not going anywhere.
And suddenly I was pulled into a replay of my life, one of those exaggerated metaphors that can last a week. Weeks of nonsensical debating with no one, I guess it's years really. What I started thinking was, I was never going anywhere. My life was now a shitty metaphor for not only not going anywhere but basing most of my decisions on moving away from something else. It's not about what you become, it's the things you avoid becoming. Yes and all of my decisions were motivated by escaping and movement and rebellion.
Rebellion is a cute one, the one you're supposed to grow out of.
"Oh look your son thinks he's different, oh wow so do you."
Yes this is what I do, I drive around when I'm upset and make it a contest of how aimless I can be. Then I will inevitably come to another metaphor like "wow I'm just a waste of gas". Sure. But if using gas is this fucking therapeutic then why don't I really become the "gas guzzler" I just equated myself to. Skip the middle man and fix myself a tall glass o' gas, three ice cubes, NOT four.
"Jesus honey I'd like to taste the gas a little bit. Four ice cubes? Really? I'm trying to commit suicide and you give me four fucking ice cubes?"
I digress.
I eventually got it in my head that I need to really go somewhere. I set out on the road and started speeding eastwards. After two days and seven truck stops I arrived in New York state.
I was twenty minutes outside New York city when it hit me again.
"I'm still not going anywhere, I'm attempting to move away from moving away from things."
Now is the point in the story when, you the reader says, "Wait a second this story isn't going anywhere and he's actually using the subject of moving away from things to move away from the problems that he should be addressing in this very post."
"Ah good point reader, good point. Shall i continue?"
"I don't know, I don't think either of us are getting anything out of this. I mean it's getting kind of long also."
"Remember the part about rebellion? Yes I inserted a reader (ahem) so that I could rebel against him to continue my digital scroll of nothing-speak." Got it?
So back to moving away from the opposite of the story. I was twenty minutes outside of New York city after a vague sentence about how I got there. And suddenly it re-hit me. Yes, after the previous hit. A new hitting of me emerged.
"You can't go anywhere, you can't have concrete goals, anything about ending up at point B is a way of mapping out the confusion of reality." So that revelation was extremely helpful, not circular at all.
"But thats the point!" exclaimed Theodore. Okay sorry, so there is no Theodore, I was trying to be interesting. I forgot the five steps to introducing characters with amusing names from my fiction writing class.
Real or not, Theodore was right. "That is the point" Really I'm just shuffling different philosophys of what the point is. "Which point" Oh yeah I um, forgot the, um, point. But that is the point, right? The point is that when you keep turning things into metaphors it leads to over-generalizations.
Then the next steps are.
1. mini-crisis
2. cigarette
3. (optional for you but not me) beer
4. livejournal entry
and then acceptance.
You see I drove right back home from New York. No direction is metaphorical, but I gave east my best shot. I came out of it with less money and slightly more sanity. I hope you noticed my transformation. You see at the beginning of this tale I call myself a "waste of gas" (Kenan Yargicoglu's livejournal of irrelevance, entry 254) but after wasting almost three tanks for absolutely no reason I say nothing.
"Thats fictional gold at it's goldest, which is platinum I think."
When I was driving back through Ohio I played a little game. "So now am I going through moving away from things?." But it lost it's actual meaning by then, it was just playing with words that were out of batteries. Empty empty words. At least I ran that circle though. I can't get sucked into it again. The words were all empty now, I've apparently used them up. What I want and what I'm going to say everyone else wants is an occasional finish line. So that in your head you will say "Something was happening and now it's officially over." Thats what people need, thats what I need. It's kind of like the day she won't kiss you anymore, it's that day.
and it's today.