more sketches
These are a couple of "WTF?!?!?" pieces. They don't actually make sense, I'm just playing around.
There are no answers. Only questions.
What if that were the case? What if there literally were no answers, only questions? What if every sentence were like this one, ended with the curly punctuation mark?
Would we be able to live? Would we be able to make sense of the world? How? Don't we rely on answers to give us a solid base to ask more questions from? If we don't have answers, how can we interpret the questions?
That is all.
------
Enoch is. With a burgundy flannel shirt that he keeps perpetually unbuttoned, with the mildly hairy chest that he goes on displaying, he just is. He's not special at all. He holds a nondescript job at a nondescript construction site building nondescript buildings. When he gets off work, he goes home to his nondescript rowhouse, to see his nondescript wife and their nondescript kids.
He lives a boring life. And he likes it that way.
Change brings uncertainty. Uncertainty brings indecision. Indecision brings angst. Angst...well, angst is just plain bad. And therefore change is bad too.
Besides, Enoch's nondescript wife and kids love him just the way he is. Everything is well-ordered, like the set of natural numbers. Nothing ever goes wrong.
Standard tropes would suggest that Enoch's life is about to change. It's not.
He continues living each day like the past. Each is so unremarkable that it does not deserve to be shown in the story. He gets up at 4:30 AM, well before first light. He showers. He shaves. He tries to get dressed without waking his wife, who works as a hairdresser and so has somewhat saner hours. He wolfs down a bowl of cereal. He makes the kids' lunches and puts them in the refrigerator. He goes to work. He welds beams together. He welds more beams together. He welds more beams together. He welds more beams together. He welds his lips shut. He goes home. He spends a couple hours of quality time with his kids.
He enjoys every moment of it.
And then one day, he drops dead. He is no more.
That is the end of Enoch.
There are no answers. Only questions.
What if that were the case? What if there literally were no answers, only questions? What if every sentence were like this one, ended with the curly punctuation mark?
Would we be able to live? Would we be able to make sense of the world? How? Don't we rely on answers to give us a solid base to ask more questions from? If we don't have answers, how can we interpret the questions?
That is all.
------
Enoch is. With a burgundy flannel shirt that he keeps perpetually unbuttoned, with the mildly hairy chest that he goes on displaying, he just is. He's not special at all. He holds a nondescript job at a nondescript construction site building nondescript buildings. When he gets off work, he goes home to his nondescript rowhouse, to see his nondescript wife and their nondescript kids.
He lives a boring life. And he likes it that way.
Change brings uncertainty. Uncertainty brings indecision. Indecision brings angst. Angst...well, angst is just plain bad. And therefore change is bad too.
Besides, Enoch's nondescript wife and kids love him just the way he is. Everything is well-ordered, like the set of natural numbers. Nothing ever goes wrong.
Standard tropes would suggest that Enoch's life is about to change. It's not.
He continues living each day like the past. Each is so unremarkable that it does not deserve to be shown in the story. He gets up at 4:30 AM, well before first light. He showers. He shaves. He tries to get dressed without waking his wife, who works as a hairdresser and so has somewhat saner hours. He wolfs down a bowl of cereal. He makes the kids' lunches and puts them in the refrigerator. He goes to work. He welds beams together. He welds more beams together. He welds more beams together. He welds more beams together. He welds his lips shut. He goes home. He spends a couple hours of quality time with his kids.
He enjoys every moment of it.
And then one day, he drops dead. He is no more.
That is the end of Enoch.