The Adventures of Link

"Continuous eloquence wearies. Grandeur must be abandoned to be appreciated. Continuity in everything is unpleasant. Cold is agreeable, that we may get warm."
~ Blaise Pascal

39.

From the moment I walk into the store, I realize that what I'm about to do is going to require a large chunk of my life and time that I will never get back. In a lot of aspects, this is exactly what I'm hoping for. The lack of adventure in my life will be played out in this fashion and I'm excited. With cash in hand, I venture forth. The quest, both literally and figuratively, is about to begin. 

***

I'm sitting on the foot of the bed, waiting for the opening sequence to begin. I've been waiting months for this. As the screen reveals it's digital secrets, I feel the excitement bubble within me. I will be either hero or villain. I will let all of my best and worst qualities escape me, and with no chance of repercussions, I will simply be "man."

***

With sword in hand, I face my first dragon. As I "shout" it back, I dive in with both hands on the hilt, swinging wildly at it's back and wings, knowing that if it gets me in it's jaws, I am doomed. With a final blow, the massive creature falls before me. As I absorb it's soul, I become stronger. Another ability is now ready for me learn. 

***

I am now known across the land. Depending on where I travel, people either know me as a legend, or as something more sinister. Upon entering a town, I will be greeted and hailed, or guards will flock to me, swords drawn. I often amuse myself by smiting them, leaving piles of bodies in my wake. There is no "Hell" for me here, and I act accordingly. 

***

All I require now to be free of this curse, this thing that I once loved, is ten thousand gold. It's been three months, two weeks, and several-odd hours. I'm so close; the end of this long journey is within my grasp! At this point, I just want to be free. 

***

As the indicator rolls past the 100,000 mark, the familiar BERLING sound indicates that I have achieved a trophy. I sit back and smile. The indicator for the Platinum Trophy pops up in the uppermost right corner of my screen, indicating to me that Skyrim and all of the adventures contained within, have been conquered. 

42.

1. I like to drink a lot.

2. Quitting smoking is something I would love to do. 

3. Creating lists is easier than doing linked vignettes in my opinion. 

4. People say I'm a great cook, but I think it's easy and that the people who say it are lazy.

5. I hate the weather in Maine.

6. I have issues with avarice.

7. I'm blessed with a great metabolism.

8. I secretly wish to be a chocolatier. 

9. I don't work on things that I'm good at as much as I should.

10. I can't stand excuses, yet make them all the time.

11. I'm terrified of sharks.

12. I'm completely enamored with sharks. 

13. I wish to live on the beach.

14. I enjoy eating more than I probably should.

15. I have more pairs of shoes than most women. 

16. I have had two collapsed lungs in my life. 

17. This list is getting harder to put together.

18. Meat that comes in a can is disturbing to me. 

19. I secretly want to fist fight the Gordon's Fisherman. 

20. I wish bad things upon my neighbors. 

21. for the most part, I try to be easy to get along with.

22. I have more friends than most people.

23. I am LUCKY to have more friends than most people. 

24. I miss where I'm from, but will probably never live there again.

25. I am not so secretly done with this list. 

42. B

Number of refrigerators I've lived with: 22. Number of rotten eggs I've thrown:0. Number of finger rings I've owned: 0. Number of broken bones: 2. Number of Purple Hearts: 0. Number of times unfaithful to wife: 0. Number of holes in one, big golf: 0; miniature golf: 0. Number of consecutive push-ups, maximum: 15. Number of waist size: 32. Number of gray hairs: 30. Number of children: 2. Number of suits, business: 0; swimming: 1. Number of cigarettes smoked: 1,000. Number of times I've kicked the dog:12. Number of times caught in the act, any act: 50. Number of postcards sent: 0; received: 3. Number of  plants that died while under my care: 20. Number of blind dates: 0. Number of jumping jacks: 800. Number of headaches: 340. Number of kisses, given: 3,276 received: 12, 321. Number of belts: 1. Number of fuckups, bad: 400; not so bad: 15,000. Number of times swore under breath at parents: 1,000. Number of weeks at church camp: 1. Number of houses owned: 0. Number of houses rented: 5. Number of hunches played  3,000. Number of compliments, given: 300,000; accepted: 50, 000. Number of embarrassing moments: 4, 782. Number of states visited: 18. Number of traffic tickets: 5. Number of girlfriends: 30. Number of times fallen off playground equipment, swings: 10; monkey bars: 20; teeter-totter: 15. Number of times flown in dreams: 600. Number of times fallen down stairs: 5. Number of dogs: 4. Number of cats: 3. Number of miracles witnessed: 0. Number of insults, given: 200,000; received: 400,000+ . Number of wrong telephone numbers dialed: 80. Number of times speechless: 200. Number of times stuck key into electrical socket: 0. Number of birds killed with rocks: 0. Number of times had the wind knocked out of me: 23. Number of times patted on the back: 150. Number of times wished I was dead: 7. Number of times unsure of footing: 350. Number of times fallen asleep reading a book: 400. Number of times born again: 0. Number of times seen double: 60. Number of deja vu experiences:60.  Number of emotional breakdowns: 40 ; Number of times choked on bones, chicken: 0; fish:3; other: ?. Number f times didn't believe parents: 16, 000. Number of lawn-mowing miles: 27. Number of light bulbs changed: 300. Number of brothers: 0. Number of passes at women: 200. Number of stairs walked, up: 800,000; down: 800, 000. Number of hats lost: 80 Number of magazine subscriptions: 16. Number of times seasick: 0. Number of bloody noses: 30. Number of times had sexual intercourse: 2, 000. Number of fish caught: 50. Number of time heard "The Star Spangled Banner": too fucking many. Number of babies held in arms: 19. Number of times I forgot what I was going say: 800.

I went with the list posted because I found it interesting. I'm fairly sure that I could have made my own, but it wouldn't have been as much about the every day...the "mundane." I find that I enjoy mundane when it comes to the writing.

Vignette: The Prose.

"Acting is easier - writing is more creative. The lazy man vies with the industrious."
~ William Shatner

As she counts out all of the bills that I have handed her, I have to keep in mind that not everyone is a mind-reader. I also (as I often do), have to remember that people will often judge things by how they look and not as they really are. That being the case, it's no strange wonder that as she counts out $1,076 in twenties, tens and ones, she looks at me as though something illegal is taking place. It doesn't help that I drive a relatively nice looking vehicle, dress "upscale-hip" and am covered in tattoos. I mean, even I can see why she's doing it, I just...hell, I don't know. I dislike it. 

This all started with Erica and I being flat-ass broke and wondering how in the hell we were going to survive a month without food or bill money. As is often the case with poor people, we get so far behind in our daily lives that when we get money, we either spend it on a bunch of dumbass shit, have a ton of bills that need paying, or somehow owe money to the aforementioned "nice looking," yet completely worthless vehicle (once again, not to be judged by it's appearance). Which (no surprise there), leaves us flat-ass broke all over again. Ah, the wonderful wheel of whimsy. As fate would have it, amidst all of the chaos and sore muscles of stress and worry, we were surprised by a payment of $2,012 (har-har-har) in her favor. The unfortunate thing about this is that A: the vehicle is making odd sounds and B: that debt that I mentioned is creeping back in again. 

As we come up with a way to make this money last, however, life, in all of it's grand design and would-be-wisdom, decides that now is the prime time to destroy the water pump in our vehicle. Well, as if that weren't bad enough, the water mixes with transmission fluid, which in turn starts dripping on the belts, which (of course) causes one of the belts to start stripping itself as it spins, throwing up smoke and making the most wonderful of smells. This means three things to me: 

1. I have to miss class....again.

2. Whatever the cost of getting it fixed will be multiplied by the cost of cab rides. 

3. Money that could be spent elsewhere will now go to this goddamned devil's tool of an automobile. 

Surprisingly, everything goes off without a hitch, costing less than $500, combined. 

The issue now is getting access to all of the money at once. Seeing that this payment was made to an electronic card that isn't tied to a bank account in way, we have to rely on ATM's, which have limits on how much cash you can withdraw at once. And the fun starts.....

Three days, four ATM's, a full tank of gas and several hours of stress later, here I am looking into the eyes of a woman who clearly thinks I supply marijuana to the local high-school crowd and am making  a deposit of my home-grown funds. I'm a person that hates having to explain myself (which I find myself having to do more and more these day, as it turns out), so I don't, more often than not. As it turns out, people are even more bothered by silence than they are with whatever bullshit that they can concoct in their own depraved imaginations, so...I'm not sure which one is worse. 

As this thought runs it's course, she hands me my slip, tells me to "have a wonderful day," and I walk out into the awesomely majestic daylight. 

A wonderful day indeed, I think with a smile. 

Vignette redux.

"Of course it's the same old story. Truth usually is the same old story."

~ Margaret Thatcher

36. 

And there it was; the biggest fucking rat I have ever seen in my entire life. People will tell you stories about how shitty, dirty and nasty of a place New York City is; they'll tell you about the goddamned rats. But I will tell you this: it's all bullshit until you see it for yourself. Unfortunately, there I was, seeing it for myself. This thing was easily the size of small dog and could probably have fit a basketball in it's mouth. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't afraid of the thing. It seemed more worried about us than anything else, I was just taken aback by it. I had been to NYC before, but wasn't actually in the city at night, so I had missed this truly marvelous mutation of the natural order. As it scurried along, it slowly dawned on me that it was not alone. As I cast my eyes down the trash covered street, my sight starting to adjust from the light of the subway tunnels, I noticed probably thirty more of them. I suppose that when you let trash bags overrun their cans and allow dumpsters to overflow into the street, this is what happens. And he was taking me to a fucking restaurant down here somewhere! What in the fuck was going on?!?

31.

Whenever he sits down to write something, it's like he's part of someone else's really odd story about this guy that thinks he's a writer. Never sure of what to do, he sits blankly in front of the screen, eenie, meenie, minie, moe...trying to think of something, anything to connect himself to the page - the topic at hand. It's as if some really mischievous being is also sitting somewhere, writing out his life in the most irritatingly comic way it can possibly imagine. He pictures this being, doing exactly what he's doing; their fingers both moving in tandem -the keys clicking, cosmically connecting the two unalike, yet completely strung-together beings. This is all in his head, of course. The thought of being a puppet to someone else's will is only slightly less disgusting to him than  someone assuming that he has no idea what's taking place. Then again, those two things aren't mutually exclusive.

33.

It's sad, really.... I've had that Ghostbusters shirt for about six years and there it goes. The worst thing about it, I guess, is the fact that it isn't even like something being missing, or someone being gone, as I've not really lost anything. Not in the literal sense, anyway. No. I have to see it around. It's like living in the same apartment complex as your ex of 6 years and having to hear he fucking her new boyfriend whenever you go down to get the mail in the afternoon. See, the shirt is still in the house, but it is no longer mine. It no longer conforms to my being, or shelters me from the elements. Whereas it once commanded the jealousy of those who did not possess it, it now possesses me. Funny that an article of clothing could bring out such a burning hatred in me. I'd almost rather see it destroyed than on another human being, yet....that is exactly what I have to do. In fact, I suppose that this might even be of my own doing. After all, if I hadn't been so enamored with the goddamned thing in the first place... 

Pew. Pew. Pew. (Character)

"Fate is character."

~ William Winter

As he sits in the dying light of the day, his thoughts turn. For what he is, his mind is as contemplative as can be; nothing overlooked, even if it seems that way. He knows that today may be the last of his days, and that thought  isn't as disturbing to him as it probably would be to others. This is a man who has lived more fully than people twice his age, and it shows at the most inopportune of times. As he snubs the cigarette out in the ashtray and looks around the room, he is filled with the conflicting emotions of desire and accomplishment. After all, he is not his things, but his things remain part of him. He is a collector, a romantic, a clown. He is none of these things. He grins at the thought of being nothing more than "an ornate hat rack," and looks out of the bedroom window.  Looking out on the street below, the light hits the wrinkles around his eyes; trophies of a lifetime of laughter and smiles.

As the light of the sun dies out, he stands, his 6' 3" frame towering above the bed. He reaches a tattooed arm up to the dangling chord of the ceiling fan, and turns on the light. With another look around the room, he gives a smile of affection, then turns to walk out the door.

Building Character (FINI)

"Sometimes we encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken."

~ Fyodor Dostoevsky

31.

I have no real memories of childhood. Obviously, I remember what it's like to be a child; certain events from my childhood that spring to life if I dare wander back that far. But I can honestly say that I have no real "first memories," of early development. My father, who I now know to be an overworked and under-amused, die-hard introverted business man, is nowhere to be found in that search. There are hints of him here and there, phone conversations, weekend visits and the brainwashing of my Scotch-soaked mother, but nothing concrete. I remember her, too, but not as a "child." I say this as such because my memories of life seem to start out at a much farther along rate than those of people with who I am acquainted. I'm not sure if I actually popped out at 6 or 7 years of age, or if a lifetime of living in a parallel universe has broken my ability to actively think chronologically... 

For what it's worth, my father is one of those people who never smiles and when he does, it's as if some child's nightmare is about to come true somewhere. He has that perpetually red face that is either alcoholism or some serious stress issue (neither would shock me, but both are probably to blame). I don't know him very well. He and I are from the complete opposite ends of the personality spectrum, though I have to admit that our attitudes have successfully blackballed us from the rest of our family. It happened to him for being a cutthroat and an obsessive, almost demented ladder-climber, while I went the more predictable route of thieving, swindling, drugs and jail sentences.
My father is the type of person that sees the entire world as some sort of odd parody of the business office, where he is the man in charge and everyone else is some kind of subordinate. He interacts with everyone this way, which is why I find him so goddamned amusing to be around. It could be said that I have an almost insufferable ability to "not take things seriously," so being around this man is like watching reality television. The really odd thing about of this is that when I look at him interacting with me, there's that same look of absolute awe. Neither of us can possibly fathom the other's motivations or train of thought. It's as if we're both looking at blueprints for some sort of  bizarre android that we not only have to figure out and then build, but spend the rest of our lives interacting with. I would assume that it's frustrating for him, as I know for a fact that unless he is in the same room with me, I'd rather not speak to him at all.
This is a man who came from the furthest of the back hills in the mountains of North Carolina, worked his ass off to educate himself, destroyed anyone who got in the way of what he was doing, then somehow forgot what in the hell it was like to be a real human being along the way. His tolerance for failure is nonexistent, his temperament is that of a nest of hornets, his sense of humor is what can only be described as bleak and yet through all of this, there is no one that I'd rather have dinner and a glass of wine with. When he's not playing the part of Dr. X's horrible automaton, he has a deep insight into the way the professional world works and why. He's quite interesting to talk to, and if I didn't know better, I'd say that he has a very serious passion for the good life brewing underneath all of the bourgeois. This is a man who knows fine culinary values, has impeccable taste in fermented beverages, and will pretend to be interested in almost anything you say to him (which is important to someone that talks as much as I do).
To call him "dry" is an understatement, but I still miss the ol' bastard. I should probably call him up and annoy the shit out of him sometime soon.




34.

Robert Jones
You're probably doing the same old shit, despite the fact that you're close to 15 years older, aren't you? I remember us playing Mortal Kombat 3 on the Super Nintendo, drinking underage and being the guys that invented playing playing basketball on the dance floor. I can picture you drinking Corona with no lime and falling for pyramid schemes. I hope you've smartened up.  Where are you and what's going on?

Josh Babb
You kinda disappeared from life after your liver failure. I'm not sure what happened, but I miss us listening to music for hours on end; you always carrying around that briefcase meant for holding cassette tapes. We used to hit up Manifest Records for used tapes and were always on top of the trends. I heard rumors that you've been spotted in and around Charlotte, NC. Is this true? Have you come out of hiding?

Brandon "Peanut" Sullivan
What the hell happened? I went from living on your couch to you living on mine and then you just vanished one day. Heard you had a kid that you love, even though the family life didn't work out for you. I hope things are well. You still playing the hell out of that bass? Are you still living as a local legend in some band or another? I got a mysterious text from your number not too long ago and haven't heard from you since. Are you trying to make contact?


32.

I once knew a really bright kid by the name of ...let's call him Tobias. I say "knew" and "kid" in a really loose manner, as I still talk to him fairly often and he is in his late 20's. I guess what I mean to say is that I don't really know him like I thought I did, and "kid" is just me using the parlance of my times. This is a guy who has everything he needs going for him. He's good looking, educated, diverse in his interests and talents, has a supportive (if not slightly dysfunctional) family, yet is probably one of the most infuriating people I know. In fact, I often try not to think about the guy.
For what it's worth, Tobias has a good work ethic. However, I think it has less to do with the fact that he is serious about anything in any way, and more to do with the fact that he just doesn't know anything else, or have anything better to do with his time. After all, when prompted to speak on the subject of work (which oddly enough happens even when he isn't prompted), you can be sure that he will complain about whatever he happens to be doing at any given point in time, all while completely aware that he alone can change his life. He's been a truck driver, a bar tender, a waiter, a cook, ect and he never seems happy with any of it. As if having to do anything is just some monumental inconvenience to his sitting around and feeling sorry for himself.
I often bring up going to school when talking to him. I tell him that grants and loans can carry him through at least a two year degree. I tell him that he doesn't necessarily have to "work his way through" school, because if spent wisely, loan monies can pay off bills for months in advance. To any of this, he inevitably responds in a fashion similar to the fact that he can't afford to commute back and forth. Or that he isn't sure what he wants to do; that he doesn't have time, as he works such and such hours a week.
I know that these are issues that do actually plague people. I really do. But I also understand that he isn't one of these people. His rent is fixed; it includes all of his utilities and is ludicrously cheap. He could easily afford it working part time. He has no car payment or insurance payments, as his mother takes care of all of that for him. I'm simply left to believe that he is unwilling to change. I'm not sure if he's scared of change, worried about responsibility, insecure or what. I just know that even when I was living with him, making double what he made a week at two jobs, he was still like this. And this is a time when he had no excuses whatsoever. I could have completely taken up the slack at that point in time, and he could have done whatever he wanted. Yet...nothing.
I'm not sure why all of this bothers me so goddamned much. Perhaps it's because I care about him and want him to succeed. Maybe it's because I have little patience for people who are unwilling to take chances. I do know that if it isn't necessary, I don't think of him often. I guess I'm just waiting for the day that he surprises me. Waiting for the day that he's actually the happy persona that he fronted on me when we first started hanging out. Being happy isn't a cardinal sin, and neither is doing whatever it takes to make yourself that way, so long as you aren't hurting anyone along the way.
   

Placing Places.

"There are no shortcuts to any place worth going."

~ Beverly Sills

The unrealistic glow of the halogen lights seem to practically fill every inch of these hallways. It is deathly quiet, and everything is sterile, as if someone might be rushed in at any minute to bear children on the very floor. In every direction, the walls are an ugly eggshell white, which isn't really white, but more like a faded yellow; the kind of color that pristine white walls turn when you bring in a room full of cigar smoking card sharks. 

There is a young man sitting in front of a computer screen and before him, the monitor glares like would-be fire; no more mystique than a cardboard box. As he considers what is taking place around him, he looks over at the pile of company he keeps: a cell phone, a bottle of Grape Crush and a book on vampires that is crowned with the empty wrapper of a cheese danish. It dawns on him as he looks around that vampirism has become cliched, and as this thought enters his head, he grins. 

The dingy faded blue chair scrapes the floor under him as he shifts his weight, the wheels no longer apt enough to provide the convenience of movement that they once possessed. As with all things that age, the chair is but a shadow of it's former self; sunken, stained and probably not long for this world. Coupled with mismatched browns of the two tables above it and the contrast of the shiny new computer towers and their ancient monitors, this part of the hallway looks more like a museum setup than anything that should actually be functioning. Again, thoughts come into his mind, this time of a caption for this picture: The Downfall of Modern Man, or Why Education Costs So Much. The thought amuses him. 

Narrative

"Computers are like Old Testament gods; lots of rules and no mercy."
~ Joseph Campbell

As the power in the house came back on, I was suddenly torn. When it went out, I was in the midst of doing a few things that needed to be done. But while it was out, I was completely prepared - if not absolutely okay - with it being out for a bit. 

The opening credits for the movie Watchmen had just given way to the start of the film, and I was really getting myself into the mood for watching it. After all, I'm a huge fan of the book(s) and haven't seen the film adaptation in quite some time, so I was excited. And then, as if the Christian God itself was in the room with us, there was that "let there be light" moment and my excitement gave way to the realization that I had prepared myself for a lazy afternoon in vain. 

Fuck it, I thought. Might as well do while the doing needs done.

So I turn the computer on and it starts making a sound that I imagine is quite like what an 18 wheel semi-truck would make if it were doing about 75 and the driver suddenly smashed on the breaks, sliding for a few yards, then meeting a grisly fate as the truck went off of a cliff Thelma and Louise-style. Clearly, the damned thing needed to be cleaned inside and out. 

"Why are you shutting down?" Erica asked in that way that seemed as if I were wasting time. 

"Cleaning out the computer," I replied. 

So I get the screwdrivers and set about my task, knowing that I am improperly prepared for this task. See, I had no air-spray, which is pretty much an integral part of cleaning out anything having the slightest thing to do with a computer. Lots of little parts and wires in there... 

I pull the tower out from the little corner of the room in which it resides, and am immediately confronted with what I knew was the issue: there is about half an inch of dust covering every vent, fan and crevice of said tower. For anyone who doesn't have to take care of their own shit, let me say this; if you need to clean your PC and you don't have any air-in-a-can, air-spray, air-duster, whatever the hell you want to call it, you're either going to be A: Fucked, or B: in for one hell of a nice little adventure that includes, but is not limited to, dust in your mouth, the use of half of a roll of toilet paper, every Q-Tip that you have at your disposal and a dog that likes to pee on or about the bed. It's a grand ol' time and I recommend that anyone seeking to build character try it immediately. But I digress. 

I go about using all of the above-mentioned items (sans the dog that likes to pee), and before too terribly long, I have amassed a giant pile of dust-covered Q-Tips, balls of toilet paper, itchy skin, a mouth that now feels like it is made of cardboard and an irritable girlfriend, who I somehow complained into helping me. I recall being extremely high-spirited. It was done! It was a task completed, and now the computer would cease making that awful sound and I could go back to doing other things that needed to be done (like this).

Everything was plugged back in, connections were tested, dust was wiped away. Messes were cleaned up, power was given and...the goddamned thing was still making that sound! It would appear that the issue with all of this is that the power source is filled with dust. And seeing as it can't be opened up and taken apart without seriously damaging the inside components...