I have looked around and noticed, and you may have as well, and that this economy is very strange.
Not that I’m referring to any sarcastic or satirical points of view about how there is no trickle-down effect and something-something ‘EU’.
I’m rather referring to the weird reasons why weird money is made by some people, and the weird requirements of the public. The weird public. Because obviously; we’re all weird here.
Look to your left, you will see (hopefully) other people. All of them are strange, and you can probably tell by the way that they’re also looking to their left and making facial expressions of ‘yes, they are strange Sam’ prior to getting that feeling that someone is watching you- probably from the right. Anyone looking to their left; forget about them. Anyone looking to their right; never mind them too. Avoid eye contact and stop breathing so much. Yes. We’re being obscure.
There is a craving from these ‘all-of-a-sudden’ people and their offspring. Now I’ve worked in a wide variety of places, and I’ve been around the world, and I’m getting to the fucking precipice of ‘staying-here’ and wondering why so many fake things are made. Children can’t want that many fake things, you’re going to destroy their imagination if you keep feeding them things to play with that are too similar to the real world. Children don’t need too much of that real world- just have them encounter a scary dog when they’re 6 and they’re raised. They are officially parented.
After that- it’s up to them to have a good time (weather permitting) upon their own steam and simply pass on the family gene (mainly your big fuck-off nose) or avoid as such entirely so as to de-populate the world. (I suggest- when we start to re-populate the ocean-space…at least one of us needs to stop breeding. Hopefully you, with your big fuck-off nose)
I was half-way through this article when I decided to take a walk out deep into the country to gain a little perspective and to enhance my buttocks.
Along the way, whilst still in the city, I looked down and noticed the exact point I was making here to be, in fact, everywhere.
It was small and purple, lumpy looking and dirty.
I bent down to pick it and held it up to the sun’s light.
It was a fake bunch of grapes.
How very appropriate.
I had to leave quickly as I realised I wasn’t country-deep enough yet. You can tell when you’re deep in the country around where I live because, and this is a little strange, it feels good to hear explosions. You start to crave a bombing because it adds a little character to the scene. Lovely butterflies, transcendent sunshine, no cars and still no cars, and just some slight and distance bangs. It really makes you feel happy not to be in a town, because you know you’re definitely not being bombed.
There have been other times when this has happened to me- when fake things have turned up and I don’t quite understand what’s going on.
I’ve worked in schools for 4-11 year olds. It was here that I encountered my first fake croissant.
What child needs that?! Was it even for a child?! I don’t know- I just threw as hard as I could- no one complained.
Now I’ve thrown real croissants as well, and I’ve enjoyed it, but this was different.
I’d like to suggest, since I’m going to write something down anyway and it might as well appear to be helpful, that whoever is doing the production of fake things: stop. For the sake of imagination. I can assume a croissant. I’ve encountered them and I have thrown them. I need no fakery. Nor do the children. Let them assume.
However, what about the industry- the economy? How many jobs rely on the seemingly major production of small imitation things? I bet they’re all Chinese- why not eh? Being Chinese is extremely ‘in’ at the moment- everybody’s doing it.
Maybe that’s the secret to successful communism. Maybe it’s just a false pineapple. Maybe I should get some sleep.
Should the false-idol business fall through the real floor, would China fall to its real economic knees (China has economic knees. Explains the popularity) following an influx of cheaply made, poorly designed, barely resembling a lemon, fake lemons from Pakistan?
Who wants that? Me, but for the love of the species, please keep the Chinese happy- they still make pretty decent and real shelving units.
On a Tuesday (it doesn’t matter which one) I bore witness to a small roast chicken. It completely consumed me. I bore and bore and bore witness till I eventually got to the point of thinking that this was not a real fake roast chicken. Because they’re made in China. And this one was sweating, or something.
I actually said, albeit to myself- “you’re not the real imposter! Where’s the real imposter!?”.
And then I told you about it.
Something occurred to me about three nights ago, as I laid in bed, ensuring I knew the correct grammar when saying, as I tend to, if I ‘laid’ or ‘lay’ somewhere, and then double-checking my spelling of ‘grammar’, that I realised a situation that I know has been slowly creeping up on me like ivy up an idle man’s leg.
I, being rather unlike myself, am becoming a little dull.
Now this…THIS…is the time for people to be brave. Pretend to be brave anyway, and eventually end up with a tale to tell and hopefully some highly attractive scars that weren’t gained from safe and legitimate means. Safe and legitimate means will be the end of us all.
You’re going to need a little of that bravery that throws caution to the wind whilst also avoiding what piss you may be distributing into it. That’s just a metaphor though. I did once piss into the wind and I actually won, so there you go, fable fucked, samsywoodsy up by one.
That’s it for me with fables- I’ve had it up to high enough with them being a constant source of disappointment and confusion. I’m only young, I should be able to trust in and rely on a nice of sturdy fable, but here we are in a world where I know that you can be a fast as you please, just don’t be obnoxious otherwise you’ll lose the race to the tortoise, and then your only competition will be the turtles. And then you’ll drown.
There’s a fable for you. Take one rabbit, add water, equals either boiled rabbit or a drowned one. All because it was obnoxious. If your rabbit ends up simply wet, apply mallet liberally. Liberally.
Take your time out there, and fuck a fable. It’s good for the future.
What I’m really trying to say, and this is no fable, is that chances are you’re going to become a little boring, and this may be brought on by either idleness or the regrettable lightness of life. Should this occur- rebel and conquer. Conquer because it’s interesting, rebel because it helps.
A nice rebellion against yourself will tip you over the edge of boredom and into the realm of having no choice but to take action and take interest. Conquer yourself, before you lose yourself to the plague of distraction.
Of course, we all get distracted along the road (it’s an interesting road), but we have to decipher where to accept and when to decline the distractions that the road offers. Ultimately, you will have to figure out which and why for yourself, but here’s a basic formula that might be of use.
1: Do not watch television. No.
2: Become bored with things, and you will become boring. Become interested with things, and you will become interesting.
You may have seen those guys; the ones that tend to look both gentlemanly and rugged. The sort that have read many books and can still compellingly beat the shit out of you over a matter of manners or opinions. Well, that’s what we should be aiming for because they’re like that friend I know at least I’ve had who pushes you and thrills your life, but also scares the bejeezus out of you from time to time (I didn’t even know I had a bejeezus inside of me. Nor did I know what it was till it slid out and hit the floor. Everyone heard it. None of them knew it was my bejeezus).
The minute you feel that your formative years are over, then find a bullet and slam your head into it, because there is really no other point to being here. You might as well watch TV.
I, for one, shall be attempting to examine every fable and test it literally to see if it has any common worth (I’m going to need a singing grasshopper: any suggestions will be appreciated and weird). If not, or if so, I shall hopefully regain a little of the danger and interest I used to generate when I was a nipper (literally- I nipped).
Or hunt Nazis, whichever happens first when I exit my front door.
Remain compelling, please.
Gaming is fun, and gaming is good.
You can spend 3 minutes playing, say, Call Of Duty on PS3, shortly before having to hurry off and do something constructive. And of those 3 minutes, you can say happily to yourself: “6 kills. I got 6 kills. That’s good, because I got 6 kills”.
Bless us and our ‘6 kills’. We really are adorable in the strange things that matter so much for so short an amount of time. In the monumentally short-term, those 6 kills are everything to us, aside from the likely proximity of snacks. But it is merely short-term, as we do not reminisce about our 6 kills later that week:
1: “Dude I totally got 6 kills on Tuesday night!”
2: “Oh. Good.”
Does not happen.
There would also seem to be a gap in the game market for saving people. Perhaps it is because they aren’t real, and that somehow equates to them receiving a worthy death, or maybe it is because we know that although they die- they will be coming back.
I am glad re-incarnation is only suspected. Otherwise the death-rate would soar and instead of guys sitting in their homes thinking their ‘6 kills’ mantra- they would be sitting there saying to their wives: “Hey, y’know what? I didn’t get butchered today! Isn’t that a pleasant thought before bed!”.
Murder would seem to be the only thing the gaming world offers that has that feeling of being constructive. As if though they’re real terrorists that you kill six times.
What I think needs to be created is some translation of energy, so that the amount of hours that are put into games can have some off-shoot potential. So, say that if you could play a game for two hours, you power that games unit for both those hours, using a pedal mechanism that further goes on to store further power as well as keep your arse in shape whilst you sit on it.
It was often said that if kids actual spent that time learning how to play guitar, rather than tapping buttons on an computer imitation guitar, then they’d be pretty good at it by now. So perhaps making games as realistic as possible is the way forward, so that we actually know how to dismantle a terrorist should the occasion arise, or play guitar.
The thing about gaming is that it permits failure of grand schemes. People, in games, attempt and fail- sometimes dying. And they keep playing. And they keep going. Very few of us attempt this in real life during the minor moments, let alone the grand scheme, as failure is tragically unacceptable and success is the only thing that can ever be permitted to happen.
Lack of a decent amount of failure will make you sick and lame, and although we can not ‘save’ in real life, we should hold that one life precious and spend it because tomorrow might now happen. You don’t want to end up at that tomorrow that shouldn’t come as the pussy that didn’t jump out the window because you have some sort of pussy reason that your mind has desperately mashed together to permit you to not have to act up here and enjoy life for some fucking reason that seems so important at the time. The minute you’ve jumped, you want to do it again. But you won’t jump, and you’ll think of a bad reason why not when it comes to it.
Jump out of more windows. It’s good for you’re choice of shoes in future. You’ll want the sturdier pairs.
And find people with a grand scheme, or get one of your own. Then leave the house (preferably by window) and take that scheme down to city hall and slam it against the side of the building and say: “I’m 5 foot 8 and I have a scheme today”. You may attract attention, but that is a good thing because you have a scheme and you’re only 5 8″.
All in all, at least you won’t be playing irrelevant video games (they’re all irrelevant)- you’ll be making a scene downtown, with a scheme in your hand. And 5 8″.
With any luck you’ll fail terribly.
And then do something else till it works.