Extemporaneoum

Thoughtless words from a mind filled with meat and electricity.

[extemporaneoum]

Thematic juggling

Stop for a second and take a look at your surrounds. What stands out to you? 

Nothing?

Now close your eyes and take a look around. What stands out now?

Smell your hand. Does it take you on an adventure through your day?

The point I’m trying to make is irrelevant. Look at the bottom of your shoe. Lick it if it tastes like butter. Rub Vaseline into your hair for an edgy mobster look. Try to outrun a car. It’s easier if they are parked. Stop looking in one direction more than another. 120 people die every minute. Natural disasters are natures way of pushing back against a society that is systemically destroying itself. Hair has no flavor, it is the grease that makes it salty. Don’t spit in people’s mouths unless they ask for it. 

God: (V.O) Hey Tony, what are you doing down there?

Tony, 34, built like a burnt out mechanic looks up from the car engine he was crouched over. He has a wrench in one hand and a fly swatter in the other. He turns and looks towards the ceiling.

Tony: Fuckin’ shit’s all fucked up in this shit.

God: (V.O.) Don’t worry, Tony. I think it’s all going to work out.

Lightning streaks through the ceiling directly into Tony’s heart. The room is filled with cascading bolts of energy that reach towards every metal surface. Tony’s body is alternating between flesh and skeleton. His arms are outstretched and his teeth are gritted so hard that a small trickle of blood rolls down his chin.

Tony: (Shakily) Fuckin’ shit man this shit is fuckin’ shitty.

The lightning ceases and Tony collapses into a pile of ash. The single fly emerges from the engine he was working on and the car starts up. The man behind the wheel, previously unseen, leans his head out the driver side window.

Man: Hey, thanks Tony. Catcha later bro.

The man drives out of the shop sending Tony’s ashes billowing into the air and the camera pans over the the wrench and flyswatter sitting on the ground. The fly lands on the wrench and rubs its little hands together.

Figure out the moral there, fucko.

[extemporaneoum]

It doesn’t matter what his name is, though he does have one, it only matters that at this point in time, I remembered him and that is somehow relevant. Don’t get shot, hero. 

Also the hero is sort of frightened. Not sure how I feel as a large, hairy man stumbles into my living room and claims he owns the place. 

It’s ok if you want to stay a night or two... (?)

[extemporaneoum]

Nobody wants or asks for this

This captivating video leads people down a rabbit hole of increasing silence on the side of the camera person.

This is one of my favorite films. Thank you, psychotic video man, for exposing humanity for not wanting to be filmed despite the fact we flood our own “profiles” with information about ourselves. Everyone is desperate to expose their best side. What is privacy, what is personal space, and how can we truly believe that these things exist when everything is monitored in some sort of way. Nothing matters and humanity is fascinating. 

The truth is he never does anything threatening. Not once does he threaten anyone. The camera is the only thing that threatens anyone and nobody is safe from cameras.

[extemporaneoum]

Distention

Enlarged, expanded, or stretched out (as from internal pressure)

A long time ago, I would wander the streets and scoff at people who would smoke cigarettes in the cubbies and alcoves of my hometown. Each time I would pass these smokers I would hold my breath, liberating myself from their noxious projections. It wasn't until I was seventeen, sitting on a low wall overlooking the river and drinking cheap beer, that a friend would lean through the window of a car parked along this wall and offer me my first cigarette. I remember the back and forth between us, the, “no it’s probably not right” and the, “well maybe just a drag” while my friends stood around and told me it was wrong.

I was the innocent one. Everyone hated smoking around me because I didn’t smoke but I wouldn’t put them down for it, in fact I thought that they were cool for doing it, and I wanted desperately to fit into this friend group and they acknowledged me because I was open and forgiving. I wish I could say that years passed as I was in this position of hardline opposition to nicotine consumption, but it was not very long, perhaps a year, that I went from the occasional primetime cigarette to the legitimate American spirit daily usage. 

I started smoking because people that smoked were people I admired somehow. They had a certain rebellious generality that made generalizations seem like they were skirting the swirling line of uncertainty that swelled in the mind of the beholder. Behold, I hold a cigarette and I’m skeptical of how astute my observations could possibly be while I’m so held up with being frightened by the possibility of rejection by someone I do not know.

I think, (not sure)

I’m going to go smoke a cigarette. (If I feel like it)

Oh, what simple ideal doth await the idle hand. (?)

[extemporaneoum]

Weight

Last night I had a dream that was derived of segments. Each particular segment consisted of a subsection of my life, be it fear or enjoyment, and each seemed to have a theme. At one point, I was in my normal life, consisting as I do on a regular basis when suddenly a spider skitters across the floor. My first instinct is to jump up from my seat and smash it underfoot, but when I raise my shoe it is not there. I’m not sure whether I missed the spider or failed some fundamental test. It’s only a dream but the spider was running away from me and I still felt the need to smash it. I don’t know if this part was before or after, but at some point in the dream, (I’ll remind you it was in segments), I was living with the first girl I ever loved and I wasn’t nervous around her anymore. I was casual, nonchalant and even aloof as I addressed her vaguely. I was both myself and a witness to my behavior and it was shallow and manipulative. I am going to try to start remembering the dialogue in my dreams because it can get pretty weird. I remember another segment that was a bunch of friends sitting on the deck of a ski lodge overlooking a vast valley. The table was small, round and covered in beers and a couple of the people at the table were sasquatches or giraffes or something between the two. This might have been a motley crew but they spent a good portion of the night watching youtube videos and one of their favorites was a video about a monkey in a cage. This monkey was enigmatic and seemed hesitant to reach for the banana. Slowly it extends its fingers and as it comes into contact with the smooth skin, the monkey rips the banana away and smashes against his chest causing the spine to rip open as the monkey buries his face in the fruit and gnashes at its soft insides. There is something about the monkey in the video, the way he snatches  the bananas and cracks them so vivaciously, that really tickles everyone at the lodge. All night the party pretended to smash and aggressively inhale bananas. So everyone is sitting around this table drinking beers and I come up with the best joke of my life. “Hey guys, what do a dick and a banana have in common?” , “I don’t know, what?” , “They both leave shit all over your chest!” Everyone sitting around the table laughed and I think one of the most fascinating things about this dream is the fact that it really doesn’t make a whole lot of sense regardless of context and it’s bad when it’s told well. I cannot control my subconscious mind. I feel threatened, morally confused, and exposed. How to be a better person: Don’t kill things, acknowledge others, appreciate confidentiality, be honest.

Have a wonderful time.