Saturday, February 03, 2007

Bloated Portrayal of Surrender

When I committed the aberration, I thought nothing of it. Although I sensed it was immoral, from some perspectives, I felt it fair as I was only affecting myself. The transparency of my window did not give mandatory license to observe. Eventually, the hearsay disseminated, and, of course, I abnegated it entirely. Not one person believed me. The authorities were persistent with their efforts to ensure I pay for what I had done. After an exhausting fight on my behalf, I finally acquiesced.

They subjected me to some anomalous punishment involving a rake, a few straws and some eraser shavings. Hoping that they would force me to beseech, the tormentors increased the severity of the flogging at a constant rate. I did not fall prey to their cajoling. When it was evident their will was inferior to mine, they suspended their castigation.

I formulated and presented a cogent argument for my release, assuring to them that I was not a contagion to society. I convinced them that I would not defile their community. Subsequently, I was allowed to return home where I immediately penned a letter of diatribe to my congressman expressing to him my dismay to the way I was processed. I explained the impact of my dissoluteness was felt only by me. Surely, he could respect my right to individualism within my own home.

After I had mailed the letter, I sat and pondered. Had this experience enervated me? No! In reality, it had made me much stronger. So strong, in my mind, I exonerated my persecutors. Little did they know their admonishment had only reinforced my fecund nature. I looked for novel and arresting ways to secure my role as a heretic.

The actual course of my commitment to nonconformity was indeterminate. However, I did infuse a wide variety of over-the-counter drugs into my diet. The interfusion of these pharmaceuticals and my usual libations did nothing more than grieve my depths, but I continued ingesting the combination nonetheless. I sat for weeks enduring my internal jeremiads while contemplating strategies to express my raison d’etre.

Fatefully, I received a phone call from the office of my congressman. The emissary informed me that the call was in response to my written correspondence to his reverence. I proclaimed my joy to have actually received a response from a government proxy. Luckily, before I extended too many laudations, the other man denounced my actions and chided my licentious existence. My ligneous expression revealed the shock I had felt (although he could not see me because we were conversing by phone). I began to offer my defense, but futility repressed me. The correspondent was not in the least malleable. His opinion of me remained the same. He expanded his criticism of me by informing me that what I had done was no mere peccadillo. Overcome by indifference, I hung up the phone.

Had the government abandoned me and those like me (if any)? Had I lost one of the most pragmatic securities of living in an organized, free state? Was I a man without a country, like Kurt Vonnegut? Confidence in myself waned, but not for long. I came to the conclusion that my realm was my own being and nothing more. I was not a protraction of any other entity, and no opposition could compel me to recant. Not caring if my actions were salubrious, I bought a firearm and headed into the city.

After a fortnight of roaming the streets searching for a subject upon which to relinquish my aggression, I realized I had neglected to obtain appropriate ammunition for my pistol. I explored the ground for discarded bullets, but I found a scanty supply (none, actually). I was determined not to be subsumed into the existing structure of order. Since no traveling munitions merchant came to my succor, I decided to return to my fortress to regroup.

Within the ramparts of my sanctuary, I questioned the sanity of my mission and my being. Unsuccessfully probing the inner nooks of my mind for an amelioration, I screamed the wanting words of a supplicant and received no answer. My turbid state of mind forced me to only one recourse. Though I did not desire this outcome, the rigid nature of circumstances had destroyed my usual unflappable demeanor. I accepted it. All aspirations for veneration had expired inside of me. I chose to vilify myself. Slowly, apprehensively, I closed the drapes and returned to my trousers.


Small Curd said...

Exercising your vocabulary will not get rid of those cottage cheese thighs or love handles mister!

sgb said...

Were you doing your taxes tonight?

bombast said...

Harold Washington lives!

Sid F'er said...

If you had just closed the drapes the first time, all of that could have been avoided.

del said...

This blog illustrates the danger of reading your "word a day" calendar in one sitting while "borrowing" some of Sid's pain meds.

Oh, and Sid's right. It you'd kept your drapes closed... in future, perhaps consider covering your windows with aluminium foil.... it'll keep the voices away.

Anonymous said...

Nice blog. But where are the tour dates? And why don't you thank your fans?

keysunset said...

Wow. Mind expansion football.

I think my brain hurts. Where are my OTC medications ....

(ditto Sid & del too ...)

HR said...

God I love all those big words. That was positively pornographic.

rubiton said...

Sounds like you and Matthew McConaughey are leading parallel lives. In your instance, were bongos involved?

p.s. He’ll be happy to know that you only wish to bogart the vocabulary.