"Suicide Of A Salesman" - Experimental fiction -
Her... She...
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She’d acquired a position she’d never bargained for. She’d been unwittingly charged with an importance she’d never petitioned to gain. She’d become something beyond the scope of a simple human life; she’d become one man’s self-decided last hope… And, in event of failure, she’d become the proverbial cherry-on-top of a lifetime of evaporating dreams, disappointment, and ill-guided interests.
Oh so well I know the position of cherry-on-top. As I’d played that role in the past… Horrible role in which to be cast, unforgiving and irresolvable.
The Abstract is a world of clouds, dreams, hopes, aspirations, imagination that drives us to continue. Greener pastures. All is well. Follow the Yellow Brick Road. Although, truth is, Oz knows nothing of Mapquest nor Mapquest anything of Oz. There are detours, construction, and oft times the road is no longer made of yellow brick. We get lost, wander in desperation. Oz is no more, we stumble the streets of Calcutta.
My skin was tacky and warm. The August night was hot and I’d done plenty of sweating, standing, sitting, and pacing while negotiating sales with reluctant, close-minded, stubborn would-be-customers all day. Work tends to serve as a transient, fleeting escape from the repetitive cycle of hellish destruction my thoughts frequent as of late. I find myself drawn into a cunning exchange of information and logic while turning an “inquiry” into a “purchase” for minutes on end… Although in between sentences, in between conversations, it all comes back… Not just to “Her”, but the others with whom my best intentions have gone awry.
It appalls me that we, the children of the information age, have renounced our belief in sorcery and magic. When all the while it is here, well among us, thriving and in use everyday. An early morning phone call from someone you love… The words spoken are like a malevolent incantation, powerful and destructive. Your life pales and darkness sets in; demons now haunt your every turn. The sun has lost its glow and the air hangs on you like the fetid funeral shroud of some long-dead putrescent corpse. Suddenly you are taken by years; age is upon you. Winter is cold and devoid of emotion.
Oh so well I know the position of cherry-on-top. As I’d played that role in the past… Horrible role in which to be cast, unforgiving and irresolvable.
The Abstract is a world of clouds, dreams, hopes, aspirations, imagination that drives us to continue. Greener pastures. All is well. Follow the Yellow Brick Road. Although, truth is, Oz knows nothing of Mapquest nor Mapquest anything of Oz. There are detours, construction, and oft times the road is no longer made of yellow brick. We get lost, wander in desperation. Oz is no more, we stumble the streets of Calcutta.
My skin was tacky and warm. The August night was hot and I’d done plenty of sweating, standing, sitting, and pacing while negotiating sales with reluctant, close-minded, stubborn would-be-customers all day. Work tends to serve as a transient, fleeting escape from the repetitive cycle of hellish destruction my thoughts frequent as of late. I find myself drawn into a cunning exchange of information and logic while turning an “inquiry” into a “purchase” for minutes on end… Although in between sentences, in between conversations, it all comes back… Not just to “Her”, but the others with whom my best intentions have gone awry.
It appalls me that we, the children of the information age, have renounced our belief in sorcery and magic. When all the while it is here, well among us, thriving and in use everyday. An early morning phone call from someone you love… The words spoken are like a malevolent incantation, powerful and destructive. Your life pales and darkness sets in; demons now haunt your every turn. The sun has lost its glow and the air hangs on you like the fetid funeral shroud of some long-dead putrescent corpse. Suddenly you are taken by years; age is upon you. Winter is cold and devoid of emotion.
Despite the frequency of others, you find yourself alone… Misery and Depression are your only company. Misery, always obvious, pesters constantly; gnawing at your tender parts like an insatiable goat. While Depression, cunning and patient, stalks quietly; palpable only as its icy fingers slither betwixt your ribcage, efficiently dividing the heart from the rest of the body. Then… Noonday… The malefactor of your curse meets with you… And, as it often is with human disposition, their mood has changed.
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With the touch of their hand, a look, or perhaps just a word the spell is broken. The sun’s warmth explodes throughout the sky like an epic ripple across the heavens. Misery cowls in retreat; Depression hisses in anguish while dissipating into nothingness. The air lifts, carrying you with it. All is light and crisp and new. You are young again; The season is Spring.
Powerful is the magic we employ to control the Heavens and Earth as such.
My skin was tacky and warm. The August night was hot and I’d done plenty of sweating, standing, sitting, and pacing while negotiating sales with reluctant, close-minded, stubborn would-be-customers all day. Work tends to serve as a transient, fleeting escape from the repetitive cycle of hellish destruction my thoughts frequent as of late. I find myself drawn into a cunning exchange of information and logic while turning an “inquiry” into a “purchase” for minutes on end… Although in between sentences, in between conversations, it all comes back… Not just “Her”, not just the others, but it‘s “Me“ as well…“Mihi sum ipse inimicissimus”… I am my own worst enemy.
An often overlooked mantra of problem solving is the notion that relocating or running away from a situation solves nothing. The realistic concept remains… “Wherever I go, I take me with me“. Although thought to be empowering to those seeking mastery over the tribulations they endure, it’s easy to see how this ideology is condemning for someone who’s already traded their optimism for a healthy supply of self-loathing and desperation.
Someone, a far cry wiser than myself at the time, once told me they suspect I harbor no fear of failure. And, now, I’m fearful I agree… Failure is familiar. Failure is like the amiable vagrants that use to frequent the corner of 79th and Chester. When we first met it felt awkward and uncomfortable… Vertigo. I found it hard to look upon the missing teeth and the intermittently spaced, yellowing fragments that remained. I found the gamey odor of someone, months without bathing, offensive and hard to stomach. Although each time we met, often as I pumped gas, I’d become more accustom to the experience. In fact, after several initiations, I felt uncomfortable without the neighborhood rabble about.
Failure is unexpectedly welcomed. Failure is free of expectations or continued maintenance. Failure knows no deadlines, holds no project parameters, and never demands a rewrite. Failure accepts us for who we are without a second’s consideration. Failure never condemns us for the errors of our humanity… In fact, in it’s arms we are welcomed and comforted for our short-comings.
Powerful is the magic we employ to control the Heavens and Earth as such.
My skin was tacky and warm. The August night was hot and I’d done plenty of sweating, standing, sitting, and pacing while negotiating sales with reluctant, close-minded, stubborn would-be-customers all day. Work tends to serve as a transient, fleeting escape from the repetitive cycle of hellish destruction my thoughts frequent as of late. I find myself drawn into a cunning exchange of information and logic while turning an “inquiry” into a “purchase” for minutes on end… Although in between sentences, in between conversations, it all comes back… Not just “Her”, not just the others, but it‘s “Me“ as well…“Mihi sum ipse inimicissimus”… I am my own worst enemy.
An often overlooked mantra of problem solving is the notion that relocating or running away from a situation solves nothing. The realistic concept remains… “Wherever I go, I take me with me“. Although thought to be empowering to those seeking mastery over the tribulations they endure, it’s easy to see how this ideology is condemning for someone who’s already traded their optimism for a healthy supply of self-loathing and desperation.
Someone, a far cry wiser than myself at the time, once told me they suspect I harbor no fear of failure. And, now, I’m fearful I agree… Failure is familiar. Failure is like the amiable vagrants that use to frequent the corner of 79th and Chester. When we first met it felt awkward and uncomfortable… Vertigo. I found it hard to look upon the missing teeth and the intermittently spaced, yellowing fragments that remained. I found the gamey odor of someone, months without bathing, offensive and hard to stomach. Although each time we met, often as I pumped gas, I’d become more accustom to the experience. In fact, after several initiations, I felt uncomfortable without the neighborhood rabble about.
Failure is unexpectedly welcomed. Failure is free of expectations or continued maintenance. Failure knows no deadlines, holds no project parameters, and never demands a rewrite. Failure accepts us for who we are without a second’s consideration. Failure never condemns us for the errors of our humanity… In fact, in it’s arms we are welcomed and comforted for our short-comings.
Success, however… Success is a cruel and terrifying mistress. Success is demanding; a high-maintenance bitch. Success has no patience for our lack of initiative. Heartless and cold, Success cares nothing for the struggle we conduct against the haunts within us. Success, bereft of compassion and understanding, fashioned only with a tongue for complaint. Success is a remorseless critic, quick to judge and pass sentence with no regard for mitigating circumstances. Success is incapable of forgiveness. Success is the Nature which streamlines |
evolution by culling the heard of its least fit. Success is a razor, clinical and devoid of emotion, opening Society’s vein to bleed out and euthanize those falling short of it’s qualifying criteria.
The fear of Success is paralyzing.
The fear of Success is paralyzing.
My skin was tacky and warm. The August night was hot and I’d done plenty of sweating, standing, sitting, and pacing while negotiating sales with reluctant, close-minded, stubborn would-be-customers all day. Work tends to serve as a transient, fleeting escape from the repetitive cycle of hellish destruction my thoughts frequent as of late. I find myself drawn into a cunning exchange of information and logic while turning an “inquiry” into a “purchase” for minutes on end… Although in between sentences, in between conversations, it all comes back… Not just about “Her”, or the others, or not just even about “Me”. It all comes back…“EVERYTHING”.
Based on the hour I usually arrive at work, the first available parking places are found -sparingly- upon the second floor of the garage. I always take the stairs. The garage itself is rapidly dilapidating, chunks of concrete surrender their hold from the ceilings allowing rebar no modesty, cabling stretches exposed, ashamed and naked. Beware the fifth step upon the stairs, I remember having to avoid it completely when I first started using the garage. Since then, however, it has been set anew in concrete.. Yet, still it is uneven and can surprise.
I ascended the stairs as I had so many times before. An empty pack of Basic Menthols lay discarded on the landing as I approached my floor. The smell of musty concrete, oil, monoxide, and people… meandered throughout my nasal passages; the rich flavor of the city hung in the back of my throat. Second floor. Although, I read the number on the door and something small whispered within me, “That’s your floor”, I kept on walking.
The chorus began. Years of highly developed personalities began bargaining; deliberating their views. At this point very few played dumb. All the voices, all the personalities we undergo during our daily routines… You know, the voices that debate with one another as you’re struggling to get out of bed some mornings. Or, others… the voices vying for attention while we decide whether to spend $90 on concert tickets when we know our car needs new tires in a month. All the aspects of our “selves” are like voices negotiating amidst the colloquium of our minds… Mine abandoned the illusion that they were not there. They were uninhibitedly vocal because they we’re aware of our intentions.
The fifth floor, of course, has no ceiling there is only the sky.
As I climbed the sun-baked, white concrete partition, perhaps intended to keep one from accessing the otherwise unprotected sides of the rooftop, I thought of the time I climbed a statue of a man holding a book while visiting Niagara Falls. Of course we had no business climbing the statue but we got away with it anyway… My internal dialogue found itself distracted while entertaining the memory. A chalky white dust covered whatever parts I used to struggle up the parking garage’s security embankment.
There’d been no pause in my descent. No grand toes-on-the-edge contemplating reality scenario. I simply dusted myself off and walked the remaining incline to the edge. The air met me like walking into a new bar or restaurant for the first time. Its regulars all turned to examine the new face. A stranger. Everything was exciting... New... Terrifying but FRESH. There was some confusion… The sound of air rushing past… The brief crackling of branches as the landscape nearing the sidewalk crumpled beneath me.
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As I climbed the sun-baked, white concrete partition, perhaps intended to keep one from accessing the otherwise unprotected sides of the rooftop, I thought of the time I climbed a statue of a man holding a book while visiting Niagara Falls. Of course we had no business climbing the statue but we got away with it anyway… My internal dialogue found itself distracted while entertaining the memory. A chalky white dust covered whatever parts I used to struggle up the parking garage’s security embankment.
There’d been no pause in my descent. No grand toes-on-the-edge contemplating reality scenario. I simply dusted myself off and walked the remaining incline to the edge. The air met me like walking into a new bar or restaurant for the first time. Its regulars all turned to examine the new face. A stranger. Everything was exciting... New... Terrifying but FRESH. There was some confusion… The sound of air rushing past… The brief crackling of branches as the landscape nearing the sidewalk crumpled beneath me.
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