Giglioronisonifoniconinin... I mean... Lexicon...
You can't win in the game of life. There's no goal, there's no card combination you can play, no way to make yourself the last player in the game and retain your sanity, or other circumstances to meet in order to "win" at life. You can only not lose.
The way I see it, not everyone has come to this conclusion. Even if they have, they still retain at some level of consciousness, or lack thereof, the notion that they can "win" at life. Absolute victory cannot exist on that grand a scale, and the closest people to winning are serial killers. Winners win by eliminating losers, right? In what game do the losers win as well as the winners? What competition, save the special olympics, has the losers grinning just as much as the winners?None. So, I retain that mass murderers are the only true winners in life. But they end up behind bars or pushing up daisies anyways, so they lose.
My new goal is to not lose. As long as there's some pathetic shell of a human below me to propel myself away from the pathetic shell that they propel themselves off of, ad infinitum.
So, there are two ways that this can logically work out. I can either, a) lose by not meeting my goal in which case I am a loser despite my best efforts, or I can b) succeed with marginal or vital results. It's much easier to come to grips with things that way.
So, if I lose, I lose. If I win, I win. If I don't lose, I win. If I don't win, I don't lose. This is of course, deviating from the common belief that not winning is the same as losing. This gives me approximately a 50% higher chance to win and a subsequent 50% lower chance to lose.
Do I want the 4-3 house with the ocean view and the expensive car in the driveway? Sure. But as long as there's someone more pathetic than me in this world, I haven't lost.
---
"Too many people are insecure and self-conscious nowadays. Hell, what am I saying nowadays?" Questioned the boy in a very critical tone of voice, tossing the errant waste into the dumpster behind the plaza. "Like I was around when things were different."
"You know what's amazing? The average American has a Lexicon of only five to seven thousand words." Replied the deviant woman, seemingly off-topic and in a very instructive manner. It wasn't rude or without proper recognition to the boy's statement, it merely suggested that his suggested that his topic of choice was understood, a silent "point taken". To anyone else, it would have seemed incredibly rude or inconsiderate, but this was their bond. Although she was still a girl by relative comparison to most, she was a woman when compared with him.
"Lexicon?" Inquired the young man, raising an eyebrow in a generally quizzical fashion as his hair shook in the wind. "I'm not familiar with the term. I've only heard it in the song 'Save the Population' by the Chili Peppers."
"One's Lexicon is their vocabulary, put shortly." The woman explained, as she would do several times each night, passing on knowledge from her twenty-some odd years of life onto a protégé of sorts. Each night they would discuss some new topic whilst subconsciously realphabetizing shelves or processing small sleeves of data, as it was second nature by this point. "It is also the level to which you can accurately adjust your method of speech to cleverly manipulate the situation." She continued, pausing only to take a drag on her cigarette.
"Like Neuro-Linguistic Programming?" The young man suggested, locking the dumpster and turning the key to the compactor before making his way to his workplace. "Only in this scenario there's no immediate goal except to more accurately express your thoughts via syntax and word choice?"
"In a way." She declared, effectively ending the conversation, or at least shifting its focus.
"Hey, wanna see something gross?" Proposed the boy, his hands unbuttoning his uniform shirt in preparation for the predicted answer. There was no stimulus that caused him to suggest this, save the general notion that it might bring some enjoyment to their otherwise boring night.
"You know it takes quite a bit to-" Was all that she could manage before losing control and interrupting herself. "Oh sweet Jesus!" She exclaimed, observing a large scab, roughly the size of the base of a soda can on his back. "What the hell did you do?"
"I don't know, that's the thing," the boy explained in some strange mix of enthusiasm and concern, "You think it'll scar?"
"Have you been picking at it?" She asked, slightly taken aback by the mark.
"You think I can reach?" The boy said, again filled with some strange enthusiasm.
"How the hell did you get that?"
"It just sort of showed up," the young man resolved. "Like, I woke up and it was there."
"At least I know where my scabs come from..." She stated, obviously amazed that her co-worker could not account for his own bodily functions. "You should put your shirt back on, in case there's a customer that comes in."
"I would love it if that happened." Explained the young man, a smirk spreading across his face. "Just imagine, you walk into a store that's virtually dead and you see a man putting his shirt on and fixing his belt, all the while his hair is messed up and his female co-worker is smoking outside." He let out a hearty laugh as she cackled in a very sardonic fashion.
Their laughs slowed to chuckles and those faded into faint hums in the minutes that followed.
"Now, go back inside and re-alphabetize the PS2 section, I need to do Title On Hands in the morning and I need to do less work if that's all nice and shiny." She said, still smiling and humming happily from the man's joke several moments before.
"So, I need to work simply because it makes you work less?" The young man submitted in a half-defiant, half-sarcastic nature.
"Or you can sit on your ass and get less payroll hours less week." She replied, nonchalantly and completely without bias, stressing the situation less as each word passed her lips.
"You're lucky I respect your opinion, you know that?"
"Just shut up and do the walls."
The next morning's tasks were processed easier than before.
The way I see it, not everyone has come to this conclusion. Even if they have, they still retain at some level of consciousness, or lack thereof, the notion that they can "win" at life. Absolute victory cannot exist on that grand a scale, and the closest people to winning are serial killers. Winners win by eliminating losers, right? In what game do the losers win as well as the winners? What competition, save the special olympics, has the losers grinning just as much as the winners?None. So, I retain that mass murderers are the only true winners in life. But they end up behind bars or pushing up daisies anyways, so they lose.
My new goal is to not lose. As long as there's some pathetic shell of a human below me to propel myself away from the pathetic shell that they propel themselves off of, ad infinitum.
So, there are two ways that this can logically work out. I can either, a) lose by not meeting my goal in which case I am a loser despite my best efforts, or I can b) succeed with marginal or vital results. It's much easier to come to grips with things that way.
So, if I lose, I lose. If I win, I win. If I don't lose, I win. If I don't win, I don't lose. This is of course, deviating from the common belief that not winning is the same as losing. This gives me approximately a 50% higher chance to win and a subsequent 50% lower chance to lose.
Do I want the 4-3 house with the ocean view and the expensive car in the driveway? Sure. But as long as there's someone more pathetic than me in this world, I haven't lost.
---
"Too many people are insecure and self-conscious nowadays. Hell, what am I saying nowadays?" Questioned the boy in a very critical tone of voice, tossing the errant waste into the dumpster behind the plaza. "Like I was around when things were different."
"You know what's amazing? The average American has a Lexicon of only five to seven thousand words." Replied the deviant woman, seemingly off-topic and in a very instructive manner. It wasn't rude or without proper recognition to the boy's statement, it merely suggested that his suggested that his topic of choice was understood, a silent "point taken". To anyone else, it would have seemed incredibly rude or inconsiderate, but this was their bond. Although she was still a girl by relative comparison to most, she was a woman when compared with him.
"Lexicon?" Inquired the young man, raising an eyebrow in a generally quizzical fashion as his hair shook in the wind. "I'm not familiar with the term. I've only heard it in the song 'Save the Population' by the Chili Peppers."
"One's Lexicon is their vocabulary, put shortly." The woman explained, as she would do several times each night, passing on knowledge from her twenty-some odd years of life onto a protégé of sorts. Each night they would discuss some new topic whilst subconsciously realphabetizing shelves or processing small sleeves of data, as it was second nature by this point. "It is also the level to which you can accurately adjust your method of speech to cleverly manipulate the situation." She continued, pausing only to take a drag on her cigarette.
"Like Neuro-Linguistic Programming?" The young man suggested, locking the dumpster and turning the key to the compactor before making his way to his workplace. "Only in this scenario there's no immediate goal except to more accurately express your thoughts via syntax and word choice?"
"In a way." She declared, effectively ending the conversation, or at least shifting its focus.
"Hey, wanna see something gross?" Proposed the boy, his hands unbuttoning his uniform shirt in preparation for the predicted answer. There was no stimulus that caused him to suggest this, save the general notion that it might bring some enjoyment to their otherwise boring night.
"You know it takes quite a bit to-" Was all that she could manage before losing control and interrupting herself. "Oh sweet Jesus!" She exclaimed, observing a large scab, roughly the size of the base of a soda can on his back. "What the hell did you do?"
"I don't know, that's the thing," the boy explained in some strange mix of enthusiasm and concern, "You think it'll scar?"
"Have you been picking at it?" She asked, slightly taken aback by the mark.
"You think I can reach?" The boy said, again filled with some strange enthusiasm.
"How the hell did you get that?"
"It just sort of showed up," the young man resolved. "Like, I woke up and it was there."
"At least I know where my scabs come from..." She stated, obviously amazed that her co-worker could not account for his own bodily functions. "You should put your shirt back on, in case there's a customer that comes in."
"I would love it if that happened." Explained the young man, a smirk spreading across his face. "Just imagine, you walk into a store that's virtually dead and you see a man putting his shirt on and fixing his belt, all the while his hair is messed up and his female co-worker is smoking outside." He let out a hearty laugh as she cackled in a very sardonic fashion.
Their laughs slowed to chuckles and those faded into faint hums in the minutes that followed.
"Now, go back inside and re-alphabetize the PS2 section, I need to do Title On Hands in the morning and I need to do less work if that's all nice and shiny." She said, still smiling and humming happily from the man's joke several moments before.
"So, I need to work simply because it makes you work less?" The young man submitted in a half-defiant, half-sarcastic nature.
"Or you can sit on your ass and get less payroll hours less week." She replied, nonchalantly and completely without bias, stressing the situation less as each word passed her lips.
"You're lucky I respect your opinion, you know that?"
"Just shut up and do the walls."
The next morning's tasks were processed easier than before.
posted by Dylan at 9:11 PM
1 Comments:
<(^^)> Ah, the refreshness of B.S. from Co-workers!
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