literature

untitledLife

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Literature Text

Every time I signed onto my now aging and venerable machine, I was not so subtly reminded of the state of my life, when the pleasant message "Norton AntiVirus 2005 is not enabled" popped up in the bottom-right corner of my screen.  That, coupled with the fact that there were constant cries emerging from the street below my front window, until all hours of the night, made me put my head in my hands, sigh, and promptly open Notepad to begin writing a book.

*****

I sat at the desk, wondering what I was doing with my life, wondering how I was going to pay my bills, wondering about everything so that I wouldn't have to think about going to bed in five hours, waking up, and going back to my wage job, dealing with customers I didn't respect, and acting like I cared about the state of the Corporation.  Because, you know, my life just meant so much in the big scheme of things, at the Corporation.  I was little more than a cog in the wheel, part of the machine.  As was my boss, and his boss, and his boss, and his.  All the way up.  The only one who really must wake up and feel as if his life meant anything would be the man at the top.

In the background, coming through my PC speakers in glorified restored stereo, a pirated, unfinished copy of New Order's "Age of Consent" played over and over - I had seen it two months back at the movie theatre, in a trailer for Sophia Coppola's version of "Marie Antoinette" starring Kirsten Dunst.  Writing about it now makes me think of Brett Easton Ellis' "American Psycho" character, Patrick Bateman, and his keen recollection of all things '80s.  I was achild of the 80's.  Born in the second-to-last-month of 1979, yes, but growing up in the 80's - with all it's pop culture cliche and decadent abuses as my primary influences, at least insofar as my under-developed personality is concerned.

*****

And then I came across a book at work one day, while doing the heinously boring alphabetization of a shelf.  It was called "Party of One, The Loner's Manifesto" and I started flipping through it on my lunch break one afternoon, and I thought "Oh my God, this is SO dead on - this is me, this is so me."  And suddenly it all made sense.  I didn't feel like a selfish sociopath, I felt like a normal person, and I felt special, in some small way - not because it justified me, but because it justified what I had already known deep down.  I was normal and I was special.
It has found a new home. The old one was in stealth-mode.
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