Saturday, April 23, 2011

a mockery

He writes what may be broadly referred to as blog posts, to use the nomenclature of the fortifiers and proponents of the subculture in which he has chosen to participate.

Generally speaking, the produce of that weekly action expresses a profound skepticism, sometimes bordering on paranoia. This is especially true with regards to what he believes is a global culture becoming increasingly enmeshed in an
emergent electronically generated reality (with calculated capitalist motives, he might add, if asked).

That shadow world, as he calls it (somewhat dismissively) - while thumbing through texts on botanical Latin and tattered copies the
The National Lampoon - is piped into the homes and offices of a growing number of citizens, using wires, and more recently, using devices designed to receive specific frequencies of electromagnetic energy from the air.

Ironically, he often has
a portal into one of those fantastic realms open while performing the previously described actions. He may glance at it furtively from time to time and has, of late, frequently given in to the fanciful notion that those sparkly places are beckoning him.

That's usually when
the book goes back on the shelf, when the magazine is returned to the dusty cabinet adjacent to the toilet.

Expressed in his terms,
nascent cyberspace was the output of war, born of a need to find solutions to pressing problems like determining the trajectories of large explosive projectiles designed to destroy both flesh and metal; or the potentially deleterious effects of generating controlled nuclear fission in an oxygen-rich atmosphere.

The fact that a significant portion of those intersecting preludes
were played out in Albuquerque is a constant fascination, a recurrent theme, and in some instances, a wellspring of personal identity which seemingly contradicts his outward disdain for mechanical contrivance.

This self-imposed polemic often results in texts that are
meandering and tangential. Additionally, his subject matter is often elusive; the resulting narratives prefaced by self-indulgent metatextual devices or sentimental recollections.

For instance.

He spent some time in transit. Yesterday morning he was almost smashed to bits by a Ford F-150 pickup. The white truck was driven by a bearded man who was speeding, who failed to yield. The incident occurred along
a street whose contiguous commercial district is mostly abandoned, is mostly notable for empty storefronts and boarded-up windows.

The truck came flying through the intersection and swoop, swoop, swooped toward our intrepid traveler. A quick post-coffee reflex (more of a flinch, actually) initiated an evasive maneuver that while successful, led him to seriously consider the physiological effects of mechanization. After he arrived and parked at
the neighborhood diner, he may have come to the conclusion that if such unexpected events could not produce a cardiac event deep within him, then he probably shouldn't worry about cutting the weeds in his yard, midday, while the sun broadcast the last days of summer overhead.

This was followed a post-breakfast nap during which he dreamed about what the world would have been like if the white truck had actually interrupted his motion path. After awakening with a metallic taste in his mouth, he engaged in a grumpy admonition directed towards the dogs - who for whatever reason just did not like the healthy kibble from
Whole Foods Market. Apparently, they preferred to spend their meal time petulantly trying to project images of the remnants of cheeseburgers, pizza, and last week's enchiladas into the mind of the bipedal creature whom they were convinced was both servant and god.

A few minutes after that encounter, which resulted in one of the dogs howling listlessly as he turned the lock on the front door, he was back inside the car, coasting down lead, silently bemoaning what he considered a personal affront. Mind you, he had forgotten about the entitled affect of his canine charges. He was now obsessed with finding something decent to listen to on the radio, was flummoxed by the absurd human-made phenomena that allowed
The Peak to play tunes by Oasis and Coldplay while for the most part eschewing Radiohead.

Too depressing and chaotic for most of us, he thought as he passed two tattered college kids
spanging near the freeway overpass. One of them held up a sign that read, "Please Help. Stranded in Albuquerque!"

Somehow that day proceeded into night as he drove around anonymously, gravely and gratefully. The crescent moon rose up over the valley and he was in the parking lot of Walgreens. He was waiting to get a prescription for a powerful antibiotic filled, when the fireworks started going off.

The pyrotechnics were meant to celebrate the beginning of the
New Mexico State Fair. They glistened and fluttered in front of him, like flowers and sea anemones, inducing a reverie. The colorful display was like magic to him, causing him to recall past Septembers spent on the fairgrounds. He lingered over his father's bemused warning about the vomitous combination of corndogs and the tilt-a-whirl, his mother's childlike devotion to the 4-H dog show.

With the display in recession, he ambled into the store and his phone rang while he wandered through the dog food aisle. They like
Purina Beneful, he thought, as he toggled the receiver. A friend on the other side of the electronic abyss wanted to know what he was going to write about that week.

He said that he wanted to write about
the more traditional offerings at the fair and the culture they represented. He said that he planned to discuss how those ways of life had been displaced by mechanization and technology. This wasn't an original idea, by the way. It came up as a result of the comments made by one of Carrillo's readers, the previous week.

He wouldn't have time to visit until next week, though. That was fine though, he said, to the collection of metal and plastic and wire and circuits that he held in his hand, to the abyss, to his friend on the other side of it.

This week, he intoned with mock intensity, I plan to make fun of myself.

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