bipolar_baller
Greenlighter
- Joined
- Apr 6, 2012
- Messages
- 13
Got home from the bar without a girl, so I went for the medicine cabinet where sensi is routinely kept. It's the single man's rescue: saving face in the face of solitaire. Getting stoned is a great replacement for a late night toddy. After opening the medicine, it was clear that the sensi was gone. Under closer scrutiny, there was a rare discovery. (A friend had bestowed some blotter paper that was lying around the house for sometime.) So at 4 A.M., I half-consciously flicked a tiny speck of paper--printed on it was Max Headroom--on my tongue and swallowed. Through drunken logic, I decided it was nothing and fell fast asleep.
As normal after a long night of drinks, I awoke at 8 A.M. without recollection of getting home or into bed. An uneasiness wrenched in my stomach, and my mouth was very sticky at this point, the beginning signs of alcohol dehydration. I didn't drink that much, did I? No way. The night ended with less than 12 beers, so a hangover is out of the question--for me at least. (And why the F*CK do DJs put basketball game-over horns in all their mixes?????)
Well, awake is awake, even if I feel like shit. I got out of bed and made some coffee. Wait a minute. After the final moments of last night were recalled through the rush of caffeine that cut through my lack of sleep, I quickly made my way back to the bathroom. Gone. Damn, I had to talk to a potential employer for a job today. Drive. Paperwork. This could be really bad. A pot of coffee and a cigarette later, my stomach was feeling normal again, but I wasn't hungry at all. I packed some crackers for fuel anyway.
10 A.M. I was sitting in the anteroom to an office suite that had a gorgeous view. I caught a glimpse of it as an intern expediently left the office. Shit. Why am I smiling so much? This is unreal. I sat relaxed and euphoric, slightly losing focus of why I was sitting in a wingback leather chair, wearing my only suit. The track lighting above was magnificent. I couldn't take my eyes off of them, and the more I stared at them, the more brilliant I became. Advertising, of course. It was the heart of human existence, a way to connect people to the products, but in the long run, shape culture. Guide it into the future that brilliant writers create in sci-fi novels and technological perfection. Sure, deodorant and detergent advertisements are the most absurd and irritating productions on television today, but wait until I slip into them meaningful insight and tranquility.
A single idea that drives men and women to see their lives differently, to open a door in their minds with 15 seconds of graphic imagery. Molecules of food do not stop with their favorite laundry detergent. Laundry water gets fed right back to them, staining their yet-to-be worn clothes. Their metropolis is as complex as the light-polluted stars above them, that they only see in the country or on National Geographic.
"Mr. Baller. Mr. BALLer." I was lost in the daze of a new job that still required an interview and review. Casually I turned my head in his direction, not adjusting the slumping posture that I had shifted into, as though I was a daydreamer in the final moments before falling asleep.
"Yes, that's me." I gave him my twenty dollar smile, the one I give my psychonaut enabler after a harsh bong rip of sensi. Cogs slowly turned, tripping alarm bells that I should be standing and offering my hand in greeting and respect. "Excuse me, I've been taking sleep-aid for insomnia, and it's working too well, it would seem."
"It would seem." He turned and entered his office as I extended my hand to greet him.
This isn't going well, I thought, but it was distant and strange. Anxiety was a pebble in a river bed. The river that flowed rushed over me was unrelenting insight into the world. Anything that caught my attention or any memory that surfaced took me farther downstream toward the waterfall of discovery and limitless human potential.
The interview lasted about an hour, and I think my rambling impressed the pin stripe suit in a immaculately grained desk. I got lost in the individual grain loops like a scratched CD. With each loop, inspiration and brilliance poured out of my mouth like water out of a spigot--it was not not clear where it all came from, but it never stopped. At the end of the interview, like some strange saga, I got lost in the man's irises, which gave him the impression that I was paying attention to the nonsense about design and influence his company had on a national scale.
"These fucking colors." I jumped at the words that followed the magic that seemed to be in every blue or red or green colored object that I saw. They glowed like some deep sea fish that has never seen the light of day. Now the cogs halted, grinding so hard that they melted together. Everything halted. So much for this job, I thought. As I was about to stand and walk out, Pin Stripes responded.
"That's right. Colors can enslave a nation if you put them together in the right sequence. I see you've done your homework."
I blinked once and didn't break eye contact. My mind now raced to find a follow-up. What was he saying? Uh... where are my cogs now?! Melted. "Coke and Pepsi created an empire on drugs, but maintained sales through color-design." It was something from early in undergrad, but it was all I came up with, still distracted by the colored objects on his desk. The bastard's brilliant blue eyes. They were getting so loud and I just wanted to rub the chills under my skin like someone with a bad case of the DTs.
"That's right. Those fucking colors. Monday at 7:00 A.M. sound good to you?"
"Yessir." I had to get out of there. Any longer and I'd be tearing off my jacket. God! I needed to free my skin, trapped under these smothering fibers. My hands and feet were perspiring heavily. I shook hands with Pin Stripes, and we both chuckled nervously as we wiped our hands off on our respective handkerchiefs. "Thank you." I bolted and never looked back. It was my only chance, but I made it to the elevator without any human contact.
As soon as I got to the parking lot, I checked to see if I was in sight of the main building. No one in sight! Jacket OFF! Shirt... well, just unbuttoned until I get to the car.
12:30 P.M. Wow! Whew! The music blasted in the car. Visuals never went beyond brilliant colors. My mind never stop racing, down the river of brilliance. I couldn't speak fast enough to record all my thoughts in my smart phone. After I got home, I went through a few bowls of sensi and just spent the afternoon on the balcony watching the birds feed and chirp.... The plateau certainly seemed to have during the interview. Advertising... what a mindfuck...
As normal after a long night of drinks, I awoke at 8 A.M. without recollection of getting home or into bed. An uneasiness wrenched in my stomach, and my mouth was very sticky at this point, the beginning signs of alcohol dehydration. I didn't drink that much, did I? No way. The night ended with less than 12 beers, so a hangover is out of the question--for me at least. (And why the F*CK do DJs put basketball game-over horns in all their mixes?????)
Well, awake is awake, even if I feel like shit. I got out of bed and made some coffee. Wait a minute. After the final moments of last night were recalled through the rush of caffeine that cut through my lack of sleep, I quickly made my way back to the bathroom. Gone. Damn, I had to talk to a potential employer for a job today. Drive. Paperwork. This could be really bad. A pot of coffee and a cigarette later, my stomach was feeling normal again, but I wasn't hungry at all. I packed some crackers for fuel anyway.
10 A.M. I was sitting in the anteroom to an office suite that had a gorgeous view. I caught a glimpse of it as an intern expediently left the office. Shit. Why am I smiling so much? This is unreal. I sat relaxed and euphoric, slightly losing focus of why I was sitting in a wingback leather chair, wearing my only suit. The track lighting above was magnificent. I couldn't take my eyes off of them, and the more I stared at them, the more brilliant I became. Advertising, of course. It was the heart of human existence, a way to connect people to the products, but in the long run, shape culture. Guide it into the future that brilliant writers create in sci-fi novels and technological perfection. Sure, deodorant and detergent advertisements are the most absurd and irritating productions on television today, but wait until I slip into them meaningful insight and tranquility.
A single idea that drives men and women to see their lives differently, to open a door in their minds with 15 seconds of graphic imagery. Molecules of food do not stop with their favorite laundry detergent. Laundry water gets fed right back to them, staining their yet-to-be worn clothes. Their metropolis is as complex as the light-polluted stars above them, that they only see in the country or on National Geographic.
"Mr. Baller. Mr. BALLer." I was lost in the daze of a new job that still required an interview and review. Casually I turned my head in his direction, not adjusting the slumping posture that I had shifted into, as though I was a daydreamer in the final moments before falling asleep.
"Yes, that's me." I gave him my twenty dollar smile, the one I give my psychonaut enabler after a harsh bong rip of sensi. Cogs slowly turned, tripping alarm bells that I should be standing and offering my hand in greeting and respect. "Excuse me, I've been taking sleep-aid for insomnia, and it's working too well, it would seem."
"It would seem." He turned and entered his office as I extended my hand to greet him.
This isn't going well, I thought, but it was distant and strange. Anxiety was a pebble in a river bed. The river that flowed rushed over me was unrelenting insight into the world. Anything that caught my attention or any memory that surfaced took me farther downstream toward the waterfall of discovery and limitless human potential.
The interview lasted about an hour, and I think my rambling impressed the pin stripe suit in a immaculately grained desk. I got lost in the individual grain loops like a scratched CD. With each loop, inspiration and brilliance poured out of my mouth like water out of a spigot--it was not not clear where it all came from, but it never stopped. At the end of the interview, like some strange saga, I got lost in the man's irises, which gave him the impression that I was paying attention to the nonsense about design and influence his company had on a national scale.
"These fucking colors." I jumped at the words that followed the magic that seemed to be in every blue or red or green colored object that I saw. They glowed like some deep sea fish that has never seen the light of day. Now the cogs halted, grinding so hard that they melted together. Everything halted. So much for this job, I thought. As I was about to stand and walk out, Pin Stripes responded.
"That's right. Colors can enslave a nation if you put them together in the right sequence. I see you've done your homework."
I blinked once and didn't break eye contact. My mind now raced to find a follow-up. What was he saying? Uh... where are my cogs now?! Melted. "Coke and Pepsi created an empire on drugs, but maintained sales through color-design." It was something from early in undergrad, but it was all I came up with, still distracted by the colored objects on his desk. The bastard's brilliant blue eyes. They were getting so loud and I just wanted to rub the chills under my skin like someone with a bad case of the DTs.
"That's right. Those fucking colors. Monday at 7:00 A.M. sound good to you?"
"Yessir." I had to get out of there. Any longer and I'd be tearing off my jacket. God! I needed to free my skin, trapped under these smothering fibers. My hands and feet were perspiring heavily. I shook hands with Pin Stripes, and we both chuckled nervously as we wiped our hands off on our respective handkerchiefs. "Thank you." I bolted and never looked back. It was my only chance, but I made it to the elevator without any human contact.
As soon as I got to the parking lot, I checked to see if I was in sight of the main building. No one in sight! Jacket OFF! Shirt... well, just unbuttoned until I get to the car.
12:30 P.M. Wow! Whew! The music blasted in the car. Visuals never went beyond brilliant colors. My mind never stop racing, down the river of brilliance. I couldn't speak fast enough to record all my thoughts in my smart phone. After I got home, I went through a few bowls of sensi and just spent the afternoon on the balcony watching the birds feed and chirp.... The plateau certainly seemed to have during the interview. Advertising... what a mindfuck...
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