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April 19, 2011 / zitterbewegung

Opening chapter of a short story

Chapter 1
Just another day rolling in as he so anxiously awaits the arrival of the Fall. At this he knew he must certainly act. The imperative was in place, his clock moving forward relentlessly. For all he had struggled with in his conquest to learn, the scuffle in the wee midmorning hours, reading and calculating by the mere faint glow of the dome light of his truck. Driven with an intrinsic burning desire to know, to understand; that which would only be privy to those of a most eclectic niche.
Soon the sun would dawn and with it the bustling of a new and busy day. Walking back through the kitchen of the restaurant liken with the hooded executioner of the medieval time, he careless sweeps aside the corpses of the nasty and retched creatures that once inhabited its walls.  He was the exterminator, the bug man, the one person who delivered a swift and agonizing demise to all vermin that might dare to enter his protected kingdom.
As he returns to this white behemoth of a vehicle stocked with all the tools of the killer’s trade, meditating once again at his notes. Asking, “Will Fall bring change?” The reality of his position materializes like the stench of regret as he proceeds to drive away. He had promised himself the year prior of such a return to purpose, a proclivity amongst his most amiable of peoples, academia. This lost promise which did arise from the tip of the twentieth Century to more than a decade, aged as the wheel of cheese lurking in a cellar.
Time and occupation with no meaning, a wage, a means to live another day; this was simple survival. Overlooking the insult of the snaring gaze of those obliged with financial favor, his was a world of pure intellectual curiosity. “Where is your ambition man?” Surly one of your cognitive pedigree should have the money by the tail. The common sickening and mindless parroting lore of Western society, such a common and overused theme, that Intellect predicates wealth. For him there is no greater annoyance than the fertile growth of ignorance.
For the autodidact the world is the educator. He was no different. “It is the goal of society to educate the common man”, this, a reveling statement with an almost Marxist theme. But what is the value of this endeavor? A most fortuitous irony he faced, he couldn’t learn from the very system with which he shared passion and sought employment. Where does one appeal when much is amassed, analyzed, churned, and processed? Can there be resolve in the beginnings that never were? Setting the sky as the limit he still had realize that everything of purpose starts on the ground.
There is only one difference between intention and accomplishment; that is action. In a world of doer’s he had been the passive observer. How much must one know of things before one tries? Certainly the lure of emotional stimulation is the key, so he thinks. How is it that natural design placed such a burden on those tasked to learn by induction, he asked. Symmetry must lie at the root of explanation for this most perplexing phenomenon. In a highly symmetrical system, a beehive for example, an attacking wasp would be confused by the regular pattern of hexagons in the comb. But if even one of these units is deformed and draws the attention of the wasp; the larvae inside is certainly doomed. So goes the struggle for the inductive thinker in a society populated with deductive types; he proposes.
Something so eargerly craved by most, yet it’s presence certainly evokes suspicion, fear, and anxiety. So any change in objective reality is feed as the dropper given to a infant, it is best served with reserve. Popularism and collective realism run hand in hand in the ranks of the deducers. The self-worth of an individual is therefore conferred by society as a whole, this is a blatant farce indeed! He quotes Jung,”Follow that will and that way with which experience confirms to be your own.” For his formative years, this might have been the less wiser of route. He and youth like him were confused and dissociated from the social norm of the day. A cage with a wonderful view rendering a sign, “Do Not Feed The Animal.”


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