Ten Seconds of Cerebral Chaos

Turned to Comedic Relief

It was another mundane moment in another, however unsurprising, but an unusually uneventful night at his underutilizing work. But that was nothing new because he understood that the upkeep of societal functioning mandates a tireless cognition for those who engage in what may seem like grunt-work. And those who enjoy the illusion of comfort, seemingly tend to engage in however minimal or otherwise, but pretentious-all-the-same concern about all that is frivolous and commonplace, namely grunt-work, that is, when not precluded by callous self-care. This grunt-work maneuver spun his cogs, and the thought branched and evolved faster than he could make sense of it as he continued craving complexity unlike ever before.

These two justifiably simplified types of people seemed to be working in sync with each other only to render the other and themselves lesser in a sense or another — grunts taking pride in grunt-work in hopes of getting out of it, creating more grunts in the process, while the comfortable facilitated grunt-work lest they experience the wrath of the indignant — and ig’nant — grunts. Mental meditation morphed into a material fuck-up as he considered how contemporary capitalism contributes to and confiscates from its constituents.

Assimilated by this abstraction, he speculated on the system that mandates the existence of the underdogs. And just when he thought things couldn’t get any more nihilistic, his consumption turned to cringe as he ruminated on his cerebral captivity of pondering the philosophy of life as it nurtures and nips the multitudes. Does life — in its primal and perfect self — mandate a loser for every winner? If things are more good than bad, would that add more to the collective monotony of the daily dallies of our society? If so, and if our ideals are flawed, why do we adhere to the ones that ought to be obsolete — narrowing neuroplasticity or ingenuous inconvenience? Do we need things to be bad to appreciate the good ones, because without bad, good would be the singular truth in a world defined and driven by the dichotomy of the pair, hence insufficient, despite the popular demand? Could we even define good without contemplating bad? And is that contemplation alone enough to invoke, create and enact the illicit?

Or can we replace bad with a justified and purposeful challenge altogether?

If so, are the comfortables that seek happiness and fulfillment — people who refuse to contest their comfort zone — as a full-time job doomed to be dolts? Are we the humble subjects of our hormones and/or the myriad of microorganisms that we carry? Is that what a consciousness encapsulates — being subject to wit, will, and whim of our microbes and/or hormones?

“S***, is this the Matrix? No, that may be a little far-fetched,” he speculated, “and clichéd,” he understood. As his psychic saturation of the cosmic concept of counterbalance seemed sempiternal, he felt run-down beyond rest and resorted to metacognition to assuage the ever-impending adversity.

This binary and momentary internal monologue absorbed all his attention. But a spontaneous spin to a seeing glass surreptitiously pulled him from the surreal. He realized that the totality of ten seconds that he was trapped for, contemplating the confines of capitalism, translated into a vacant look, lacking any and all vicissitude, and he had without mindfulness or bodily consent, been cross-eyed.

Left helpless, he couldn’t help but ostentatiously grin at the occurrence. Wanting to express the physical and mental comedy, dread, and reality of the abstract event, he became desperate to share the moment with one of his fellow grunts. But before he could, their functioning pride and joy in the grunt-work and the flustering complexity of what had just transpired, left him with a limp-dick for the dread and drollness of the dreamt-up dystopia, as he did the only thing he could — he joined them with the pride that was due.