Aphorism of the Day: To be oblivious is to be heroic for so long as your luck holds.
It’s supposed to be the other guy, that guy, the no-conscience shill who sees capital opportunities no matter where he turns. But no, it turns out I’m that bum. And now my name, the one I inherited from my grandfather, only to have rescinded when that all fell through, stranding me with the second, and a prescient mother who insisted I sign the ‘R’ on everything I did, leading to innumerable sideways comments, mostly from educators (because then, as now, I was big for my age), now my name, the little crane that has plucked me from every crowd, hauled my soul up by the hair every time I have sinned, has become computer code, commercial coordinates, pinning me like a butterfly, or better yet a beetle, too ugly to be decorative, yet calling out my wares all the same. Makes me feel webby.
I’ve gone on and on about how I needed a skull for Three Pound Brain, or at the very least a toupe, something to disguise my cerebral excesses, convince that steady stream of window shoppers that pass through these lobes (generally to flee), that I can actually write a ripping yarn as well. And now I’ve gone and done it. It’s the beta version, and I’m groping for quora, because this shit is like tear gas to me. It all feels obnoxious, like the real fifth element is greed. It all feels like I’m aping the moves of those far more graceful.
Forgive the semantic origami. Funny how tones come across you, how much defense you can pack into pixels on a screen. Art, like all great adaptations, fortifies.
On a different note, next Monday Three Pound Brain will feature an awesome post by Benjamin Cain, another soul bent on exploring the intersection between pulp culture and philosophical speculation on our incredible shrinking future. Think Spinoza, World War Z, and full-frontal Futurama. According to Ben, Nietzsche forgot to shoot God in the head…