Daily Stream of Consciousness, 2024.09.08 > 2024.09.14 – Automatic 10 Minutes, Story Prompts: Tools, Everything You Want, Mission, Hobbled, Looking Forward to, Your Story, Short Story
Foreword
By all accounts I should be getting better at this, but I don't. The tragedy continues, 10 minutes at a time.
Sunday, 2024.09.08 - All of the tools
Raw(1): When do you call someone a tool? I've got some ideas, but it's kinda... abstract. When I think of a man with a broad smile on his face and a lot of false confidence. A tryhard. A blowhard. A poser. Still, I'm not sure where the term tool comes from. Someone being used like a tool? Like an useful idiot? Could be that the meaning changed over the years.. Either way when I think of tools I think... mhm... I think of people who aren't doing any real work. Some desk jocky. Nah, that's not it. A tool is more like ah... stockbroker type. Or a used car salesman? Oh, how about media people? Journalists. Television hosts. Cocky men with strong opinions. I've got some strong opinions I guess, but wouldn't call myself cocky. Getting one insult from a single person is one thing, being branded by the group is another. They talk, and they talk a lot. Behind your back, that is. They might tell you in person, if things get real. Most people try to avoid conflict, unless they're absolutely sure about getting away with it. Nobody tells a violent psycho he stinks unless you're fast on their feet. Understandably so. They will shittalk a storm behind his back though. I guess that's what the they call the grapevine. But thinking about that one I'm not sure what grapevine means eiter.
Raw(2): A prehistoric man smashes a skull with a giant rock. There's anger on his face. A man stabs another man. Shoots him with an arrow. Stabs him with a bronze sword. Spears, axes, daggers. A rifle. A rocket. A micro beam. A finger to the temple and a man just explodes. Whole populations die without a trace. A jealous Hephistos is hammering away in his workshop. Aphrodite is looking pretty, but he doesn't notice. She goes off and starts sleeping with mortal men. She was conceived after Zeus killed Cronos, spilling his guts into the sea. The birth of a goddess. Discordia rolls a golden apple across the floor. To the most beautiful! A fight breaks out and a shepherd boy gets to decide. Cue the Torjan Wars. A stolen princess. Something worth fighting for. Odysseus. His tools? A sharp mind. Break the fortress city with the power of deceit. Open the gates, roll in trojan horse, slaughter the locals. The end of a war, the start of a long journey. A brilliant man, lost at sea. He finds his way home and the story ends. But the story never really ends. It keeps on going, and going, and going. With time even the gods will die.
Monday, 2024.09.09 - Everything You Want
Raw: "Do you want to sell your soul?" A female voice asked. "No." He mumbled before waking up. He really thought he was hearing somebody talking to him, not just in his head. According to her he could've had anything. Women, fast cars, money, power. It just didn't seem right. All that for nothing? Why would she do it? Maybe it was just him going crazy. A hallucination. A sign of declining mind, finally about to snap. A few month later the entity reappeared, in the body of a beautiful woman. She lead him to the edge of the universe, at the end of a broad stairway. "What do you want?" She smiled. "Tell me something I couldn't know otherwise." He asked in response. "Shit!" She said and hung up, like a frustrated salesman. When he woke up it was already dark. A few street lights. The beams of a lonely car moving down the asphalt. It was the last time he ever heard from her. Maybe she was still out there. Who knows. In a dark corner of his own mind, waiting for a moment of weakness. Crazy talk, he thought to himself and was trying to not think about it anymore.
Tuesday, 2024.09.10 - Mission
Raw: Sam and Maria genuinely believed in their cause. They wanted to help, but I suppose the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Every villain wants to be a hero, and so did Sam and Maria. They wanted the world to be better, or else. Take the fat guy in their basement. Nobody really wants to be fat. It isn't healthy, everybody agrees. They caught him huffing and puffing carrying a bag of take-out. They saw him and Maria just slammed the accelerator, pinning him against a wall. No serious injuries, some blod loss, a few broken bones. Nothing to worry about. Then she got out of the car and told him how sorry she was. God, that mus've hurt, she said. Here, I'll take you to the hospital. Well, she didn't. The basement might have had a certain hospital like quality to it, but that impression didn't last long. First of all, there was a chain around his ankle. But the chain was barely long enough to use the toilet and washing himself over a drain (using a bucket). It certainly wasn't long enough to reach the tv, which was broadcasting fitness infomercials 24/7. Blonde women wearing spandex, doing areobics and all that. Buff men advertising stomach crunchers and shakeweights. A key slid into the prison door and there was Sam, holding a cattle prod. Time for your workout.
Wednesday, 2024.09.11 - Hobbled by Limiting Beliefs
Raw: This is a difficult one. Hobbled by limiting beliefs. Makes me think of the original Matrix movie, or rather that scene where Neo takes a leap of faith and tumbles. He didn't quite fall to his death, instead he just bounced. There was no reason to be afraid. I figure in regular life sometimes the same applies. In a more abstract manner. Psychologically speaking. I like the analogy of dangling above a foggy chasm grasping a slippery rope. We hold on for dear life and eventually our fingers cramp, we slip and then we fall. Ironically enough we instantly land on our feet and realize the ground was just underneath us. All that agony, for what exactly? Maybe we manage to climb up again, but that's where the analogy falls apart. The higher the climb the deeper the fall. What goes up must come down, you get it. Either way, I still believe we're crippled by false anxieties and all it takes is a little trust. Obviously within reason, but yeah. Take the tumble with style, like riding a rollercoaster. When I was a kid the rides were scary, then I realized that funny feeling in my stomach was just my own anticipation.
Thursday, 2024.09.12 - Looking forward to
Raw: Having goals is nice and all, but don't miss the present. What do I mean? When I was a kid I was looking forward to finishing school. Then I looked forward to something lese. A job, a partner, marriage, children. Then your children grow up, have their own children and so on and so on. Before you know there might be nothing left but death. You were always a few steps ahead, but never the present. Ok, that's hyperbole, but still. It's easy to lose track of the now, especially when you're dissatisfied. Chances are, you'll always be.N Now you're living in the past. Back then it was agony, but you wish to do it again. To do it better! Strange how that goes. A tale as old as time. I guess we all need to plan for the future, yet there needs to be a balanance. There's no future, technically speaking. There's no past neither. Just this ever-shifting moment we call the present. On the other hand, even that won't give you lasting satisfaction. Life is dissatisfaction, and in a way that's what keeps life going. Not necessarily in the agony sense, although that's great motivation, but in terms of how nothing is ever quite right. How could it be? Even if it was, you'd be afraid of losing it all. Nothing lasts forever, not even perfection.
Friday, 2024.09.13 - Your Story
Raw: Everybody has a story. Even this guy. Look at him! There, on the other side of the flickering fire pit. His fancy uniform was all dirty, one of his sleeves was ripped. A pair of broken glasses on his nose. He talked about the war and how it sounded like a good idea at the time. Would he do it again? Probably. Just a sacrifice he was willing to make, and then. Well, we lost. But only because of... And I stopped listening. He probably survived hiding in some bunker. Might have fled after security took over and snuck away in the middle of night. He looked like he was used to giving orders, back when that mirage of power was in full swing. The power of television, I guess. Now he was here, poking his nose, looking kinda dumb with his ribbons and his gut poking out. He flicked a booger into the fire. So this is the real Wizard of Oz, huh? He talked, a lot. Jibber jabber about this and that. Pointing fingers and all that, justifying his own actions. Eventually he fell asleep and started mumbling. Fragments of old speeches, him pulling rank on soldiers long dad, and then he started humming patriotic songs. I stoked the fire and looked up to the stars.
Saturday, 2024.09.14 - Short Story
Raw: "Get on your knees." Munchkin commanded. "I want to look into your eyes." His tigger finger poked a silenced .22 rimfire pistol. "Please, man... please." Munchkin didn't care anymore. All the compassion was gone. What was left? Only cold hatred. Not even anger, just contempt. The deadly averision coming from someone who's had enough. "Any last words? Punk?" Munchkin asked. "Yes.. I.. Please.." BANG! He pulled the trigger. Most people think a .22 is a joke, but from a close range it will kill you dead about as much as any other bullet. Some even argue the projectile might actually be more dangerous, or a headshot at least. The bullet bounces around in your skull, supposedly. Munchkin kicked the fella. Just lifeless sack of meat leaking blood onto the snow underneath. Munchkin raised an eyebrow and kicked him again for good measure. Yeah, he was dead alright. He snatched the gaudy goldchain from the thug's neck and started riffling through his pockets. "Well, thanks buddy." a big old roll of cash and some pills. Neat. "I hope you've got a prescription, buddy." Munchkin popped on of the pills and vanished into the night.