bored of sc
Active Member
- Joined
- Nov 10, 2007
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- Male
- HSC
- 2009
'A PRODUCT OF PERFECTION'
Integrity. It’s all we really have. It’s all we really want. It’s that quality so close to seamlessness but so dependent on stereotypes. Do you fit the norm? Are you different but not too different? What do others perceive you to be?
He is just a mere product of paradigms, expectations and assumptions. He is a really good human being because he is polite, sociable, friendly, smart, funny and confident. A model human being. He wakes up every morning with an attitude of optimism. ‘Today will be a good day’, ‘you only live once, so let’s start living’ and ‘I will change the world!’
I don’t blame him if it makes him sleep at night. It leaves him assured he’s not discriminated by or talked downed by anyone.
*
The curtains were still as the natural light shone delicately on them. He got up with the determination only he could bring. Smiling and self-assurance radiated from the room he occupied. Not hurried nor easy was this man. He was in total control, so sure of himself; as if he had written his own life story and time was reading it aloud.
The day had broken. Fresh and untouched. The man walked along, briskly at first, then into a fair pace. The institution was ten minutes away but this was irrelevant to the man. He would burn precisely one-hundred and fifty kilojoules through this walk alone. A thought struck him: he had forgotten to write down what he had done.
‘Get in and do it’, he said to himself under his breath. ‘It’ll save the work later on.’ ‘Be positive!’
In a pocket-sized, faint-ruled pad he began:
1. 7.06am: Got out of bed.
2. 7.07am: Walked out of bedroom.
3. 7.07am: Got into kitchen.
4. 7.08am: Started on breakfast.
5. 7.10am: Urinated.
6. 7…
The man stopped. He had forgotten the minute he had finished preparing breakfast. This was similar to 05/05/04 when he had not remembered the time he had bought his grocery items. How clumsy of him.
Disgusted, he turned to the back of the diary. There was an errors page. Six-hundred and sixty the tally had amassed to with his latest instalment. You know what this means? Only six more mishaps until that day.
He had reached the institution at 7.45am. Perfect. Fifteen minutes before the introduction of the session. A slick Mercedes moved gracefully into the car-park occupying one of the available ‘reserved-parks’. The man looked up. His eyes became fixated on the car. He systematically checked his watch. 7.46am. A smile morphed onto his snowy white face.
Out of the car struggled a woman. Short, awkward and unbalanced, her face portrayed the contrary of the man’s. The dense foundation and dark eye-liner masked her physical imperfections, a façade. A representation as close to seamlessness as she could manage. But it was the very act of forcing perfection that magnified her inadequacies, the blemishes of her life.
The inarticulacy of the encounter was what intrigued the man. This woman was so troubled. She needed him. As they travelled up the cement stairs silence assumed an authority. The tempo of their lives was adagio; slow, reverential. With each subconscious action a myriad of judgements and inherent prejudices dominated his mind. Autonomously he was superior.
*
The room had a strange aroma. The man wondered why everyday the smell of the same room would be so foreign. It frightened him. He didn’t seem to belong. His positively was stripped by this room and claustrophobia overpowered. But no, this had become a psychological dependence. A haven, a means of self-actualisation.
The woman’s lips moved. The words were therapeutic.
You have the power to resist. You do not need to plan everything. Be spontaneous. Variety is the spice of life.
He had remembered the mantra word for word. But such an attitude was locked within this room. No escape was possible. If only he could capture it and ensure his reputation did not tarnish in the process. However, doing that is far too risky. Giving into such temptation would prove detrimental. Integrity was all he had. It was all he ever wanted. He fitted the norm. His striking optimism was different but not too different that it was dangerous. Others perceived him as a successful person, a model from which to base their own identities.
The session ended. Back to the diary. 9.00am. Perfect.
THE END.
Any general comments?
Integrity. It’s all we really have. It’s all we really want. It’s that quality so close to seamlessness but so dependent on stereotypes. Do you fit the norm? Are you different but not too different? What do others perceive you to be?
He is just a mere product of paradigms, expectations and assumptions. He is a really good human being because he is polite, sociable, friendly, smart, funny and confident. A model human being. He wakes up every morning with an attitude of optimism. ‘Today will be a good day’, ‘you only live once, so let’s start living’ and ‘I will change the world!’
I don’t blame him if it makes him sleep at night. It leaves him assured he’s not discriminated by or talked downed by anyone.
*
The curtains were still as the natural light shone delicately on them. He got up with the determination only he could bring. Smiling and self-assurance radiated from the room he occupied. Not hurried nor easy was this man. He was in total control, so sure of himself; as if he had written his own life story and time was reading it aloud.
The day had broken. Fresh and untouched. The man walked along, briskly at first, then into a fair pace. The institution was ten minutes away but this was irrelevant to the man. He would burn precisely one-hundred and fifty kilojoules through this walk alone. A thought struck him: he had forgotten to write down what he had done.
‘Get in and do it’, he said to himself under his breath. ‘It’ll save the work later on.’ ‘Be positive!’
In a pocket-sized, faint-ruled pad he began:
1. 7.06am: Got out of bed.
2. 7.07am: Walked out of bedroom.
3. 7.07am: Got into kitchen.
4. 7.08am: Started on breakfast.
5. 7.10am: Urinated.
6. 7…
The man stopped. He had forgotten the minute he had finished preparing breakfast. This was similar to 05/05/04 when he had not remembered the time he had bought his grocery items. How clumsy of him.
Disgusted, he turned to the back of the diary. There was an errors page. Six-hundred and sixty the tally had amassed to with his latest instalment. You know what this means? Only six more mishaps until that day.
He had reached the institution at 7.45am. Perfect. Fifteen minutes before the introduction of the session. A slick Mercedes moved gracefully into the car-park occupying one of the available ‘reserved-parks’. The man looked up. His eyes became fixated on the car. He systematically checked his watch. 7.46am. A smile morphed onto his snowy white face.
Out of the car struggled a woman. Short, awkward and unbalanced, her face portrayed the contrary of the man’s. The dense foundation and dark eye-liner masked her physical imperfections, a façade. A representation as close to seamlessness as she could manage. But it was the very act of forcing perfection that magnified her inadequacies, the blemishes of her life.
The inarticulacy of the encounter was what intrigued the man. This woman was so troubled. She needed him. As they travelled up the cement stairs silence assumed an authority. The tempo of their lives was adagio; slow, reverential. With each subconscious action a myriad of judgements and inherent prejudices dominated his mind. Autonomously he was superior.
*
The room had a strange aroma. The man wondered why everyday the smell of the same room would be so foreign. It frightened him. He didn’t seem to belong. His positively was stripped by this room and claustrophobia overpowered. But no, this had become a psychological dependence. A haven, a means of self-actualisation.
The woman’s lips moved. The words were therapeutic.
You have the power to resist. You do not need to plan everything. Be spontaneous. Variety is the spice of life.
He had remembered the mantra word for word. But such an attitude was locked within this room. No escape was possible. If only he could capture it and ensure his reputation did not tarnish in the process. However, doing that is far too risky. Giving into such temptation would prove detrimental. Integrity was all he had. It was all he ever wanted. He fitted the norm. His striking optimism was different but not too different that it was dangerous. Others perceived him as a successful person, a model from which to base their own identities.
The session ended. Back to the diary. 9.00am. Perfect.
THE END.
Any general comments?
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