Book Review/Podcast 162: Tender is the Flesh by Agustina Bazterrica

Go to www.joesnotesblog.com for full show notes and links! 

In lieu of a standard book review, I decided to post my conversation with Channing on our podcast, The Fleeting Thoughts Podcast, about the book. Check it out on your favorite podcast app or on Youtube! 

https://fleetingthoughts.libsyn.com/episode-162-tender-is-the-flesh-and-cannibalism

Direct Download: 

https://traffic.libsyn.com/secure/fleetingthoughts/FTP_Podcast_162__final_audio_small.mp3

Youtube:

Talking About Suicide

Some people think that talking about suicide will cause more suicide. I doubt it. The thing that causes more suicides is indifference, hate, and physiology. Abuse and neglect. Biological abnormalities and shitty luck cause suicides. Talking about suicide or joking about suicide doesn't cause suicide. Not any more than talking about violence causes violence. Talking about something removes the burden of trying to ignore it. Maybe talking about why we don't talk about suicide from more angles will help us see it more clearly. Here are some angles.

Maybe people don't talk about suicide because they are superstitious. They think that talking about something makes it occur. I suppose there is a kernel of truth in the idea that concepts can influence behavior but the idea that saying a word would cause the universe to focus on persecuting you is irrational. The universe doesn't have you in mind because it is not conscious and you are not that special.

Maybe people don't talk about suicide because they are afraid of their own thoughts of suicide and they are trying to suppress them.

Maybe people don't talk about suicide because they have known someone who committed suicide and they are traumatized by the experience. Now the word brings up terror and they can not engage in a nonemotional conversation about suicide. The whole concept is tainted with direct personal experience. I'm not sure but I think if someone can accept and get past having someone close commit suicide the person might be able to communicate to others how devastating it is and how if someone is thinking about committing suicide they should not dismiss the effect it might have on others. Many people care more about those around them than themselves and if they were truly alone they might kill themself but it's knowing that others care enough to cry at your loss that you feel that you might be able to handle another day.

Maybe people don't want to talk about suicide because they can empathize with those that have contemplated it and also with those that have attempted it or I suppose succeeded in it but can you sympathize with a dead person? I think you can if you know anything about them. Knowing something about a person can help you create a story around the person. One that you can identify with and allows you to place them in your worldview. This also allows you to make value judgments on the person, whether accurate or not. Maybe empathizing too much makes you think about killing yourself, which is disturbing and therefore you do not want to entertain the idea of suicide.

(Can you sympathize with random unknown people that you know nothing about? Maybe you can empathize with them as what they have done is modeled in the mind and mirror neurons mimic the perceived emotional and physiological state of the person, but I'm not sure if that is sympathy.)

Maybe people don't talk about suicide because most people have had only a small amount of suicidal thoughts and it is only a small proportion of people who have severe enough thoughts to actually do it. This might cause people to dismiss the issue as not significant. There are plenty of other things to talk about than suicide, which is mostly unpleasant to contemplate anyway. Why talk about unpleasant topics?

If we all accepted that a great deal of the population has varying levels of suicidal thoughts then maybe we could be more open about our personal thoughts about suicide and then maybe we could talk about suicide enough that it becomes less taboo and easier to talk about in general. By lessening the stigma it might become easier to ask for help.

Maybe people think if we don't talk about it it will go away.

Maybe people think that if someone they know commits suicide it might be their fault? Maybe they think that the way they treated that person could have been better or they were cruel to that person and so talking about suicide means admitting their own feelings of guilt. Maybe people secretly wish for the suicide of someone else and they feel guilty about it. Or they secretly feel comradery with the suicidal person but condemn it outwardly in order to hide their shame. 

Maybe people are afraid to talk about suicide because they are simply afraid of death in general. To these people maybe any contemplation of death is too hard to cope with and suicide adds a layer of horror. The fear of death is certainly pervasive but it is such an unknown that I would rather concentrate on life, even when life is hard to handle. 

I remember when I found out that Robin Williams committed suicide and my first thought was not one of sadness or scorn but instead I imagined a man that finally took control over his life and made a decision that was his to make. I appreciate Robin Williams very much as an entertainer and I look up to him as a role model for comedic self-expression but I didn't know him personally and my projection onto his suicide was just a reaction. It didn't involve much thought about what his suicide would do to his family and how much the world would miss out on without him around to entertain us. It was only later that I cried thinking about how sad he must have been to commit suicide and how much I loved his presence in my life. 

It is selfish to commit suicide but it is also selfish to keep someone from doing it for the sake of your own desire to enjoy their company or not feel sad. Ultimately people are responsible for their own bodies and life and it is up to them to decide what they do with it. It is also up to those around you to choose to help when you are feeling terrible. You can't always convince someone they are loved and you can't always convince yourself that others love you. Depression is a very powerful psychological state that can not always be turned around with love and drugs.

Suicide is something that I have contemplated in my life and I have had people around me that have attempted it. To live in a world where suicide exists can seem confusing and cruel but it is not a new phenomenon and it is not going away anytime soon. If someone wants to kill themself they can. It isn't that hard. Humans are squishy meat sacks full of blood that are constantly on the precipice of death. Every time you get into a car or step into the shower you risk the wrath of entropy and the chaos of uncertainty and ultimately death finds you. You already face death every day so why should suicide be so scary or so obscure? 

Maybe if we talk about it enough we'll find it's not that interesting?

 

Pretend I'm Your Friend

 

On Relationships

Most people have two or more "personas". They adapt to their environments by filtering their speech. At work, I have one filter and when I'm at home I have another. Sometimes I omit certain words because they are crass in one environment but perfectly acceptable in another.

My friends and I play a game sometimes. The goal is to shock the other person or people in the group by saying the most offensive, gruesome, or blasphemous thing possible. The more heinous the better. But it also has to be clever and in an attempt at humor. If someone says something stupid they are ridiculed by the others so the horrible things uttered have to be something the others will understand and appreciate as purposely horrible. The idea is to make fun of the easily offended, ourselves, and to challenge and understand each other's perspectives.

I would say that the quality of a friendship is marked by the level of freedom you have to communicate and be honest. The lower the filter the better the friend. This is why some siblings are not friends. Why some husbands and wives are not each other's best friends. People play roles in relationships and being honest can break the role and challenge their place. If someone does challenge their role in the relationship and the relationship can not adapt to this change then it will suffer.

Your best friend is oftentimes the person you can talk about you're family and spouse about in a way you might not be able to with anyone else. This is why high-quality friendships are so valuable. It gives a person a refuge to experiment with their thoughts as we don't always know what we think about something until we verbalize it and doing this with someone who can listen and offer constructive analysis will allow someone to understand their thinking better than just blurting out something in a moment of emotional distress toward someone they usually use a filter for.

Honest communication is about trust because our secrets are only secrets because of the perceived judgment of others. We hold back and filter our thoughts to hedge our bets about how others will respond. We don't use taboo language around people we don't know very well because we know that words can start fights. So we slowly test the "waters" using language. We throw in a lesser curse word like "ass" or "butthole" in an effort to gauge the other's reaction. If we are safe we might throw out a "shit" or "fuck" or a somewhat controversial idea to see what happens. Good communication is a dance with each person reading the others' moves and attempting to engage in a harmonious way. A bad conversation is the opposite, where both try to lead or one isn't paying attention or one is trying to antagonize the other.

As the dance continues the two will start to feel freer as they have created boundaries around what language works. The content of the conversation is only part of the equation of communication. Each person is doing at least two things. One is attempting to understand what the other person is saying. This can take focus and conscious effort. Listening is a skill. Although at times it can take less focus and comprehension can be effortless if the words are familiar and the topics mundane.

The second thing that a speaker is doing, other than listening is watching and reading the other person's body language and tone. Facial expressions, eye gaze, stance, and other factors are all being subconsciously attended to and studied in an effort to discern friend from foe. To see a potential attack coming or to find signs that make it safe to loosen up the filters and become more friendly. Although this instinctual process is far from perfect and we are often lead astray evolution has honed these instincts in the direction of survival so they are more often accurate.

When a person pushes the bounds of common etiquette with harsher words than would normally come out of a stranger people can often be perturbed. The normal behavior of strangers is to tread lightly until rapport is established. By being polite and respectful with their words and physical space they are saying to others that they know how to play the game. When someone treads too hard against these social mores they are testing the boundaries of others. If someone pushes too hard they can be met with any amount of disdain. From a look of contempt to a shot to the head, people don't take kindly to being tested or perceived disrespect.

Friends, on the other hand, can look past the words used and look for the spirit in which they were said. People infer meaning and intent when communicating. Sometimes people do this so much that they try to finish each other's sentences. This is rude in that it breaks up the flow of the speaker's thoughts and can derail a thread of thought. The person who is being interrupted has not established boundaries with the person who keeps interrupting them. This can often be because the speaker is also prone to interrupting and so allows it in others. Hypocritical people who interrupt others often don't like it when you interrupt them. This is due to a lack of self-awareness or some kind of narcissism where rules apply to others and not to the self.

Friends will typically give the benefit of the doubt when someone says something that is either uncharacteristically or surprisingly rude, harsh or offensive. 

People also know how to pretend to be friends. This is oftentimes what is happening between two new coworkers. They have the pressure of filtering themselves correctly in the workplace environment, which is actually at least three environments. The first environment is the one that involves clients. The second is the one that involves peers. The third is the one that involves hierarchies and bosses. And there are more I'm sure. The new coworkers also have the added pressure of trying to get to know their coworkers. They have to be able to pretend to be a stranger's friend. This is usually awkward as real friendship is gained over time and with experience and so the awkwardness that is felt is due to the inauthenticity.

A stranger is not a friend and so pretending someone is a friend in the workplace is a kind of guise. A ruse that if played wrong can be disastrous. Navigating this type of scenario is probably best done by not caring about making friends but instead caring about being a good team member. By volunteering to do jobs and help others one creates the best kind of coworker relationship, one that takes the job seriously. If one never tried to be besties with others they remain neutral and honest. They should have a plan in mind as to why they are working there and part of that plan should be to cooperate with others.

A friend applies their morality to their friends and a friend should be honest about their moral philosophies and stand by them enough to disavow a friend that strikes too hard at the values they uphold. This does not mean that a friend shouldn't be open to new ideas or be challenged but it does mean that there is a certain point at which a person should make a stand. A moral pushover or weakling can not be respected by people being honest.

Pretend I'm Your Friend

When looking at the intellectual work of others it is nearly impossible to not immediately judge the words through a filter of judgment based on current biases. This is an impediment to understanding the content from the perspective of the person communicating it. This means that the meaning and purpose of the content will probably be misinterpreted. In order to learn from others, we must lower our subjective judgemental filter and attempt to ingest the content from a more objective perspective. A great way to do this is to pretend that the other person is already your friend.

This means that you take the stance that the other person most likely thinks of themself as smart enough to have an opinion and morally righteous enough to offer advice. If it were a friend you would at least start from a place of respect and attempt to hear the spirit in which the content is being communicated. Is the person trying to help? Is the person uniquely qualified to know something about the subject? Is the person just hungry or upset or drunk? Suppressing your own instinct to react immediately, especially in a defensive way, can allow the person to express their idea fully. If you allow someone to express their idea fully then you can expect to express your rebuttal or thoughts fully as well. If you interrupt them then you can expect to be interrupted back. Or in reading something contentious or from someone you disagree with, you can better see where the person is coming from by pretending the person is not an evil person but instead just a type of friend. Maybe not your best friend but at least someone you can listen to.

When I hear something or read something that seems on its face to be completely ridiculous and wrong I try to remind myself to pretend that the other person is a friend and see what happens. Sometimes this doesn't change the outcome of the experience but it at least allows me to not immediately create a villain in which to fight. This helps with controlling the emotions that I experience that get in the way of understanding. Many times the result is as dismissive as it would have been but it doesn't take over my mind and allows me to move onto something else without so much energy wasted. Sometimes doing this actually allows me to understand the other person in a way that gives me a glimpse of their perspective, leading me to empathize or relate to them in a way that leads toward a paradigm shift. Even if just a small one. The best-case scenario is you make a new friend. I worst-case scenario is that you understand your enemy better.  

30 Days of Heroes: Day 1 The Fitness Hero

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The Fitness Hero

I woke up with a headache and a furious anger. My prison cell was clean at least. I tried to smash my way through the door but it didn’t budge. I tried to rip the toilet out of the ground but it didn’t budge. I’m not the strongest man but I’m a big man, yet none of my rage was satisfied as everything in the little room was bolted to the ground or molded into it, save a pillow and blanket that was now strewn about the small area; sadly representing the minimal amount of chaos I could conjure.

Two days ago I was at my house as normal. I'd worked from home as an editor for the past six years and I liked my job. Getting outside wasn’t something I enjoyed and ever since the viruses had spread across the earth the smart people had decided not to risk going out where other people could infect them. My meals and groceries were delivered and dropped on the front porch. It had been at least a year since I’d even seen another person in real life, which was just fine with me. I was never really inclined to social gatherings, I had my online friends and my mom, of course, and I was happy in that world.

After catching my breath I sat down on the steel cot that was barely big enough for my body and thought about what I would do to the person that put me there. I imagined myself hiding behind the door and then when the person stepped in I imagined my hands around their neck and squeezing the life out of them. I looked at the door and saw myself in its mirrored metal shine and what I saw was angry and hungry and confused.

Sometime later a bell chimed loudly and a small green light started to pulsate beside the door jam. I jumped up and did my best to hide beside the door but there wasn’t enough room so I sat back down and waited. The door started to slide upwards slowly and I learned that it wasn’t a normal door. It slid up only about three inches and before I could get up to see who was on the other side a tray of food was shoved under the opening and the door closed again.

The food was surprisingly fresh and tasted amazing. There wasn’t much there, though. Just a salad and some kind of broth soup but I devoured it in no time with the little plastic fork and spoon. It just made me hungrier and after licking the bottom of the bowl I wanted more. My face was fully inside the bowl when a soft female voice filled the room.


“Hello! Welcome to the New Lifestyle facility! Are you ready to make a change,” she asked with all the chipper enthusiasm of a cheerleader.

“What the fuck,” I muttered as I looked around the room for the source of the voice and found that a ten-inch display was now in the door. It was surrounded by the door’s mirrored surface so that as I looked at the screen I could see myself and my clenched hands. A beautiful young woman with jet black hair smiled at me from the screen. I assumed she was digital but it was so realistic that I couldn’t really tell.

“I’m Zoey and I’m here to tell you the plan,” she whispered the last part and winked as if it was some kind of silly joke. She continued, “Let’s face it. You’re an unhealthy little piglet, but not for long! I am here to whip you into shape.” She snapped her fingers and suddenly she was wearing a sexy leather bondage outfit and had a long whip in her hand. She whipped at the screen and just then an ear-piercing CRACK rang in my ears and I felt a sharp pain on my back. I turned around and saw nothing. I turned back around and Zoey was doubled over laughing. The sharp pain was hot on my shoulder and I felt the wetness of my blood through a new hole in my shirt.

The screen now showed Zoey in a gym wearing a skin-tight athletic outfit and stretching.

“Don’t you want to join me here in the Gym, Sawyer? I know you do. Well, good news! Your path to a healthy new lifestyle starts now!”

Another sliding door at the back of the cell wooshed open revealing an impossibly vivid mountainscape. Curious and somewhat awed, I stepped outside and immediately I was hit by a gust of wind that was crisp and cold. I was in the high Alps with a mountain path up ahead and majestic snowy peaks all around. I took a few steps forward and wondered how this was possible and then I remembered my rage. When I turned around the door was gone and I ran to where it should have been. There was now a large boulder in the middle of the path and I pounded on where I thought the door was until Zoey’s voice filled the whole space like a god was in the mountains with me.

“Sawyer! You can’t leave unless you stick with the plan. You’re an angry piggie, aren’t you? It will be so much better if you just play along. OK?” Her eyes were staring at me from another monitor, this one looking like it was installed in the large flat boulder on the treeless mountain path.

“Fuck you!” I screamed as loud as I could, spitting on the screen and slamming my hand against the rock.

Zoey’s face contorted, morphed, turned red and long horns grew out of her head but then she just sighed, as if this was old hat. “Fine then,” she said the screen disappeared.

The wind stopped and I was left in silence. The sky went gray and a soft buzzing sound could be heard all around. The buzzing grew louder and soon it was deafening. A gray cloud appeared over a hill ahead of me and began moving toward me until it was the only thing I could see. I tried to scream but only heard the bees and as they surrounded me I felt the stings of a million small needles. A flash of searing pain and I passed out.


                                                                          *  *  *


I sat on my cot looking at the tiny red pinpricks that covered my arms. They were real! Not the bees but the things that caused the pain. Somehow I was in a place that could make any cruel thing happen and nothing made any sense. How did I get here? Why? Was it some kind of sadistic athletic club I didn’t remember signing up for?

I turned and looked at my reflection in the mirror. I was overweight and I was certainly not as healthy as I could be. Also, I was so hungry! As if someone had read my mind the front door opened a few inches and a tray of food slid in. This time it was sushi and miso soup. I ate it in about two seconds. It was so good but it was not enough. It just made me hungrier. I thought of the burritos and hamburgers that I could be eating. I started to get angry and I started pacing around the room. Back and forth I went for what seemed like hours until suddenly the door at the rear opened.

Ahead lay the high mountain path again and I could see the cool breeze as the bushes swayed back and forth in the distance. An eagle swooped across the scene and dove into nothingness. I wasn’t so angry anymore and I was tempted just to feel the breeze on my face. I took a step forward and stopped. Fuck this! I wasn’t going to play their games. I turned around so as to not be tempted by the simulated outdoor scene and my anger came back to me in full. I took the shiny aluminum tray, turned around and threw the tray into the fake mountains as hard as I could. With a clank, it hit an invisible wall about 20 feet deep into the room and hit the ground and looked out of place, like a glitch in the Matrix. Before I could think, the door wooshed closed and Zoey’s voice could be heard.

“Sawyer! What are you doing?”

“I’m not playing your game!” I yelled at the beautiful torturer, who was sardonically smiling at me from the door’s screen like she was just on the other side peering through a glass window. But there were no windows.

“If you don’t listen you will be punished.”

My skin flinched and I remembered the bees and the whip. I sat on the cot with all the fight knocked out of me. My anger did nothing and nothing made sense so what could I do?

“Just take a walk Sawyer and you’ll feel better.”

The screen disappeared and then the door to the mountains opened again. I stepped out and closed my eyes as the wind and simulated sun hit my face. It felt so good and I just let go of my confusion and allowed myself to pretend it was real. I took it all in and took a deep breath. The ground felt real and the scenery was lovely. I walked at a leisurely rate and slowly made my way up the mild incline toward the peak that towered above. After about half an hour I was out of breath. I sat on a rock and caught my breath and wasn’t sure if I could keep going. They never said I had to reach the top so maybe this was good enough?

“One more minute to rest.” Zoey’s voice echoed from all around.

I got up and started walking again. It wasn’t so bad but in another half an hour my chest was heaving. The incline had increased and I could hardly stand up. My knees ached and my legs were like soft cheese. I sat on a nearby rock, of which there always seemed to be one handy, and took sharp breaths. Each inhale stung my lungs.

“One minute of rest.” The horrible godlike voice emanated from the skies.

I couldn’t move. I was done. So be it, I thought and waited for something horrible. The silence came again along with the buzzing and soon the sky was gray. I looked around and saw the gray cloud come over the hill down the path behind me. I tried to take a few deep breaths and my lungs convulsed but it was enough to propel me up and onto my feet. As I stood up the buzzing started to fade and the sound of the mountains came back. I took a few more steps. Then another and another and soon I was nearing the top.

My lungs were numb. My legs were numb and my thighs were on fire. I was dying but I was walking. The sun was setting as the top of the mountain came into view and I thought I smelled bacon. Then my legs gave out. I didn’t know I was falling until I was facing the ground. My face hit the hard earth and my vision turned to black.


                                                                          *  *  *


I woke up in my cot with fresh clothes, comfy sweatpants, and a soft sweater. Also, new underwear and I realized that every time I passed out the room had been cleaned and any food trays were taken away. Someone was doing this while I slept. I figured that they must have a way to make sure I was out for a certain amount of time in order to control things. Then I smelled the bacon again and sat up fast.

There was a tray sitting on the counter waiting for me with something amazing on it. Most of the tray was covered in steak bites wrapped in bacon except for one area with a small salad and there was a fresh bottle of water as well. I ate so fast that I almost choked to death so I slowed down. It was so good but I was still hungry. I chugged the water and then decided to finish the salad even though it wasn’t as tasty as the steak. I wasn’t letting any food go to waste. After the binge, I laid down and passed out again.


                                                                              *  *  *


The next day there was something new waiting for me in the simulation room. It was a boring-ass gym with just one thing in it, a pull-up bar. I really didn’t think that was a good idea. But I walked into the room and soon Zoey’s voice welcomed me.

“Good morning Sawyer! I hope you’re ready for some more fun!”

“Fuck you, Zoey.”

“That’s not nice. Anyway, today we are going to do a little bodyweight routine and if you get through the whole workout you will get a treat! You want a treat don’t you piggie!?

“Fuck you, Zoey.”

“Here is the plan. We will start with 10 burpees. Then five pull-ups. Then 25 crunches. Lastly, you will do five more pushups. Not that bad, right? We kept it easy for your first week. Oh, and you have 15 minutes to do one set and you will do four sets with a five-minute break in between sets.”

“I don’t think I can do one pull up, Zoey.”

“And go!” Zoey shrieked and a timer appeared at the back of the room.

“What the fuck is a burpee, Zoey?”

“Oh, right.” She said and then she appeared in front of me in lifelike fashion. I was taken aback by her insane beauty. Her violence was forgotten for a moment as I watched her demonstrate a burpee. “This is the easy version but later you will add a jump right here.” She jumped up and her perfect breasts seemed to grow as they bounced with her. She looked me in the eye and started to walk toward me in silence. My mouth was dry and might have been open but I’m not sure. She walked forward until I thought she would run into me, if that was even possible, and then disappeared.

“And go!” She yelled and chuckled and the timer started over.

The first couple of burpees were ok but after about five I slowed down and was having a hard time breathing. I hadn’t done any pushups in the past twenty years; not since I was in school and they made us all do them. My arms struggled to lift my weight and before I could get out another three I heard a very loud buzzer. I sat down and the world around me faded to black and I was surrounded by nothing, except the pullup bar, which was still in the center of the room. I waited for pain but after a few minutes the room filled with “Gym” again.

“You are very out of shape Sawyer,” Zoey’s disembodied voice said with disdain. “But you’re trying so I’ll give you another chance.”

I stood up. “I can’t do it. I can’t do what you asked!” I yelled at the room.

“All you have to do is one full set and you will not be punished but instead you will get a small reward. And go!”

I tried again and pushed past the pain and got through the burpees. Then I started on the pullups but after two my arms were jelly. I couldn’t do it anymore so I decided to try the crunches. They weren’t so bad and I sweated my way through them. Then I did another pullup but only one, barely. I tried to do a pushup but the buzzer went off and I let myself fall to the ground. I panted heavily and felt like I might pass out and the room went dark again.

After a few minutes, the door to the cell opened and the bright light reminded me of where I was, or at least where to go next. I slowly got up and made my way back into the cell where a bottle of water was waiting on the counter. I chugged it and was happy to be out of that room. I expected some kind of punishment but it didn’t come.

The next two days I spent in lonely silence with only three small meals a day to keep me company. Always with the salads and soups or rice and chicken or eggs and vegetables. It was never enough and my stomach ached constantly. I could hardly move from the soreness in my limbs and spent much of the time sleeping.

I woke to a voice coming from the door. A news program was on the screen and the reporter was talking about the new virus. There had been four new pandemic level viruses in the past ten years and the newest one was just given the designation Porcine-2. After each virus was detected it only took about two weeks for the Global Viral Consortium to identify the populations that were most at risk. The first virus targeted children and the world lost three percent of all children under the age of ten. Then it was women. Then it was men and the more macabre entertainers made odd jokes about fairness. But it wasn’t fair.

The new virus was targeting overweight people, the reporter said.


                                                                       *  *  *


I had lost about 30 pounds in under two months. Every day was a new challenge with a gradual progression toward more difficult work until I was able to jog up the mountain path with relative ease. I was up to 20 real burpees, 10 pullups, 100 crunches, and 10 pushups and I could do 3 sets. Only once had I been whipped for not trying hard enough and I was really getting better. If I accomplished something difficult I would be rewarded with treats like strawberries, bacon, steak, and once I got a piece of carrot cake.

Zoey was really helping me out and teaching me about the benefits of a healthy lifestyle. I learned about the negative outcomes that can come from being overweight. No one had told me about heart disease before. At least not with the aid of thousands of videos of how it happens and of fat people having heart attacks. She showed me people who had their toes and feet cut off because of Type 2 diabetes. Somehow she seemed even more beautiful than ever, especially when she wasn’t turning into a demon.

One day, while jogging through the jungle, with parrots cawing and monkeys cackling softly around me, Zoey and I talked.

“You’re doing so well Sawyer. Aren’t you happy with the progress you’ve made?”

“Of course I am. I never thought that I would enjoy exercising but now I feel like a different person.”

“That’s great! We’re all really proud of you.”

“That’s good. Wait, we? Who else is there?”

“Well, the whole team of course. It’s not just me behind the curtain.”

“Oh, yeah. That makes sense. I guess I just thought about you doing everything. Who else is out there?”

“Just a group of people dedicated to helping you get better.”

“Ok. Well, I think that I am ready to get back to normal life, don’t you? I’ve lost a lot of weight and I feel like I will keep it going in the real world. Don’t you agree?”

“I think that you are doing very well, Sawyer.”

“So, I can leave soon then? I really want to see my Mom. I’m sure she will be proud of me.”

“I’m sure she would be.”

“Would be? What does that mean?”

“I shouldn’t have said anything. Never mind. Your mother will be very proud.”

“Why did you say “would be”? What does that mean!”


“I really shouldn’t say. It came out wrong.”

I stopped jogging and put my hands on my knees. “Come on Zoey. Just tell me. I won’t be mad.”

“If you promise not to tell anyone I told you.”

“Please tell me.”

“She’s sick Sawyer. She’s in the hospital.”

“What?! Why?”

“She has a virus.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I had talked to her and she was fine right before I was kidnapped and taken there. Now she was sick? She never went out of the house and was always healthy as far as I knew. “What virus Zoey?”

“The F-15 virus.”

“I’ve got to get out of here and see her.”

“You're not ready yet. You're still not well enough or have the habits to stay healthy. We haven’t even talked about nutrition.”

“Fuck nutrition! I have to see my mom,” I said to the world and then turned around and started running toward the door. In reality, it was only a foot or two away but it was about a twenty-minute jog from where I was in the simulation. After a few minutes of running as fast as I could, I pleaded to Zoey to let me out but the door never appeared so I kept running.

“You will fail the course and be punished if you stop now,” Zoey said with growing frustration. “You need to turn around now!”

I kept running until I got to where the door should have been but it was concealed by the environment. “Let me out!” I screamed and pounded my fists on the rock wall that always held the door to the cell. Then a loud, screeching buzzer sounded and the world became silent. I stopped pounding and was out of breath. I dropped to my knees and heard a rustling in the bushes behind me. When I turned to look a massive tiger was peering out of the greenery at me. My heart stopped for a second until I remembered that it wasn’t a real tiger.

“Fuck you,” I yelled at the tiger. “Fuck you all!”

Then the tiger started to bound toward me. I closed my eyes and tried to shield my face with my arms and then I felt the hard teeth bite into my calf and I was being dragged into the jungle. I opened my eyes to see that I was, in fact, being pulled farther into the room. The tiger was there, with its mouth around my leg, but there was also a metal mouth attached to a chain. The metal mouth and the tiger let go and then both seemed to go for my face. I put my arm up and they bit into it with horrible force and I screamed. It thrashed around for a second and then I felt a pinprick in my neck and everything went black.


                                                                              *  *  *


I woke up with bandages on my arm and leg. I felt like I’d been attacked by a living bear trap with the face of a tiger. I sat up and the door opened and a tray of food was slid in. It was hot soup and salad and smelled great but I just stared at it. It was their food and I was sick of it. Every day, the same thing. Breakfast, cardio, lunch, then body weights, dinner, then stretching and more cardio. They kidnapped me and tortured me and I had started to buy into it for some reason. I believed that they were helping me and that I was just a fat pig. I looked into the mirror and it showed me something different. A person I barely recognized. I dumped every bit of food into the toilet bowl and threw the tray against the door.

“You shouldn’t do that Sawyer,” Zoey said with her chastising “mom” voice. “You need to eat so you can continue the plan.”

“You’re right Zoey,” I said. “You’re right. Can I have some food Zoey?”

“Of course you can. I’m glad you changed your mind.”

The door opened slowly and another tray came in.

“Do you think I could look at the mountains while I eat Zoey? It would help me calm down.”

The door at the rear of the cell whooshed open and the heavenly Alps were just outside. The wind softly blew across the wintery path up to the summit. The sparse green bushes and grass swayed back and forth as the clouds floated along the sunny sky. I sat for a moment with the tray in my hand looking out at the simulation. Then, I stood up and as I got closer to the door I heard her.

“You can’t eat there. You know that. It’s just for looking.”

I took another step.

“I will close the door if you keep going.”

I leaped forward and before the door could close I was outside with the food.

“You can’t eat in here Sawyer!” She was mad now.

I wanted to walk toward the edges of the room but as soon as I started walking the ground underneath betrayed me. I was walking in place as if I was on a treadmill. No matter which direction I tried I just stayed in place. So I tried a jump. I made it about three feet and as soon as I did the room turned pitch black and I heard the floor move.

I felt around myself with my hand and there were walls in all directions. I was in a black box that I could only turn around in so I did and when I did the door to the cell opened ahead of me. The bright lights guided me back to the shiny room and the path was singular. As I walked forward the world faded back to the mountain pass behind me and before I entered the cell I tossed the tray backward over my head. Lettuce, tomatoes, dressing, and soup splattered against the imitation floor behind me but it was too late. My tantrum was complete.

Before I could sit on the cot the front door whooshed open and an enormous man with an all-black hazmat suit and black gas mask stood there. With just two giant steps he was on me. I tried to punch at his face but he easily dodged my fist and grabbed me by my throat. After a few seconds of throttling, he let go and I tried to catch my breath. Before I could get my bearings I was over his shoulder looking at the back of the room. The door to the simulation room was open and it looked like a normal room for a second and before the door to the cell closed I saw a woman with black hair cleaning up the soup.

I bounced along, like a toddler on his dad’s shoulder, down a hallway that looked like what I imagined the inside of a castle would look like. There was an ornate gray carpet running the length and white pedestals holding sculptures under a series of enormous windows. There was a soft white light coming from the windows but before I could enjoy the real sun a door opened and I was tossed onto a fairly plush mattress in the middle of a room padded on every side with thick white foam. I sat up on the mattress and watched the giant creature close the door behind him.

I didn’t want to imagine what kind of activities were entertained in such a room like this but despite the certain grossness, I had a hard time getting off the mattress. It didn’t seem safe to step on the floor so I tried not to move in any direction. Then I heard footsteps outside the door and they stopped. Two foot-shaped shadows occupied the space under the door.

“Hey.” an almost imperceptible sound came from the door. “Over here.”

With pessimism, I walked over to the door and asked, “Who’s there?”

“I’m Jesse. But that’s not important. You’re in the fasting room. The only thing you’ll get for the next 15 days is water and a few balls of rice.”

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“I was sent there twice. I’ve been here over six months but they will let you out of the cell after about four months if you follow their plan and don’t cause trouble. It’s not too bad but I’m not sure if they will ever let me out.”

“Has anyone gotten out?”

“I don’t know. I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

“How many others are here?”

“Someone’s coming,” Jesse whispered.

“Wait!” but it was too late and she was gone. I heard more footsteps and jumped back onto the mattress. The door opened and the giant hazmat man just stood there and looked at me for a few seconds. He put a water bottle on the ground and left. He wouldn’t open the door again for two days.


                                                                                *  *  *


By the fourth day, I was delirious. I couldn’t tell if it was day or night. I couldn’t tell if I had just woken up or if I had never gone to sleep at all. My stomach churned and my mind twisted. I only got water once a day and had no food yet. I heard soft footsteps and the small shadows were at the door again. I thought I was dreaming.

“Hey,” she whispered from behind the door.

I jumped off the bed and ran to the door. I tripped halfway there and slid on my knees until my head smashed against the door, which made a loud thud. I eked out, “Jesse?”

“Yeah. Are you alright?”

“No! I’m dying in here! You have to help me!” My mouth felt like a desert and my skin clung to me like cling wrap.

“I brought you something.”

From under the door, I saw thin yellow sticks and there were dozens of them. I grabbed them but they immediately started to break like fragile twigs in my hands. I shoved them in my mouth and they broke more. They were crunchy and dry. I started to gag as they were sharp in my mouth but I slowed down enough to crunch them small enough to swallow. Then, there were more twigs coming through and I scarfed them down too. When I was done with the bigger pieces I felt for every morsel I could find on the floor and ate them up. It wasn’t much but it was something.

“I have to go. He’s coming.” She whispered and I wanted to cry as her steps faded.

I didn’t even bother to move and just lay on the ground like a sad dog and waited. When he opened the door I tried to bite his leg but I was weak and he kicked me away as if I was nothing. I smelled something good and when I looked up I saw he had a bowl in his hand. He saw that I had seen something and he knelt down to show me the hot rice that was steaming in the bowl. My mouth quivered. I needed that rice. Then he took a step and we both heard a soft crunch.

He knelt down and looked beneath his heavy rubber boot. He set the rice on the floor far enough away that I couldn’t possibly reach it but still I pulled myself to him, my arms reaching out but to no avail. He pulled one glove off and smacked me in the face with it but I continued to reach. With his naked fingers, he gingerly picked up the yellow offender. He examined it for a while until he realized what it was and looked at me. Then he looked out the door and shook his head.

“No, don’t!” I started to cry.

He snatched up the bowl and stood up and I pleaded for the rice but he just walked out and closed the door. I lay by the door then for some unknown amount of time and then I heard her scream. It was from somewhere far away but her cries made their way to me and I wept until I fell asleep. I didn’t see her again during my stay in the fasting room. Eventually, I got some rice but I lost a bit of myself in that room.


                                                                           *  *  *


I was only a week away from four months in and I hadn’t had any issues since the fasting room. Another twenty pounds were gone and I was quite the athlete; at least compared to when I first started on this journey and Zoey and I were getting along again, which was good. She would tell me about current events and play music for me. I was doing so well that I was putting on muscle and getting steak a few times a week. Sweet treats were a couple times a week and they let me decorate my room with movie posters that would show up in the cell after a good workout.

One day, while on a run, Zoey told me about my mom and said she was doing just fine now. She said she was sorry about when she told me that she was sick and I apologized for acting like a child about the whole thing. I didn’t ask for anything and didn’t worry about it when I was getting out. I wondered about Jesse and whether she was ok and if I would ever hear her voice again.

Every day I listened to the propaganda about how exercise was the way to go and how being healthy was good for everyone. How being healthy saved the medical industry on costly operations and medications. By then I was addicted to the routine anyway and needed little convincing. My new body suited me and I even did exercises on my own time. Mostly pushups and crunches in the small floor of the cell. I had asked if I could use boxing as an exercise but Zoey said that wasn’t allowed but they didn’t stop me from shadow boxing in my room. When I was in bed I would hit my fists against the metal walls, hardening them. I tried not to make much noise but soon I had very little feeling in my knuckles and felt like I could punch through metal if I needed to.

One day I woke up, had breakfast and when I was finished Zoey’s face appeared on the screen in the door. She had a big smile.

“Good morning sleepyhead!”

“Good morning Zoey,” I returned in a similarly chipper voice.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m just fine. Breakfast was great, as usual, and I’m ready for the day. What’s the plan? The Alpine trek or the Seaside path?”

“Neither! Today is a special day. No exercising, unless you really want to but first why don’t you have a look around.”

The front door to the cell opened slowly as it usually did but instead of stopping at three inches, it continued upward revealing the hallway I hadn’t seen in quite a while and never really saw properly anyway. I stood up, more excited than I had thought I would be as I had hoped this day would come but never really thought it would. The ornate gray carpet was there and the pedestals with the sculptures but this time the windows were unobscured. Bright sunlight streamed across the hallway drawing huge rectangles on the floor separated by negative space. My eyes hadn’t seen the real sun in so long and they had a hard time adjusting.

I stood by one window and outside I saw green fields as far as the horizon with trees and bushes scattered randomly about. There were dozens of horses grazing on the grassland in little groups. Where was I? I continued down the hallway until I got to the fasting room where I stopped just a few steps away. I could almost smell it again and I remembered the torment of it. I hugged the wall and couldn’t move.

“It’s OK Sawyer.” I heard the voice of Zoey coming from a speaker above my head. “That’s over with and done. You have been so good. You just have to get past that room and the whole mansion will open up to you.”

I closed my eyes and dragged myself along the wall until the hallway ended and I was standing in a large room. Its walls were lined with huge tapestries and below them were more sculptures and a fountain with running water was in the center. I thought about Jesse. To the right side of the room, there were two large doors. I opened them to find there was a large dining room and sitting at the table was an older man with a white beard and long white hair to match. He stood up as I entered. I froze.

“Welcome! Welcome!” The man said with enthusiasm as he walked toward me. He was wearing a tweed suit.

He reached his hand out and I shook it.

“Strong grip my boy! You really have come a long way. Please sit and we will talk,” he said and pulled a chair out for me and gestured for me to sit.

Perplexed but curious, I sat down and the man walked over to the other end of the table and sat down as well.

“The look on your face is one that I have seen before. You are confused and weary and so you should be. That is only natural.” He spoke quickly and with the faintest British accent. He continued, “My name is Arnold Pentograst and this is my home. I am an inventor and a bit of a health nut. As you might have guessed.” He chuckled at himself.

I clenched my fists and tried to hold in the anger I felt as he giggled like this was some kind of joke. He waved his hand and a maid came out from behind a door with a tea tray and as she got closer I recognized her face. It was Zoey’s face but she was in a maid’s outfit and she kept her eyes cast down as she put the teacup in front of me. I whispered, “Zoey?” But she didn’t respond and walked over to Arnold.

“Oh yes! You recognize her. She was the inspiration for Zoey. Her name is Martha though. Such a boring name for such a beautiful girl. Thank you, Martha.” He waved his hand and she left the room with her head down. “Where was I? Oh yes. The plan. You are the fourth participant in my very exclusive and very modern lifestyle reprogramming spa. I take people who don’t yet see their own potential and bring the best out of them through discipline and hard work. You have made it past the first stage. By now you are exercising on your own, which means you have internalized the discipline and will continue on the path of a healthy lifestyle. What do you say to that, my boy?”

“A spa?” I said, confused and started to get flush with anger but before I could do anything he continued as if I hadn’t said anything.

“Yes! You really are a specimen. Zoey told me of the outbursts but you cleaned up well after the fasting session and now you are ready for stage two. A little freedom will go a long way for you I think and now you have the freedom to move about the house, save a room here or there that are off-limits. If the door is locked then it is off-limits. It’s that easy. Now, I must go but it was very nice to meet you and I will see you again before stage three for another little chat.”

He got up and walked through the same door that the maid had come from. The door closed and when I tried to open it it was locked. Not too much freedom I suppose. The tea was getting cold but I sat and drank it and thought about the strange man and Martha the maid and the whole situation. It was all maddening and I didn’t know what to do with my thoughts or with the space I now had to move about.

“Isn’t this nice Sawyer?” Zoey asked from somewhere above me in a tone that seemed genuinely excited.

“Yes, Zoey. Thank you, for everything. I am going to look around if that’s ok.”

“Of course. That’s great!”

I left the teacup in the room and made my way back to the room with the fountain. Across from the dining room, there was another double door and behind it a large room. This one was broken into sections and resembled a high-end fitness studio with all manner of exercise machines and weightlifting equipment. There was a pool, a hot tub, and a sauna. It was actually really amazing but all too weird to simply accept.

I left the gym room and asked Zoey where I was to stay. From the fountain room there was only one other door and inside was a large bedroom with a king-sized bed. In the walk-in closet, there were clothes for all sorts of occasions and there must have been one hundred pairs of shoes. There were protein bars and a fridge full of exercise drinks and water. Zoey said if I was hungry to just ask and there would be food in the dining room for me. I sat on the bed for a long time thinking.


                                                                              *  *  *


For the next few weeks, I was allowed to go at my own pace. The mansion didn’t really have much other than the gym and dining room and none of the doors to the outside were unlocked. I couldn’t go outside but I could see that the mansion was surrounded by farmland with one road winding its way toward nowhere. My favorite part was the small garden that was near my room. Just a small area surrounded by brick walls but it had no roof so I could see the sky and feel the real wind. I would wait until dark and stare at the stars and think about getting out of that place.

I worked out harder than ever. I spent a lot of time in the pool and when I wasn’t swimming I worked with the weights. They hadn’t given me anything that I could pick up and throw in the simulation room or in the cell, other than trays that got me nowhere, and now I had a lot of equipment. Most of it was round and heavy but there were a few things I kept my eye on. Battle ropes were bolted into the wall and I imagined Arnold and the man in the hazmat suit hanging them from the rafters. There were kettlebells and I imagined that one could be thrown into a skull with some effort. As I swam I imagined that I could throw a weight at a window and try to run but I had no idea where I was or where I could go.

One day I gathered up the courage to walk back down the hallway, past the fasting room, and went to the old cell but the door was closed. I pressed my ear to the door but could hear nothing. The hallway continued on and there was one more door at the end. I pressed my ear to the door and heard music. Rock music. I knocked on the door and heard someone moving on the other side. When the door opened my heart stopped. The giant man stood in front of me with his black gas mask and hazmat suit and I backed up immediately. He just stood there staring at me and as I walked backward he slowly pursued.

I turned around and ran until I got to the gym room where I found the nearest weight and held it ready for a fight but none came. When I finally left the room and looked around there was no one there. I walked back toward the giant’s room with the weight in my hand. I snuck up to the door and heard the music again.

Zoey hadn’t really been much of a presence and I was fine with that. Without her constant interactions, I remembered how alone I really was. She wasn’t my friend. She wasn’t even real. She took my requests for food but didn’t seem to be around like before. A few times I requested food while sitting in the dining room and waited for Martha to deliver it. She always came into the room with her eyes to the ground and would put the food on the other side of the table to where I sat. When I asked her questions or said hi she ignored me and just walked back through the door. When I pressed my ear to the door I could only hear footsteps walking away.

I started to get bored of the same routine and I tried to mix it up by trying every exercise machine and different combinations of weights and cardio. One day I tried to see how long I could stay in the sauna and I must have passed out because I woke up sometime later in my bed. I practiced holding my breath underwater. I practiced handstands and spent some time dancing but I wasn’t any good at it.

The dining room soon became my favorite room as it contained the only human that wasn’t a monster. I waited for Martha to come through the door and tried to get a reaction.

“So, you know there’s another version of you,” I said but I got no response. “Her name is Zoey. She’s listening right now. She’s always listening. She has your face.” Martha closed the door behind her.


She came through the door.

“You know I used to be very fat. I used to sit at a computer and just eat delivered food every day.” I said as she entered the room. “I hadn’t been out of my apartment for a year before I got here. Guess I still haven’t been out. I’m not so fat anymore. Have you seen me?” She stopped for a second but then continued through the door.


She came through the door.

“I’ve got a joke for you. Do you like jokes?” She didn’t lookup. “Knock knock

Who's there? Michael Snifferpuppets. Michael Snifferpuppets who? Oh, come on, how many Michael Snifferpuppets do you know? Let me in already.” She stopped for a moment and put her hand up to her mouth. “You do like jokes! My name is actually Sawyer by the way” She walked out.


She came through the door.

“I’ve got another one,” I said and this time I stood up and slowly walked toward her. “Knock knock. Who's there? Iowa. Iowa who? I owe a big apology to you for this joke.” I was only a few feet away from her then and she looked up for the first time and smiled. Just then the main doors opened behind me and I saw fear in her eyes as she looked toward them. She scurried off and was gone.

I turned and there was the giant in his suit and mask. “I didn’t mean anything by it big guy,” I said and picked up a pickle off the plate and started eating it. “Just a harmless joke.” He started toward me and I braced myself. When he got close I moved back and with each step, I moved away from him. He wasn’t fast and I was sick of being afraid of the hazmat monster.

I backed myself into a corner so I grabbed the nearest object which was a vase and threw it at him. He dodged it and lunged at me. I spun out of the way and grabbed a candelabra from the table and hit him in the back with it. Before I could strike again he turned and grabbed me. I punched at him as hard as I could but the bear hug was too tight. I started to feel the pressure against my chest and struggled to breathe. He let go and the last thing I saw was a fist headed toward my face.


                                                                               *  *  *


I woke up with a black eye and when I went to get breakfast she didn’t come. Bacon, eggs, and fruit were already there but I hadn’t asked for anything yet. I tried again after my morning exercise but there was no food and no Martha. I sat at the large fancy table and then asked Zoey for lunch.

“We can do that but you’ll have to leave the room first.”

“Why?”

“You have been harassing Martha and we can’t have that.”

“Oh. I didn’t mean anything by it. She’s the only real person here other than the eccentric Arnold and the giant hazmat man. What did you expect?”

“Nonetheless. Either we can guess when you will eat or you can tell us and wait until it is served.”

“Fine!” I said and left the room. I came back to rice, chicken, and salad.

A few days later, while I was reluctantly enjoying the delicious omelet I was given, I found a note written on the backside of a napkin. I smudged it but it said:

“Unlocked after dinner-Jesse.”

During the day I couldn’t think of anything other than the note. While I swam. While I lifted weights. And while I tried to sneak a dumbbell bar out of the gym to hide in my room. Just before dinner I put on the fanciest suit in the closet and chose a pair of shoes that I thought matched. I hid the heavy metal bar in my coat pocket and held it tight by folding my arms across my chest.

“Zoey,” I asked while standing at the closed doors of the dining room.

“Sawyer,” she answered from above. “What are you doing with that metal bar in your coat?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“We have cameras everywhere. Just leave it on the ground and your dinner will be waiting for you. I think today’s dinner is sushi and plenty of it.”

“Fuck.” I pulled the bar out of the coat and set it on the ground. There was a click from the doors and when I opened them there was a large plate of sushi waiting. I ate as much as I could and then eased my way over to the door that Arnold and Martha used. I tried the lock and it was open. My heart started to race.

Just as I turned the knob I heard the main doors open and as I closed the door behind me I saw the giant hazmat man holding the metal bar in his hand. I locked the door behind me and started to run down the hallway before me. On the left, I passed a large professional kitchen where there was a Japanese chef cleaning up. He looked at me while I ran past and the alarms started to sound loudly throughout the house.

I kept running and found a door. Inside there was a large room full of screens and surveillance equipment. A morbidly obese woman was at the desk and she swiveled in her chair to face me. She was smoking a cigarette and looked completely unfazed.

“This is just stupid,” she said and I recognized her voice. I had been hearing it for months. It was Zoey but it wasn’t Zoey. “That stupid girl. I don’t know why they keep her around,” she said.

“You’re Zoey,” I said, stunned at what I was seeing.

“Sure I am honey. I’m Zoey. Surprised?”

“You fucking bitch!”

All the hate and rage that I had suppressed for the last four months came to me and I remembered the torture, the lies, the pain. I could feel my muscles tighten and before I knew what I was doing my hands were around her fat neck. I squeezed and squeezed until her eyes turned red and she fell out of the chair like a limp walrus onto the ground. I was out of breath. I took a deep breath and looked at the screens and I could see Martha, or was it, Jesse, in a bedroom sitting at a table brushing her hair.

The door slammed open and before I could think the giant was coming for me. He swung the bar at me but I ducked and he hit the equipment instead. Sparks and metal and plastic scattered all around. I punched him hard in the side and felt something crack. I tucked my head and grabbed a hold of his midsection and pushed through him like a linebacker. We slammed against the wall and then I felt the bar strike against my back. The sharp pain was like lightning and I fell to the floor. I scrambled backward as he struck down again but he only hit the floor. I punched the top of his head and he fell face-first onto the ground.

As he tried to get up I grabbed the back of his mask and pulled it as hard as I could and ripped it off. He had the face of a man who would have done well in Hollywood. Strong chiseled jaw and blue eyes. Someone who could have starred in the latest remake of Predator. I’ll never forget the look of fear on his face when the mask was ripped from it. He was terrified and I thought he might cry. He dropped the metal bar and reached out.

“Please! Please! Just let me have it,” he pleaded with his arms out like a child wanting his favorite toy back.

I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. “I’ll give it back if you let me go.”

“No problem. Please.” His eyes were filled with tears.

I handed him the mask and he put it on as fast as he could. Then he got up, turned around and ran out of the room. On the monitor, I could see him running to his room and when he got there he closed the door and started to spray something all over the room. On another screen I could see Arnold in his room, hastily packing a bag. I picked up the metal bar and started down the hall.

I ran until I found another door. This one was an ornate set of double doors with a complex security keypad on the right side. It was Arnold’s room, but as I did not know the code I just smashed the metal plate as hard as I could with the dumbbell bar and the buttons exploded and the metal collapsed. I heard a click. I tried the door and opened it quickly. Arnold turned around and faced me, a look of surprise on his face. He sat down on his fancy bed.

“All the technology and money in the world and you just walk right in,” he said with no hint of the same tone and accent as before. He now had a casual American accent.

I took a few steps.

“Reggie. That paranoid piece of shit! And Martha. I’m surrounded by idiots!”

I pulled a chair up, sat down and asked, “Why? Why do all this and go through all this just to force me to exercise?”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter now.”

“Why not?”

“Because it will never get past the pilot stage after this.”

“Pilot stage?”

“You were only the fourth. You were the only one that actually started exercising on your own. The rest just went back to their lazy bullshit after being let out of the cell. The first one we let out in a month and when left alone she just got fat again. Her name was Zoey and I gave her a job. That fat piece of shit. The second one we let out after two months and stayed on the plan for a while but then we just had to end that. The third did the same but you, you were different. We let you out and you just kept on exercising. We had something, finally.”

“You torture people to get them to exercise on their own?”

“The goal was to find out if we could force the internalization of positive lifestyle habits. If we could find a relatively cost-effective way to get people to live differently without the annoying uncertainty of free will.”

“And what about Martha or is it, Jesse?”

“Her name is Martha! She’s mine!” He screamed at me and stood up. He turned and started for a desk at the back of the room. “You don’t get it! I could have revolutionized the medical industry. No more need for people to stay inside and cower in fear of the potential viruses of the world.” He kept walking slowly away from me. I followed.

“Did you know that the only people who died from any of those viruses already had underlying health issues? Did you know that obesity costs the country over 80 million dollars a year alone?”

I was only a few feet away when he stopped at a desk. He opened the drawer and he turned and I saw a pistol in his hand but before he could raise it I swung the metal bar at his head. Blood and bone were strewn about the room and his body fell to the floor. I stood for a moment shaking and then dropped the newly painted bar. I took a deep breath, picked up the pistol, wiped the blood off my face with his sheets and walked out of the room.

Down the hall was another door and as I knocked the butterflies in my stomach fluttered to life. She opened the door and greeted me with the biggest smile from the most beautiful face I’d ever seen. Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she had on pink pajamas and an oversized blue t-shirt.

“Knock Knock,” I said, sporting my own ridiculous smile.

“Who's there,” she asked.

“My name is Sawyer, Sawyer Barnes. Jesse?”

“Jesse Glaston. Nice to meet you.” She put her hand out.

I took her hand and pulled her toward me and we kissed passionately.

“Get me the fuck out of here,” she whispered in my ear. She took my hand and led me to a garage where ten expensive cars were there waiting for us to choose from. We jumped into a black Bentley and drove into the darkness.



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I have a deep fear that I will die and there will be nothing left of me to live on. Something that might impact and affect future humans in a way that validates some of the things I've accomplished.

I can imagine a world where I am known and well regarded. A world where my personal impression lives on after I die, like the many famous people that I know and continue to learn about after their deaths. Ideally, I would die having made an impact on the world and in so doing give myself a modicum of infamy. 

I am just realizing that this ideation is most likely the result of a lifetime among televisions. There have always been famous people. Aristocrats, actors, musicians, royals, politicians, clergymen, military heroes, and the like have always existed in large enough agricultural societies. Even without agriculture, tribal peoples would tell stories of heroes and gods and spirits that one would look up to. 

While all these people represent some kind of transcendence from the poor, infirm or otherwise lowly existence that the majority inhabit, these roles were not typically within the reach of the masses. Children in the 17th century were not hopeful that they would become anything other than something close to what their father did. They might have wondered at stories of heroes and gods but were not subjected to the mundane infamy of the modern world.

Today, the world's opinions are on display for the world. Experts and novices teaching beside each other and with no oversight. Crazies and geniuses and everyone in between showing us "what they've got!" "Cash me outside," has left its mark on the world and it is hard not to feel that if someone as low as those that are featured on Jerry Springer or Maury Povich are making their marks in some small ways. If we consider anyone who is online socially as capable of generating fame then fame itself is a measure of potential infamy. Extended fame is really the goal of online expression because if your mark lasts then it is assumed that your mark is meaningful.

The future of education had better include how to use the internet to your advantage or else people will be swallowed up in its web of influence and exploitation. It can also be a comforting couch of convenience and decadence. Everything at your hand and your whole life stuck in the world as a set of profiles and visual media.

But what about the futility of fame? In time all information is degraded and eventually lost then why is it so appealing? I think it is related to the initial need for procreation. Fame's appeal is the same appeal that comes to the deep desire to have our genes live on in our progeny. More specifically it is intertwined with the need to stand out and ascend in a hierarchy where the higher the status the more likely the individual will successfully mate and see their offspring live on. So, it all comes down to sex, like so many behaviors.

For one that prides themself on their ability to express themself, it seems like a failure to not do so publicly. To show one's self to the world is a badge of honor and to show up in a trending list means the eyes of the world are upon you. For good or bad you have been seen. Like in Avatar, we just want to be seen. I just want to be seen. To be seen and appreciated. To be validated by the world. For the world to look at you and give you an uplifting nod. 

The need for attention comes from at least two areas, cultural influences and a lack of bonding with parents. I do not want to blame all parents as for some the need for attention can never be satiated, not even by those with well adjusted and affectionate parents. I do not believe myself to be within that camp but I do not care to blame anyone for my self diagnosed issues in a perhaps failed attempt at self psychoanalysis. My need for attention might just be due to my lack of identifying a mainstream vocation that I find satisfying and therefore must look to other means for purpose, namely expressing myself and hoping that someone finds it valuable or at the least interesting.

I do think that the greater one's desire for fame the greater their need for validation. This may be due to a lack of acceptance and validation from childhood or it could be due to a predisposition toward narcissism or any number of things. 

Living in a culture where thousands and thousands of people make a living expressing their opinions on the internet makes it seem like if your not making a living expressing yourself you're working too hard and are just another "cog" in the wheel. 

I have no children. I have no real money. 

The only reason to feel bad about these facts is that I have a desire for these things. I am not sure which one I want more but I do know that some parts of me feel that children and money are a necessary part of seeing myself as an actualized person. I have manufactured a typical American fantasy despite the fact that my parents failed to represent but somehow has been engrained as a norm. Although they both do have a decent amount of money. At least they do now.

My father never made much money on his own and I know that a great deal of my desire for money has to do with my desire to not be like my father but he did marry two women who have been able to acquire quite a lot of money respectively. In fact his current wife, not my mother, probably makes more money than his second wife, meaning that he traded up in a completely lame and unplanned way. Hopefully unplanned. 

If you haven't done something notable enough to make some local media feature or participated in a viral video or gained enough subscribers to exist as an independent contractor then you aren't that interesting. If you aren't interesting then what's the point?

Maybe these are the worries of someone whose life is too easy to warrant any real discomfort or discipline. Maybe this is a cultural impression that I am simply orienting myself to. Maybe it is simply pride and narcissism that I engage in and should work toward feeling contentment in the simple act of existence and stop seeking fame for the sake of superficial attention. Maybe the monk that seeks enlightenment from a lack of desire is on the road toward enlightenment. I doubt it. I think the real answer is acceptance and balance.

In the creation of expressive art, one should start with themselves and the personal expression and then see what happens when they share such things. If it is meaningful to the self then it might resonate and find value in others. The real key is not putting the cart before the horse, putting the desire for validation before the expression. The idea that fame creates legitimacy is erroneous and simplistic. No one is legitimate or illegitimate. Value is subjective which means that it depends on the evaluator. Maybe a happy life is living based on one's internally generated values instead of trying to adapt to everyone else's idea of

This doesn't mean that one shouldn't cater to others for the sake of money or some other end. There are plenty of people who do not seek fame or validation through social interaction. People who exist with no desire to express themselves to the world and feel no malaise when the world doesn't care about them. Family, friends, work, and hobbies do not require an extended interaction with the outside world and hold deep meaning for those content with such activities. Maybe those that seek attention should remember not to neglect the simple satisfactions that accrue when one attends to those around them.

There is also a kind of dual outcome to fame which is when the endeavors that result in fame are originally intended to help others. This might be in the realms of education, innovation and personal expression of all sorts. The idea that one's public expressions are put out into the world for the sake of others. This is both selfish and selfless. Someone has to have some sense of self-worth and confidence to think that they have something to offer others and this desire, while seemingly noble, has the added bonus of attracting attention and potential fame. It is the most righteous fame because it hides behind the selfless deed and makes one a kind of saint but it should not be forgotten that those that seek to help others often know that the result may be that of acclaim.

This is not a bad thing in that if there were no positive results from helping other people would have little incentive to do so and therefor those that help others should be given public acclaim. This is really only useful if the public knows the difference between what provides actual help and what acts are designed to give the impression of selflessness. The real challenge to audiences, in a world of infinite choices, is to not waste attention on worthless or deceitful people or to call them out. Now, this requires a certain amount of intelligence and control and ultimately up to the individual based on their subjective values and knowledge.

Maturing is more a matter of accepting yourself instead of fighting self-imposed and needless idealism. Instead of constantly judging myself against the achievements of others I should simply continue working on doing what makes me feel fulfilled, meaningful and happy. 

Security and Fence: A Retail Perspective

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At a high-risk retail location such as the one I have been working at these past three years there comes a time when you are asked to be both a security guard for the products you sell and fence for the thieves that steal them.

All-day long you are on the lookout for those that might be trying to shoplift. It's usually pretty obvious and the company expects us to thwart these no-goodnicks by simply offering them amazing customer service which is actually just direct, unwavering observation, assistance, and silent harassment. While you are attempting to thwart injustice you get called away to help a real customer and without constant observation, the thief strikes and soon, you watch them walk out and half the time they set off the buzzers at the front of the store. It's too late and they've struck again and everyone looks at each other as if we've lost another one. We have failed in our half-assed attempts to thwart the criminal from stealing the master's property. 

Secretly, but not that secretly, the masters don't really expect you stop most of the attempts. They expect the store to reach a certain amount of predictable loss (shrink) and it's more important to sell something and make money than to worry about petty theft. Even not-so-petty theft is acceptable as long as it isn't perpetrated by the employees. 

It gets so that when a man walks out with $400 worth of electronics or an entire $1000 laptop it's just the cost of doing business. The police may or may not be notified. I just hope they never pull a gun and go for the cash. Sometimes there is a ton of cash. But they know that it's a major crime to rob someone and they also know that shoplifting is such a minor offense that most folks won't try to stop them. And if you try to stop them with force you can get fired so you just have to watch them walk out with someone else's property. You think that it's your job to stop them and to protect your own job security and to protect the companies interest and if you care about the store you work in, the other people that you work with and adhere to general community ethics then you feel like it is the same as stealing from you. It could easily be you anyway.

Then, just after watching one leave another one enters. This one you haven't seen before but they certainly look the part. They look shady as fuck and walk straight to the return line and hand the cashier a bunch of random shit that was obviously stolen. Sometimes they come up with some excuse like their grandma bought the products a few weeks ago and now she just doesn't need $250 worth of Epson ink that just happens to be sitting on the shelf nearby unprotected. Your grandma spent over $200 dollars on ink she didn't need? Or the one with ten random day-planners that no one has ever purchased in those numbers before and happens to be the most expensive options when they don't look like they've spent more than $10 on their clothing, backpack, oversized coat, and two huge handbags. 

There is a rule that managers can refuse a return but managers aren't the ones at the registers most of the time. The ones at the register are typically younger, less experienced and barely trained. They don't understand the policy and since they are intimidated by both customers and managers they can't make complicated decisions about which policies to hold more strictly and which ones to break completely. They don't know how to professionally refuse the obviously douchey person trying to get money from nothing and some management teams might say to just do the return and some might say to use their best judgment.

The return policy also requires a receipt for a return except that telling someone that legitimately bought $100 purse just a day earlier that you won't give them a refund because they don't have a receipt is near suicide as they will either tell a higher-up that you were rude or they will just continue to argue with you until you just give up or they will say your racist or sexist or some other crazy shit. Dealing with an angry customer is no fun and to be avoided at all costs, for the most part. Having enough experience to understand when a customer crosses the line and demanding that they leave or you'll call the cops takes time to develop and the brand new cashier will just take the abuse most of the time until a manager steps in. 

Ultimately the policies should be straightforward. They should be easy for the customer and for the cashier. It shouldn't be a guessing game or a complicated algorithm of whether or not the customer deserves a break this time either because they are super nice or obnoxiously demanding. Managers should be able to make decisions about who is not a real customer and security should either be a priority or not. It feels like a priority but it really isn't. 

The contradiction occurs when someone thinks that the company wants to enforce laws. Companies, especially the largest companies, would rather the government never gets involved. Only when the problem becomes too costly do they resort to the police. This is due to two factors, as I see it. One is that companies and governments don't always mix well. Government's tax companies and inflict regulations that can make it difficult to do what the company wants and challenge what might make them more money. 

The second reason is that people know that the government and especially the street cops are not going to stop petty crime. They probably won't even show up. They don't have time and the cost is not worth it. It is technically a crime but so is loitering, littering and public indecency. The "man" doesn't have the men to enforce all the laws. Companies have security systems but those are not usually reactive and some companies have a security guard and if it is really important they will have more guards and real guns but balancing the cost a human guard and the liability involved is complicated. It isn't usually worth the fight when it comes to petty theft. 

When you work in an area that has extreme poverty and crime is rampant, especially petty crimes you see the stark difference between those vagrants and the majority of folks that are decent enough not to steal from you or show up too drunk and don't do hard drugs in the bathroom. These are the people to give great customer service and should be the real focus of the team but it is very distracting to have to judge all that come into the store in an effort to work as a deterrent to the baddies.  

It is demoralizing and confusing to be expected to be both the security guard and the fence. To watch people walk out with product just to have them or someone that looks like them bring it back and put it on the counter and lie to you makes you feel the opposite of empowered. They say that they bought the product but you know they didn't and you were always taught that lying and stealing are bad and that heroes stop criminals and the right thing to do is to expose liars. Well, too bad. Just ask them for their ID and don't cause a ruckus and the corporate masters will deal with it in their way. Just go back to selling and signing people up for harassment emails and giving people undeserved discounts because they say the word "coupon" in some configuration that passes as a sentence and trying to explain how shit works to people who don't give a shit about how it works, they just want it to work.

Working with the general public can be a frustrating mess and most people do not understand the hardships that the lowly floor staff deal with on a daily basis. The main goal of a business is to make a profit and in that pursuit, they need to maintain a positive reputation. This means erring on the side of the customer and not doing things that lead to negative press or legal action. This means that associates take on the complicated task of representing a companies interest even if the ones who make the rules never know who those associates are.