Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Full Disclosure

You may be wondering to yourself, "Hmm, Michael Lenoch, whatever have been up to for the past few weeks, for which one may call a "hiatus"?"

Well, funny you ask there sport! Because during these past few weeks my "love life" [for lack of a better word] has seen some remarkable things.

So without further ado, there is this girl.

She appears to have few to no friends and is not the most beautiful sight in the world. None of this prevented me from respecting her to the utmost, as I duly would any friend, acquaintance, or stranger.

So as a stranger, she soon attempted to become acquaintances with me by exchanging small-talk between classes or during free periods. And naturally, she then thought we were friends because of this.

Needless to say, this "relationship", if you wish to even call it that, developed without any of my doing. I would deliberately show little to no emotion or enthusiasm as she attempted to start conversations in the library. Call me crazy, but I can only derive her active goodwill for me from my willingness to listen to her -- she seems very neglected, most likely for the descriptions above, which is admittedly a tragedy in itself.

As time would go on, her enthusiasm for me would palpably grow. It got to the point where she gave me a package of Mexican Sweethearts for Valentine's Day (for which, my lunch table later proceeded to "line around").

Then our school's Turnabout dance, where the girls ask the boys, came around. A short while prior to this, I had been asking friends for their Introduction to Economics notes. I can't quite remember exactly, but I must have asked her as well -- she took such an opportunity to ask me out to what she presumably thought as a 'legendary dance'.

But I'm getting a bit ahead of myself here: On that faithful day, I took the 6:50 Metra train that departs from Hinsdale to Union Station, and the agonizing 157 or 60 bus then to school, in which I would routinely unload and pack any books I would need for the day that lay ahead at my locker, just as I did the hundred or so days leading up to that point. I later went to the fourth floor, and sat at my usual, behind-the-bookcase seat in our glorious library. Nothing out of the ordinary, right? Wrong.

After the first two bells rang to indicate the beginning of the day at 8 O' Clock, I saw her approach me as she would weekly, yet this time she asked me if I wanted her Introduction to Economics notes. I replied, "Yes". Still sitting, I was curious why she hadn't given them to me in the library earlier. Then she asked me to come with her to the Beigel Room in a very coy manner -- I asked her why she couldn't get the notes herself and bring them back, but she made an effort to reveal nothing.

I was led to a study room, where she slowly opened the door to reveal three of her friends, holding some pieces of spiral notebook paper, improvised to ask me, you guessed it, to Turnabout. This prompted me to awkwardly say "Okay...", with an unintentional intonation, as if to reveal that I truly never wished to have anything more than a harmless acquaintance. She then asked me if I was surprised. I responded in a barely confident, "a little".

Now thinking to myself, "What on earth did I just do?!", I soon tried to think of any possible way to free myself from this plight. But I couldn't think of any alternative to not going.

"That's it!", I contemplated, "I just shouldn't go!". For weeks on end, I was looking forward to this dance, anticipating just what might happen.

So she aptly kept up her supply of disposable and worthless small-talk on that weekly basis, and I maintained my tradition of showing little to no emotion or enthusiasm, as her lack of expertise for anything sports-related became self-evident (she would ask how "good" I am at track -- obviously a question only possible to come from the mouth of a true sports-layman), and the weeks went on.

Then that day came. I had an indoor soccer game the night before, and a track meet the morning of the dance. And so, after two exhausting sporting events, I was hungry.

I searched for nearly anything in sight, and found several pieces of plum tomato Home Run Inn pizza in some Tupperware in my family's refrigerator -- a typical favorite of mine. But this time, I gorged. I ate nearly a total of four to six pieces. And to be fair, this isn't your average pizza -- this one incredibly rich pizza. After gorging myself, I slept. And slept, and slept. And slept, and slept (and you get it).

Ultimately, I ended up sleeping for a total of thirteen consecutive hours. By the midpoint of this deep hibernation, my parents came to check up on me. I told them how I felt -- whenever I would even stand up, I felt like I could vomit at any moment. I told my parents I felt it was wise for me to stay home. However, my father, in his typical proud manner, told me I should simply go because she had bought the ticket for me. I rebutted such an argument with the thought that 'If I wasn't going to have fun, she likely won't either'.

So my parents and I all talked for a substantial thirty minutes or whereabouts, and came to the conclusion that, despite her anticipating such a dance, it would be better for me to stay home and recover, rather than worsen my condition, whether mild or severe, or worse yet, spread my terror in the form of putrid stomach acid.

So if I was sick, that meant I didn't have to go to the dance! I was overjoyed, but I knew I couldn't reflect such an attitude over the phone while reporting to the girl that the fanciful night of her dreams was now a night of lonesomeness and regrets. So as I talked over the phone, I could perceive a subtle increment of horror in her voice, most notably when I told her that I could not attend the dance -- her voice probably lessened an entire octave after learning this.

I did my best in issuing rather vicarious consolements, saying things like "I truly I wish I could be there", or "I hope you have a great time without me". All this meant for me is that I could sleep, get this stomach ache out of my system, and that I hopefully had this annoyance of a girl out of my life. At the time, I don't think I could have cared less -- call me a sadist, remorseless, a "coward", or even an "asshole", I honestly don't care.

On the Monday following my notorious absence, I was met by ubiquitous incredulity among friends, and was informed that I "owe" this girl a dance (like that would ever happen), a task I knew I would happily never fulfill.

I had put up with months of her pathetic complacent-speak to realize what she had been going through. Finally such a mystery had been explicitly revealed to me as I went on my Junior retreat, which just so happened to take place on the same date as hers.

There was one segment that consisted of a lighting of a candle, and mentioning for whom it was meant for. After nearly everyone had gone, she still sat there, crying. At the time she had finally mustered enough will to go up in front of everyone and voice her sorrows, it was evident she was heartbroken by a loss in her family. (Don't bother asking me exactly what relative of hers she had lost, but I knew for a fact that it was someone tremendously valuable). She sobbed, barely able to communicate to such a mass of fellow Juniors as to what it was that had been troubling her. Tears dripping down her nose, nearly taking out the vulnerable candle that was clenched in her hands.

I came to understand how needy this girl was. She was looking for someone she could rely on, be a friend to, to share secrets with, and talk to on a daily basis. And I was none of that, nor had I ever intended to be any of that.

So what kept me from liking her, other than the fact that she seems to have few to no friends and that she is not the most beautiful sight in the world? To be frank, her overly bubbly, and oftentimes, downright superficial personality couldn't have been less attractive to me. Her conversations, rote. Her attitude, naive and immature. And her very existence, nothing special to speak of. To me, she was just another, teen boy-obsessed, saccharine, and Facebook and texting-savvy girl with very little earnestly unique about her. (And if you're about to call hypocrisy on me, have you ever met a German-speaking, bo staffing, video game-playing, writer, pilot, poet, and music-maker? Well have you, Goddamnit?! I didn't think so.)

And so anyway, what this whole "Full Disclosure" thing came down to was a recent Facebook status update that this very girl felt she needed to post in order to find that very bit of vindication she so gravely longed for. The text goes; "you put on such a front, making people think youre some sweet guy. But honestly, youre nothing but a coward and an asshole. I'm done. done. done. done. :)"

If you're having some trouble decipher this drivel like I am, allow me to translate: "You act like a douche, you're an aerschloch", or whatever the hell. Oh, and I think there was a part I missed in there, if I'm not mistaken, it went like this, "Done. Done. Done. Done. Done. Done. Done. Done. Done. Done. Done. Done. Done. Done. Done. Done.". Did you get that? I think she said she was "Done" with me. Do you hear that?! WOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

No more of these awkward, complacent conversations!
No more of her hideous appearance!
No more of her saccharine, immature, and naive personality!
No more of this mind game, where she takes in every bit of positive social contact as if I "liked her"!
No more of her!

I'm through. I'm through, through, through, through, through, through, through, through, through. Oh, I think I forgot to mention, I'm through.

As days passed, colors changed, yet I felt I had remained much of the same. Never did I like this girl. She merely thought that was the case.

And, I don't act, or as she so eloquently said, "put a front on". I am Michael Lenoch, and I do my best each and every day to be myself. It sure may not be with a smile on, but nothing I do, I guarantee, is acting in order to be perceived a certain way by others -- that may have been your observation, but don't be mistaken, I do no such acting.

And for the record, I am not a "coward". I am merely a coward of fake personalities, and of weak relationships. Nor am I an "asshole", I just never liked her, it's plainly that simple.

She yearned for a pretty face and a back to lean on. I don't want to be used. Don't use me.

Later, jackoffs,
This is Michael "Flammen" Lenoch, going ghost.

Never mess with Flammen. Classic.

Monday, March 15, 2010

CyberPunk -- Abstract Prose

If you are not yet familiar with the term, "Cyberpunk", I strongly suggest you research the topic before you make any attempt at calling me an apocalypticist or an alarmist.

The edge of reality, the lowest of souls, forced to thrive in a troubling society in which crime and corruption run through the veins of the everyman. Computer domination, computers everywhere, computers in your head, computers on your mind at any given moment. A "whimpy" government gives rise to a youthful rebellion, man's answer to his own artificial creation of "artificial landscapes", while enormous multinational government corporations make up the world's military forces. Nihilistic forecasting is only paralleled by uniform and overwhelming transhuman behavior -- surely the result of years upon years of unavoidable internet use.

Yet on the other side of the spectrum, these "criminals, outcasts, visionaries, dissenters, and misfits" all expect more from their lives, ultimately to only compound public stress and anxiety by expressing their inner worldviews and outragements, caused by prior generations that thought it was okay to go outside of the box, to do the unexpected, the unheardof, the unthinkable. This happens because of overpopulation and crowding, a lack of emphasis and priority on nature; and because of this, man forgets his purpose, becomes a mere slave of the ever-growing economic system that ostensibly yields no gains other than a reliable source of bread and water -- the rations of a poorman. The rations of the poorman that serve no other purpose than allowing him to work and act as one of the innumerable pieces of the worldwide puzzle.

Human bodies are reaped for their sheer ability to produce, but not create. For their ability to survive, but not to thrive. The human body is invaded by modification and a "ubiquitous datasphere of computerized information." Humans are expendible and knowledge serves the commonfolk, there is no longer an explicit class system, but that doesn't stop people from forming groups of their own -- most people are now strangers to one another due to the utter number of humans occupy the earth and its resources as of this writing.

The past is known, but has been forever lost by today's minds through neglect, ignorance, and forgetfulness...
... the values of yesteryear are now obsolete...

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Gray Days

Yet another dreary day ensues,
Sending us all once again into the darkest of hues,
We need inspiration, we need some light,
We need our dreams to in some sense, take flight,
The pleasure of sex, drug, and food does not compare,
To that of the sun's glorious and bombastic fanfare,
Sad sights, and unpleasant things cause me to write,
But if I were to choose, I'd rather have a sunny day, rather than being encumbered by this plight,
We are all driven into insanity, madness, night,
When our dear sunlight shows no attempt to simply say, "hi",
There are an abundance of substitutes sure,
Electronic screens, music, and forms of entertainment that lure,
But the sun's intangible and unparalleled rays,
Are worthy of all of the creatures' collective and immense gaze.

By: Michael Lenoch

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

The World is in Flames, America totally SUX, and MORE!

It's a rare occurrence for me to become so flustered by current events that I feel the intangible need to take it out on my keyboard.

But wow. Is Chicago messed up, or what? Day after day, newspaper after newspaper depict houses burning, children being killed, police officers being outsmarted, and family members grieving in the wake of whatever such and such event devastated his or her family. Earthquakes, killings, hurricanes, and common destruction flood the covers of the Chicago Tribune and the Chicago Sun-Times that lay atop my kitchen's granite countertop -- illustrating a far less desirable world, a world that if any of us supposedly right-minded individuals were to come face-to-face to such a happening, would be revolted by every profound sense of the term.

Now after weeks upon weeks of hope-free media coverage, I'm taking this upon myself to RANT a rant never seen before. Here we go. You have been warned.

The Chicago government -- what a sad excuse for an organization. I may be blissfully uninformed, but can someone please explain to me why nothing ostensibly ever seems to get accomplished here? Whether it's the poor economy, the lack of American jobs, the need for American jobs, or even the lack of money in order to enstate these purportedly life-saving American-based jobs, desperate fingers invariably manage to point in one direction, while avoiding an admittance of failure on one's own part.

Whatever, this country can tear itself apart for all I care -- no one listens to anyone, everyone simply acts as if they may be listening to the opinions of the public, then sits back down on their armchairs, pretentiously show a bit of concern, then loftily dispose of the horrid idea. Arrogance, failure, blame, laziness, an obsolete governing system, disagreement, vengence-fueled fury, this is in fact the city that never sleeps. We all just hate each other all that Goddamn much. It may be race, long-standing grudges, gangs, genders, political affiliations, or even God forbid, religion that separate us. But one thing is clearer than it ever has been -- this so called, "CHANGE", this biblical proclamation Barack Obama has famously claimed we are all in dire need of is not in fact true. What we quite simply need is unity. And knowing the American people, that will inevitably never happen. A kind, respectable American man is few and far between -- they are the ones that are out and about, not driving in their own cars, watching TV in their own homes, or ignoring celebrations and doing whatever he or she may want -- they go and interact, connect, and join in celebrations with others, they are the true patriots, they are the true kind men and women, they are the peace-makers, and blessed are they.