“So like I´m pretty sure that we determined through science that the world doesn´t revolve around Earth”,

I pause; I´m going to make a good point and come across as super smart.

“And furthermore”, I continue as I reach over for the palomitas, “if you are going to wear a dress, pick the one that looks less like a cactus having sex with a potato.”

HR gasps.

“That´s brilliant!”

I pause; when I´m good… well you know, whatever.

“So”, I say as I recline my chair in the kitchen, “how´s that work for your speech in your creative writing class?”

“Yeah”, she replies as she reaches over for the digitalpapitas, “I think we need to change it a little bit–the whole cactus sex with potato part was strange.”

“Artistic freedom”, I say as I take a sip of soda, “I create what I want–I have the rights to make as I see fit my projects, in a manner, that allows me to fully express my left brain.”

“Oh”, HR replies, “that was better–I´m going to use THAT in my creative writing class.”

I pause.

“I liked the cactus-potato sex more”, I say as I sigh.

I reach over for a bag of digitalzanahorias.

“So”, I say as I open it and grab a handful, “what are we going to do today?”

HR pauses.

“I have an idea”

“Does it involve cactus-potato sex?”

HR rolls her eyes.

“So”, she says as she gets up from her chair at the table in the kitchen, “what if we go feed the homeless on Dorinto?”

I pause; #lame.

“You know”, I say as I recline my chair, “they already have a lot of food–you should look at mental health.  That´s the real issue–at the bottom of it, medication, therapy and a safe space would go far to restoring the homeless population to being a part of the respected community.  I mean, sure, food is great–but look at what is really going on before putting a band-aid on a broken leg.”

“What´s a band-aid?”, HR asks as she picks up her bookbag.

“Ehh”, I reply as I stand up from the kitchen table, “it´s something we had on Earth before automated healthcare nearly, instantly, would regenerate destructive anamolies in the body–you know how when you cut your finger, it restores in 0.9283 nanoseconds?  Well, we used to have to wait for it to naturally heal–that was a MAJOR hassle!”

I pause; you know… whatever.

“Sure”, I say as I reach down and grab my bookbag, “we´ll go feed the homeless.”

HR pauses.

“Ok.”


“Observations yield data–but information without processing, doesn´t inherently lead to obvious results or solid conclusions”, I tell the class through the microphone in the kitchen.

“You know”, I continue speaking as I pick up my taza, “communication is biased to the perceived, or intended, audience.”

I pause; I take a sip of coffee; it´s delicious; I set the taza down.

“If someone behaves in a manner immature or irresponsible”, I say as I turn my head to look out the window, “it´s not necessarily indictive of their mental state–but, in essence, the vision, or understanding, of how the recipient of the message is.  You can move down to your crowd–or let it go, and see if they raise up to your level.”

I pause; that was pretty good–I really need to write this shit down.

“To be a fly on the wall–an independent observer–you can see how the two sides, both parties, perceive each other; using this information–you can tailor your message to both; certain words or phrases can trigger automatic thoughts that can erode the intent of what your are going for–your purpose.  It´s selling a car called a Nova in Mexico–obviously, now in retrospect, no one is going to buy a vehicle called doesn´t work, no go. But, still, maybe there´s not enough… information… about what´s going on?  Maybe, it´s best to stop for a moment–discrection says that, at this moment or in the moment, avoidance of confrontation or dialogue may be the prudent course of action?”

I pause; I pick up the pet socks and throw it at the dog; it hits the dog in the face; 2 points.

“So”, I continue speaking to the class, “what I really want to say is that the scientific and engineering process do work, mixed with ethical behavior.”

I pause; I pick up my taza; I take a sip; I set it down.

“So”, I say as I lean back in my chair, “give it a try.”

I pause; that was good–one day, I´m going to start writing this shit out for future generations or something?

Jamie Smith
therenegadeinc@gmail.com

It's all about the story, man.



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