The Unnoticeables

by Robert Brockway

Here’s something I found out recently: The universe is a problem. Again, I’m not much for metaphor. I meant what I said: The universe and everything that lies within it is a problem, in the very technical sense of the word. There are many parts to the universe—too many, in fact—which means that there is a simpler way to express the concept of “universe.” There are extraneous parts in every single object in existence, and to do away with them is to compact the essence of the universe into something leaner and more efficient. The universe and everything in it is a problem. And that means that the universe and everything in it has a solution. Humans also have extraneous parts: Think of the appendix, the wisdom teeth, the occasional vestigial tail—there are parts of us that we simply don’t need. They clutter us. We can be rid of them altogether. But that’s just physical stuff. There are also fundamental elements of what we are inside—spiritual, psychic, psychological, what have you—that are being expressed inefficiently. Our parts are too complicated. They can be reduced. They can be solved. Human beings have a solution. And being solved is a terrible goddamned thing.

First, when you put up an apathetic, angry shell for long enough, the behaviors you thought were mostly an act start to become your reality. In other words: If you train yourself to respond like a dickhead in most situations, you find yourself responding like a dickhead in most situations.

Some things you just have to do because you never should have gotten the opportunity to do them, like eat caviar or slobber on former Tiger Beat hunks.

The fantasy kept me warm some nights. Warmth is energy being expelled uselessly into the air.

I told you! I told you some chicks go nuts for a face with character. And that’s me: Character fucked my mug right up.

Hell, for the first fifteen years of my life I thought my Christian name was “Mouthy Faggot.”

I was hoping that regular, consistent drinking would somehow solve this problem. It wasn’t working, but then—I’d only been trying it for three beers now. I was willing to see how this played out.

“It’s not hard to slip by you. Your perceptions are so small. You’re ants, crawling around at the edge of a picnic table and calling it the edge of the world.”

Some folks, they got it out for Daphne. But you know to look at her—she’s one of those girls that talks it up all day, but when it comes down to lights-out she just lies there and acts like she’s doing you a favor. Velma? You know she takes off those glasses and she gets to work.