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Category Archives for: Ludicrousness

Contemplations in Reading

24 January 2021 by Rey Armenteros

First of all, I don’t ever want to write a book with that many pages. Those times I am reading a book that reaches the 666th page, I pause and wonder if that page is in fact the one that owns that ordinal distinction. The pagination might not have started on the first page of the story. Depending on when they started the count, six pages may have been lost to title, blank page, then title again, along with indicia and some quotations, and my place in the actual text might be on its 660th page, and this disturbing sequence of repeated numbers has actually not yet arrived. I have six more actual pages to read to get past it. It’s like the 13th chapter and the 13th floor, but worse, because not as many books have that three-digit piece of amalgamated spookery. If I read through such chapters and pages like I once avoided cracks on the sidewalk, I look at that page as something to quickly pass and move far enough beyond it to make sure I had also passed the 666th page of the actual text. No point in getting the bookmark out and prolonging this bad luck for the next several hours or till tomorrow.

When greeted by the 669th, you are reminded there are other possibilities. One of the digits is upside-down. I have to go beyond this one and the textual version of it too. But then, what about the 699th and the 696th?

The book I was reading today did not quite reach the 960s, but I thought about what a drag it would be if it did. I read about the symbolism in numerology so many years ago, I hardly remember the ramifications of these numbers. But to this day, I still have personal favorites, like nine, three, and two, and of course, one.

The way to add things up in numerology is a simple system. If you have a number with more than one digit, you add each digit with the others to get a new number. If that new number is not a single digit number, you do it again, and you continue until you have one of the first nine numbers. For example, in 12, you add the one with the two, and you get three. With 2485, you add the numbers together and get 19. Then, add the one and the nine to get ten, and then add one with zero to get one.

666 gives 18, which reduces to nine. I like that last number but not the first. When you add 3 to that unholy number and get 669, it changes the results to 3, because 6+6+9=21, and 2+1=3. It is interesting because if you added 666 with 9, it retains the conclusion of 9. I just remember that all numbers divisible by 9 end up with 9 in this system. I believe it is the only number that does that.

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The Roaming Twenties

06 January 2021 by Rey Armenteros

Was it 2020 or 2021? I don’t know anymore. Maybe because of my propensity for correcting people, I would have said 2021. The crowd hailed the coming of 2020 as the beginning of the new decade. Mathematically, that would be wrong. That was why 2001, and not 2000, was the start of the new millennium.

But that is an analytical conclusion, and I don’t support analysis like I used to. I think gut feeling is a greater mode of observation, and if the turning of 2019 into 2020 sounds more like a big change, it doesn’t need to appeal to the loftier considerations of elementary mathematics — and that is enough for me.

However, just this once, it might be better to go with math and say that 2021 is in fact the start of the third decade of the new millennium, because when you look back on it, who the hell wants to start our present decade with 2020?

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The Dream of a Thousand Hairs

15 November 2020 by Rey Armenteros

Was supposed to give a lecture, but there I was in a large room that was divided by a partition that started almost at the door, so that when you walked in, you had to decide immediately if you were going to go left or right. I went right, and it was packed. Girls were coming up to me, and I was smiling, wondering what kind of things I had to talk about. The left was a mystery, and it turned out to be a bedroom-full of ladies. And I’m not sure how I knew that since I didn’t take that direction. One woman, who used to be a TV star back when there were these daytime programs called soap operas, had a signed photograph she wanted to give me. She had other images of herself in the nude when she did that men’s magazine photo shoot that (I now vaguely remember) was a very hot thing — back when I was still getting wet dreams when placed in other dream situations with half naked women. Well, there she was half-naked in these pictures, but she carefully, diligently put those pictures away before I could make out the details. I was suddenly made aware that I could be looked at as one of those perverts young ladies set their racy alarms to private for, and this lady was not even young, but a part of the past, yet she still looked real good and even better than most of the girls in this crowd of bedroom hair covering the side walls and back walls. Played it cool. No other way to do it. I kept smiling to the crowd, making my way out of this place that was turning into a giant bed and going over back to the right, where images were on the giant screens in the back, and I was starting to talk about them with the voice of expertise. General things to say. Another ordinary occurrence. When another girl — a young lady this time — asked me to take her picture, just like the older actress had done. The actress was no longer on the left side. We went in there. Noticed the stage. She wanted me up there. I was looking around. The professional photos of the actress were on the giant screens. The actress was reclined with breasts hanging off of smooth, orange tan skin and the prettiest face that any TV screen could buy. The young lady and I were smiling at the bright spotlights, and when the flash came, I looked at the wall, where the resolution was projected and it was just me, no girl. My head. My hair. It was crazy and curly, like back in the day when I let it all hang out, like an explosion of ideas was making their way out from my cranium and curling in every direction because it didn’t know what it wanted.

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The Poets

18 October 2020 by Rey Armenteros

The lives of today’s poets will be forgotten. I can’t think of a handful of names that have made it through the 20th century, people whose lives will be known by a small throng of others who bask in the light of rarified thoughts, eagerly seeking transient miscellanea of the most esoteric and mind-flowering sort — that of a poet, clearly.

I wish it were not so, but if I ever not make it in all the other creative career paths that have haunted me, I will then become a lyric poet who is only concerned with the day-to-day, and I will live my life for myself and my thoughts, and when I die, I will leave behind a sordid life that the world shaped for me, through my own physical (ergo, economic) limitations.

It will be humorous to plumb the trite passerby day-to-day of my life — what I disliked and what I was unreasonable about. How fascinating — how my life lit up the moment I had found my arch nemesis over a fender-bender the guy was willing to go to court for, and how I plotted to kill him, to perform that fictional inanity, the perfect crime. How my life shot through circumstance upon circumstance beyond my will not like voluntary breathing but like the unstoppable beating of my heart, and how it was released into a chamber that held only my volition.

How I was given no choice, how the world was not made for such thought, and how it still makes room for it somehow.

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A Philosophical Take on a Mundane Occurrence

17 May 2020 by Rey Armenteros

When putting gas or delaying it until the next drive, what is the proper perspective? I have always thought it was stretching the tank as far as possible in order to do fewer gas station visits in one lifetime.

I haven’t met a person that thinks like this, but I am sure there are a lot of people that that put such things together like that.

I do know some people are procrastinators. They just won’t do it if they can wait a little longer, even if it means that they will have a harder time with it later. This is a completely different angle on the same thing.

Imagine being stuck in traffic on your way to work and then desperately needing to fill the tank! This is a possibility both of these perspectives open up.

I am starting to think that if you want to find a reason for going to the gas station only when you absolutely need to, it’s better to take the position of the procrastinator. You delay in order to put aside that which you need to do, instead of philosophizing about the end of your life measured along a track of how many times you escaped doing something unpleasant.

I don’t want to be the procrastinator, and I don’t want to think the way I have about such things anymore. I am starting to consider little duties like pumping gas as moves that need to be timed. For example, if I have a quarter tank, it may be enough for the weekend, but then what about work on Monday? The right move is to do it now, so that you don’t do it under duress.

Reflecting on this for a second, I have the feeling that this is how most people behave, just from my chats about other’s weekends, including their obligatory trip to the gas station. In fact, it is starting to dawn on me that this is how everybody does it — except procrastinators, of course. I feel that with this new outlook, I have attained a modicum of wisdom, but then that means wisdom is far more common than I expected before I ever started attaining any of it.

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Second Life

29 March 2020 by Rey Armenteros

The art accumulates. More artists in the world and longer-lasting materials forces the situation to pile up at the museums. The proposed solutions are not pretty. All the art in the world is sifted through six echelons of importance. The majority of the art ends up on the lowest rung. Endless symposia are resolved with no easy answer. Next is the fact that cramped spaces are no longer caused by humans themselves but by human works. Something palatable is arrived at. Let’s make synthetic trees and abodes out of the lower art. Yes, it will go beyond its intentions, and many of the artists whose works are so relegated may not be happy with the fate of their art but at least it still exists and put to (some would say) a better use. Paintings drape over rectilinear sculptures to form colorful walls. Installations turn into trees with an interesting look. It’s a win win situation for all but the extremists.

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No Pause for Effect

08 December 2019 by Rey Armenteros

“I was getting up, and the guy just sat in my seat — didn’t even wait until it cooled off or until I got my things off the table. He couldn’t even know if I was finished with the table. You know what I mean?”

“Yes, of course.”

“So, I was looking at the guy. And he looked up and said something about good morning.”

“So, what did you say?”

“That’s not important. The story was just finished when he said good morning. You don’t get it?”

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My Courtroom Drama

24 November 2019 by Rey Armenteros

You ask me don’t I have this kind of book in me or that one, and I wonder myself. For example, one of you brought up the fact that I have several loose thoughts on the ludicrousness of present-day law, wouldn’t I just love to pen a poetic work on such a theme, to have such a book in my career?

And I first have to say that I truly appreciate your outlook on my body of work. Yes, it is deficient of a courtroom drama to properly expose the shortcomings of the court (all courts), but I can confidently say that I don’t need one. Everything I have to say about such a thing already resides in another book, a book titled The Trial by Franz Kafka. And he happened to say it exactly how I would have wanted to say it, so I find no need to pursue such a thing. On the contrary, whenever I want to recall exactly what I feel about such things, I merely have to read The Trial, and it all comes back.

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