13 August 2009

There's no accounting for taste.

Somewhere in some DNA strand, or actually in every DNA strand I suppose, is some mistake inside of me. Not a mistake to the point that I'm necessarily handicapped... some people would say it's a blessing. That I'm not missing much, or that I'm lucky for the lack. And these DNA strands keep getting replicated into RNA, and float around to the right spot and make a new strand of DNA, but they keep fucking up over and over again. The same garbled code for type 2 taste receptors making my tongue wrong over and over again. As a test, I put phenylthiocarbamide and 6-n-propylthiouracil on my tongue, and nothing happens.

Some biology class in some distant memory is all crashing metal and flickering lights falling from the ceiling onto lab benches, while I sit there with some synthetic chemicals in my mouth. Everyone's running to bathrooms, water fountains, and sinks... panic ensues... and I sit numb, or not even numb, but just completely unaware of the gravity of the situation.

Banana and orange peels, coffee, beer, olives, tonic water... It's not like there's something missing to the flavor. There's not even a particular aspect of the taste to which I can point and figure, "That is where what I'm supposed to be tasting this." Taste isn't a place, or a quantity. No discrete measurements can convey complex chemical reactions. Literally, completely ignorant. Bitter truth, sorrow, enemies, words, criticism, tears, cold. Infinitely complex imaginary word associations, feelings, nuances, colors, and shades of colors. I'm ignorant. It's honestly not a big deal, really. It's just what it implies. Sour. Check. Savory. Check. Salty. Check. Sweet. Check. All very significant tastes... or at least significant to me. I can savor things. I've tasted sour grapes. I know what someone means when they say they're salty. I've tasted sweet. They all seem so important. But.. Bitter. Negative. Am I missing a lot? Can I say that outside is bitter cold without feeling like a charlatan or a symbol impostor? Can I even feel bitter if I've never tasted it?

scene bam bam.


PIGEON SCENE>

direction: 
in frame. back of young man. purple shirt. in chair. a bit sweaty.
just shoulders... cant see head. still frame.
sound- typing. lots of typing from everyone in the office.
color of carpet in frame a grey with overtones of green/ maybe greenish lense.

owen is typing and we switch to an overhead camera... we see owen's hair and its a bit messy. his glasses are smudged cause the air conditioning is going a bit haywire... too cold then too hot.

then the angled overhead camera switches to his computer screen...

ACTOR #1.7


_pigeon


i guess theres something wrong with killing. right? 

the idea of stabbing or shooting or choking or bludgeoning. its messy. its visually stark.

 haunting.... 


the plain face of a dead man. something agape. something gone in them...

something gone in you....one less symbol.


do you have images like that? when youre about to fall asleep...

comforter..soft pillow...

dark empty apartment...

leaves scratching around outside..       .then....

      

  violence...injuries...destruction. cities ablaze. cites under the waves?


or is it something more subtle?....like your famiy moving away one by one...?

or even..

.uneven development...one here...one there. 

one here. 


one job. two jobs. 

three jobs...


small town in the middle of the city... security camera talk show hosts....touring those streets you loath.


something is out of your control.... and in the worst of these dark little thoughts youre not doing anything. connected to everything...but .just watching...

cartoons


...


pffhh....its just been a long week. think too much about certain things and then-

 pop goes the weezle between my ears!


(this blog is so free and huge and open to me... i love it.. i wonder how many people are on livejournal anyway)


and i guess on another point...

i dont want this job anymore. i dont like the people anymore. i dont like myself here.

 its a certified green architecture company and  i draw the pictures of what everything is supposed to look like.


we're responsible... we're cutting edge... and a big part of me is proud that im doing what im doing....

but its a bit over the top...

 there are even green file folders. green ties. hybrid cars and organic cereal bars...


shit.. i mean i turn on nbc late at night and they have a green peacock


and these fucking stupid shoes. and this stupid fucking shirt that i bought a while back thinking it would be an impressive look for someone young like me...

but ive lost a bit of weight since then and now it looks like a bulgy sheet on me...

i feel silly...


i have a crush on a different girl this time...someone i work with...

i look at her shyly and smile whenever we pass each other... usually after our 'team' meetings in the conference room...

i think tomorrow im gonna offer her a cereal bar from the kitchen nook as shes walking by...

i better figure out something interesting to talk about... she looks like shes into movies... 

i wonder if she likes young frankenstein...


im a bit worried though that these will just end up being drawings of things other people build...

know what i mean...

hmm...

when i get home... ill have a tumbler of wine. turn on the news. and maybe ill start painting again.


or maybe ill train a messenger pigeon to write these notes to everyone... it will be a super-pigeon that will know exactly where to go..and itll be able to fly forever..

and itll know what time of day is best for certain areas of town due to wind and temperature and updrafts and all that...

and itll know all the right people to send these messages to... and we'll start an army of poets liberating each other from these cubicle blues...

ya right!


or better yet!!!

maybe everyone will read this!!


i mean its free right? all you have to do is have access...


well back to work...

ciao



direction:


once this inner monologue/blog entry is done we see owen's boss rachel walk out of her glass walled office into the cubicle room...she walks past owen's cubicle space and the camera zooms to her hands texting a message to her girlfriend. shes wearing a eggplant colored blouse and a blood donor pin..