dust

This story contains no sybolism. I dislike symbolism simply because I detest ambiguity. However, if this story were hypothetically rife with symbolism, perhaps "symbolism" would serve as a symbol for "plot". In some stories writers do an awful good job of creating symbols. In that case I find myself wondering why they don't just do away with the symbols and tell us what's on their minds. It's only one step away.

In this story, if "symbolism" were really symbolic for "plot" I would have just stopped at one line: "This story contains no plot". And that would be the end of it. The end of the story I mean. Obviously it wouldn't be the end of the symbolism, because there wasn't any to begin with. I assure you, if my entire story consisted of the line, "This story contains no plot," neither "story" nor "plot" would be symbolic for anything. Like I said, not only do I generally dislike symbolism, I particularily detest vague symbolism. So you can be sure I wouldn't do that to you.

However, now that I reflect on what I've said I realize that I've made a slight contradiction. First I said I "detest" symbolism and then I said that I "generally dislike symbolism". And seeing that I've surely made it clear that I "detest" ambiguity, I feel as though I'm obligated to clear this little misstep up. Actually I have a rocky relationship with symbolism. I don't like to use it, and I don't like to have to think about it while I'm reading a story. That is why this story contains no symbolism. On the otherhand, in order to be absolutely sure that the reader is aware there is no symbolism in this story I have to go out and say it. There's really no other way for the reader to be sure. Therefore symbolism is unavoidable.

Readers have a nasty habit of inferring symbolism where in fact none exists. I bet if I ended this story right now you'd still think that "symbolism" is a symbol for "plot". Even though I already said it wasn't; you can never trust your readers. For all I know they may have interpretted my denial of symbolism within this story as a symbol in itself. So I find myself in a bit of a conundrum. How can I make sure the reader understands that there is no symbolism within this story if the reader is free to take the sentence, "This story contains no symbolism," as a symbol in itself (thereby negating it's literal meaning)? I can't think of a way right now. Therefore I'm just going to end this story by saying, "This story contains no symbolism."

"Liquipedia Strategic Q&A - Episode II". Oh man I am psyched. And the experts? Heroes every one of them. And I play Zerg... This should be great! But what's this? No one's posted yet... Hmmm let me think, is there anything relevant I should post? I have quite the opportunity here: the first post is always read. The potential energy is tangible... Oh Jesus. No Dust, you are NOT going to post THAT... Not only is it completely irrelevant, it's just "retarded". THINK about it for a minute. O Lord, this is what I get for taking Wombo Combo as a self-prescribed antidepressant. (Administer twice daily).

An exercise in mental fortitude: not to post "my dick is hard". Why my brain should struggle so mightily with itself over something so stupid I shall never completely comprehend. Such is life though. Such is my life... So I must wait it out obviously. I cannot bring myself to post anything but "my dick is hard"... In my mind, it is Optimum Post. It is the ONLY post that I can envision. However, is it worth a ban? Should I martyr myself for the sake of my own sick humor? Hard to say... very hard to say. Maybe if I just wait a few minutes, think it through, someone will have posted in that time and I won\'t even have to deal with it... That's probably best.

Refresh. OK, it's been 10 minutes and still no post. I find myself spiraling towards madness. Literally. When I close my eyes all I can see is the word "madness" spinning neon, leaving trails of light, moving steadily closer. It's like I'm some drunken fool driving madly towards Vegas, eager to throw away what's left of my worth. I have typed "my dick is hard" into the comments box and deleted it about 10 times by now. I'm beginning to reflect upon the situation in a more and more philosophical manner. It's become a test of my humanity. Can I resist this subhuman craving? Can logic trump subconscious desire? Given that I currently have a rather large scab on the underside of my penis, as result of wacking off so goddam much, I can't really rate myself too highly in terms of mental strength. However, this is TL, and I need this. I cannot afford a ban right now. If I get banned I might even miss this event... Also, I need to know what that "Premonition" post means ASAP. I must know with 100% certainty. OK then, so I'll just go outside and smoke a few cigarettes and try and take my mind off things. And if I get back and no one's posted, well, I'll take it from there.

20 minutes and no first post... Have to admit I'm a little baffled by this. There's a giant banner on the front page announcing this... why o WHY has no one made a post yet? Anything will do... Obviously there has to be a higher power at work here. Perhaps it's a vast conspiracy engineered by the TL staff to weed out the freaks and trolls. Perhaps it's an intricate trap wherein there will never be a first post. And the admins are just waiting with their mouse pointers on the ban button for a troll to reveal himself... The longer I wait the more plausible this is beginning to sound. At this point it is obvious I cannot trump my desires with logic alone. The only thing preventing me from making the post now is embarrassment. The knowledge that not everyone on TL is as vile a person as I am. I have to remember that I am the only one who will derive any pleasure from such a post. I have to revert to pack instinct to save face here. But what to do? I can't just keep typing, deleting, and retyping this absurd comment. And I can't keep refreshing the page to wait for some hero to come along and make a post. I've read and reread the ingredients on every food wrapper and bottle in my room. This is the past time of a mad man obviously. I should have seen this psychological collapse coming. I can tell you the top 5 ingredients of every item carried in a convenience store... It's a miracle my mind has made it to this point running relatively smoothly. I have to get out of here. Ok I guess I'll walk over to the Campus Cafe and buy a cup of coffee...

30 goddam minutes. It's been 30 goddam minutes and no one's made a post yet. So it's finally happened. I've lost my mind and am beginning to see things. There's just no way no one's made a post yet. There's just no friggin way. I could make a topic in the General Forum about the pros and cons of a fiber rich diet and get a response in 10 minutes. iNcontrol could post a replay with "4 pool'd lol" in the description and he'd get a response in less then 15. There are 500+ people logged in right now. I cannot take much more of this. My fingers are practically typing "my dick is hard" by themselves. I've accidently Googled it about 5 times at this point. So now I have to worry about some friend finding that in my search history and having to awkwardly explain myself, while at the same time knowing he's not going to believe a word I say. I've given myself an erection reflecting on the phrase so intensely. However, all I can focus on is the comment box... And now, when I close my eyes, all I can see is dicks floating aimlessly through space. If the situation remains stagnant much longer I'm going to find myself with a whole new sexual orientation. And I'm not sure I like that idea, not at all. OK then... 5 minutes. I'll give it 5 minutes and then I'm going for it. I just don't give a fuck anymore. Never have I been so utterly aware of my own vulgar stupidity. Frustration fades and depression sets in. I'm a freak. This is not what was supposed to happen. This is not the kind of life I promised myself. If my 18 year old self could see me now, paralyzed by my own inanity, I'd probably have no trouble jumping in front of an 18 wheeler. Refresh. Refresh. REFRESH. REFRESH.

Absolution. A post has been made. At 34 minutes since OP. I don't even bother reading it, I see that's it's longer than 4 words. I don't care who it's by. I need to get out of here. I need to go reflect over what I\'ve put myself through over the past 30+ minutes. The adrenaline is slowly receding. My vision isn't blurry anymore. I've noticed that I've accidently sent "my dick is hard" to half the people on my buddy list. This is not a situation I'm ready for at the moment. Those people will have to be left offended and/or wondering for a while. I've got to go do something meaningful with my life. I have to win back some self respect or I'm going to be in a foul mood for the rest of the day. I need to go find a woman. I need to clear all the dick imagery from my mind. I need to make a misguided search for love. And I need alcohol too. I'm going to the bar.

I'm a graduate student at UConn and I currently reside in a dormitory with around 10 people on my floor. 10 guys, and we all share a bathroom. Now, in order to understand the complexities of the situation of which I am about to describe, it is important to note that none of us are really good friends with each other. We're all grad students and we're basically all pretty busy and already have a close knit group of friends (I would hope). I mean, we're all friendly and say "hey" to each other and such, but I have yet to sit down and have a drink with anyone on my floor or share a meal, and I have definitely not brought up the issue of bathroom protocol with anyone.

Now the odd little situation which I find myself a part of goes something like this... There are 2 toilets in our shared bathroom, just 2, and physically the toilets and stalls are identical. Yet somehow, through mutual psychic consensus, 1 of them has been dubbed the "piss bowl" and the other the "shit bowl". That is, I have never, this entire semester, seen the "piss bowl" with the lid (or rim thingy, or whatever it's called) down, and I have never seen the "shit bowl" with the lid up. Not once. And after realizing the unspoken pact I was a part of during the first few weeks of the semester, I have been diligently checking on both toilets every time I'm in the bathroom, even if I'm just in there to shower or brush my teeth. It has been 8 weeks and I have recorded no abnormalities.

Therefore I find myself astonished not only by the rapidity of the system's adoption, but also the complete and utter consistency of the phenomenon. With all the random people moving in and out of our dorm floor, you would think I would have recorded a deviation in a lid's position... I mean there are friends, colleagues, girl friends, fuck buddies, parents, siblings, just all kinds of people moving in and out of that dorm every day, and yet the position of the lids never change.

Recently I became suspicious that the lids must have been cemented down or something. However, my all too human mind was having trouble fathoming such power, such concentrated group psychology manifest. I knew it was not my place to move those lids... in fact, the whole system reeks eerily of religion. I could not bring myself to sin against such perfect coordination. So I waited, I waited for the one person with enough gall and ignorance to dare manipulate the sacred angles of those lids: the janitor.

So I waited carefully with a shared sense of excitement and foreboding... for about a week's time... and of course, sure enough, a Hispanic women showed up. Too riled up to feel the pangs of awkwardness this stereotype would typically inflict on me, I frantically dug through my drawers for every bathroom product available to me... So soon I stood there in the bathroom, alternatively brushing my teeth, applying facial scrub, and clipping my nails. I must have looked like quite the manic depressive metrosexual, but by this point my eyes were locked onto the position of the toilet she was cleaning while my hands and arms were moving with the determined, automatic drive of a tank's treads.

What did I see? WHAT DID I SEE? Bending over the "piss bowl" she skillfully relaxes the lid into that forbidden angle of pi over 2 radians with the dignity of a medieval nun handling a religious relic... and proceeds to clean the lid. Now what does she do? She does not get up and walk away. Oh no, somehow she knows! I don't know how she knows but she knows! My heart practically bursts out of my chest like a fucking xenomorph as she raises the lid to it's rightful, god given position. The rites have been observed today gentlemen, and those angles will continue to remain fixed, far after I graduate. Oh yes. And 80 years from now, when I return for one for flush, one more pilgrimage to the happy shitting grounds, those lids will still be fucking perpendicular.