Been a long while since I’ve put any writing up, so I thought I would stick this up. Just really some thoughts from a fictional perspective… It was done to develop a character in something I’m writing, so… Enjoy, I guess.
For all of you who don’t know me that well, I get my pens from a manufacturer called Parker’s Pens. They’ve been advertised as “state of the art” and “revolutionary”, but frankly, I don’t see how a pen can be all that revolutionary. I mean, yes, they are silver plated, with a solid gold tip and rhodium highlights, but it’s not like I know what that shit means, and if I did, I highly doubt that it would at all impact the way the pen works!
And the piece of shit pen broke.
I write a complaint. Send it off in the mail. And guess what? The company doesn’t exist anymore.
What happens now? I mean, that pen was me! It defined me! It was the single most important tool I have, and now it feels as if any way of identifying myself is gone…
I think I’m having some kind of existential crisis. I’ve had writer’s block now for a full two days and things aren’t getting better. I don’t even have a pen to write with, so it’s not like I can work… I’ve lost any sort of sense or purpose of who I am…
This is not a good sign.
I have to say, on my top ten list of anxieties, the pen has jumped to maybe number three, pushing my fear and allergy of cats into a distant fourth. I suppose the pen situation really just contributes to the top two on the list; my writer’s block and my existential crisis. And it’s not like this is my first existential crisis! No sir. This is my fourth. MY FOURTH.
First as an infant. Then again during puberty, God don’t even get me started about that one. And then two in the last month. I’m gaining weight at an alarming rate; the number of aerosol sprays and whipped toppings in my household have drastically increased. All because of the damned pen.
A plated silver fountain pen, with a solid gold tip. This solid gold tip is detailed with rhodium highlights.
What kind of world is it where a writing utensil has to be this ornate, a work of art for Christ’s sake? We’re signing permits for a 12 billion dollar sports stadium in Dallas with a 300$ pen while someone for Arkansas just died of starvation(Don’t kid yourself; starvation isn’t only for 3rd world countries). Building multi-million dollar churches and synagogues, while there’s child labor in Asia. Filming big budget, made-for-TV documentaries detailing the starvation in Africa and what other people should be doing about it.
Doesn’t anyone else see a problem with this?
What exactly do you think this is doing to us, doesn’t it seem as if it’s tearing us apart inside, making us go mad with jealousy and pity and rage all at the same time?
I guess we all go a little mad sometime.
The world is having an identity crisis; we can’t concentrate, we can’t focus, we can’t decide which of our copious number of problems we should solve first, but most importantly: we have no idea who we are. Where we belong in our bleak and meaningless universe.
And neither do I.
I am having an existential crisis. The second this month, actually. And if I could just get another pen, feel the cold and lifeless touch of it’s solid gold tip with rhodium highlights…
It would all be okay.
– Sean Newton, copyright 2011.