The first thousand words of NOEL
Part I, Chains Shall He Break
Chapter 1, "Daylight in an Open Meadow"
“I am a drug dealer. That is what they call my profession, and that is my purpose, that is my reason. I help people escape, help them clear the darkness from their minds, cause chaos and confusion to dissipate, and give them pure joy, pure emotion, pure feeling. I let the common people focus on something other than their miseries. I support it, encourage it...supply it. I make money, and people get what they want. Everybody wins. Everybody is happy.
“So why am I feeling so awkward all of a sudden? I’m getting this strange, conflicting, icy thing going on in my brain. But with the sharpness of that ice comes the strange warmth of daylight in an open meadow....And those words just came to me, to my mind, so don’t blame me for their cheesiness. Meadows...as if there are any in Los Angeles, or at least the parts I do business in. I haven’t seen a meadow in years. And yet I remember it. And it isn’t even the time of year for sunny meadows to be in vogue. It’s winter. Christmas. Christmas Eve, to be exact, now that I think about it. Hm. I didn’t even realize it was already the season I was named after...maybe I should cut the prices on my stuff tonight in honor.
“That awkward feeling...it’s telling me something. Perhaps it’s telling me that I’m just rationalizing it, that ‘pure joy, pure emotion’ nonsense. Perhaps I do realize in my head that it isn’t a noble profession. But must a profession be ‘noble’ to be worth doing? What about those fools who bottle beer, or manufacture tobacco cigarettes? I’ll bet those kill more people and ruin more lives than my profession does...but there I am, putting my so-called ‘purpose’ and ‘reason’ on the same level as murderers, liars, and thieves. Could it really be so bad? Does my unconscious mind really think it the same as —
“Let’s think further on my mindset, on my personality, my paradigm, my perspective, and try to classify myself. I am a skeptic, I suppose, but I don’t think I’m very cynical. How does that even work? I guess I’m a happy, outgoing fellow, but I don’t believe everything I hear, I’m disinclined to accept the unacceptable.
“Things like Christmas. What does it even mean? A holiday for all things nice in the world? What’s the point of that? Shouldn’t we always be like that? Perhaps, however, we need a day just to get our bearings straight and reorient ourselves to such niceness. Kind of like New Year’s Resolutions, which I suppose might be classified as being for one’s self, while Christmastime is just for people to start being nice to each other again. Is that the purpose of Christmas? No...it seems to me that’s the purpose of life. Or should be, anyway. To lift up our fellow man and support each other.
“That’s what I do, and why I do it. The purpose of my life, the purpose of my profession. The reason I exist.
“Is that really why I do it? Hah. What a rationalization. What a trip. What a sidesplitting excuse. I do it for one reason and one reason only: it works for me, just as I work for it. I feel like I belong in this crowd. Not the drug doer crowd; I stopped that long ago; but the dealer crowd...we are above the shooters and the snorters...we are an elite class. That’s why it feels great...superiority, I suppose. Evolutionary psychology. It’s exciting, it has great returns, it fills my days but lets me determine what they are filled with. All of which translates into that one reason, I think: it’s fun. I fit into it. My viscera desires it, thrives on it.
“There is another reason, I suppose: I’m good at it. It’s like a pianist’s hands on a piano — it takes a while to train them to adapt to the keys when they’re young, when they’re still learning. But now it’s totally natural; the hands flow across the ivory and the mind merely stands by, watching, waiting to correct while the heart, the emotions and the passion are what manipulate the instrument, what presses the correct keys in the correct order at the correct time to form beautiful music. I have been in every situation at least twice and thus know how to react to every situation, and it comes naturally, beautifully, passionately. I am a dynamic machine, knowing what to do in usual circumstances and how to adapt to the unusual. Again, the passion, the visceral feeling — it overcomes me, almost like H or coke...but in this case, I can choose.
“That’s it. I can choose. That’s what’s so disconcerting to me. The icy fire that’s pricking my brain. I have a choice; the drug-takers, not so much. Maybe I should choose to get out of this. Maybe I have more productive things to do with my time. Maybe what I’m doing isn’t supposed to be done. Maybe I’m —
“Maybe, maybe, maybe. What’s the use in maybes? I should decide. I will decide. After this last deal. The very last deal of my life. Not even a real deal, I don’t think...yeah, it’s just delivering the last of my leftover drugs to a friend. Just to get some extra cash while I find some new way to make money. A new way to pursue life, liberty, and happiness.
“The daylight in the open meadow...that phrase keeps coming back to me. Why? Perhaps because it is such an accurate representation of my emotional state right now — somewhat detached, somewhat carefree, somewhat daydreamy...and yet, totally in tune, with what I do not know, but I feel inspired somehow, I feel enlightened in some way. Maybe it will all lead to something on this cold Christmas Eve. Maybe. The world is full of possibilities.”
Next chapter: "Shut Up/Shoot Up"
-SALVARE
Chapter 1, "Daylight in an Open Meadow"
“I am a drug dealer. That is what they call my profession, and that is my purpose, that is my reason. I help people escape, help them clear the darkness from their minds, cause chaos and confusion to dissipate, and give them pure joy, pure emotion, pure feeling. I let the common people focus on something other than their miseries. I support it, encourage it...supply it. I make money, and people get what they want. Everybody wins. Everybody is happy.
“So why am I feeling so awkward all of a sudden? I’m getting this strange, conflicting, icy thing going on in my brain. But with the sharpness of that ice comes the strange warmth of daylight in an open meadow....And those words just came to me, to my mind, so don’t blame me for their cheesiness. Meadows...as if there are any in Los Angeles, or at least the parts I do business in. I haven’t seen a meadow in years. And yet I remember it. And it isn’t even the time of year for sunny meadows to be in vogue. It’s winter. Christmas. Christmas Eve, to be exact, now that I think about it. Hm. I didn’t even realize it was already the season I was named after...maybe I should cut the prices on my stuff tonight in honor.
“That awkward feeling...it’s telling me something. Perhaps it’s telling me that I’m just rationalizing it, that ‘pure joy, pure emotion’ nonsense. Perhaps I do realize in my head that it isn’t a noble profession. But must a profession be ‘noble’ to be worth doing? What about those fools who bottle beer, or manufacture tobacco cigarettes? I’ll bet those kill more people and ruin more lives than my profession does...but there I am, putting my so-called ‘purpose’ and ‘reason’ on the same level as murderers, liars, and thieves. Could it really be so bad? Does my unconscious mind really think it the same as —
“Let’s think further on my mindset, on my personality, my paradigm, my perspective, and try to classify myself. I am a skeptic, I suppose, but I don’t think I’m very cynical. How does that even work? I guess I’m a happy, outgoing fellow, but I don’t believe everything I hear, I’m disinclined to accept the unacceptable.
“Things like Christmas. What does it even mean? A holiday for all things nice in the world? What’s the point of that? Shouldn’t we always be like that? Perhaps, however, we need a day just to get our bearings straight and reorient ourselves to such niceness. Kind of like New Year’s Resolutions, which I suppose might be classified as being for one’s self, while Christmastime is just for people to start being nice to each other again. Is that the purpose of Christmas? No...it seems to me that’s the purpose of life. Or should be, anyway. To lift up our fellow man and support each other.
“That’s what I do, and why I do it. The purpose of my life, the purpose of my profession. The reason I exist.
“Is that really why I do it? Hah. What a rationalization. What a trip. What a sidesplitting excuse. I do it for one reason and one reason only: it works for me, just as I work for it. I feel like I belong in this crowd. Not the drug doer crowd; I stopped that long ago; but the dealer crowd...we are above the shooters and the snorters...we are an elite class. That’s why it feels great...superiority, I suppose. Evolutionary psychology. It’s exciting, it has great returns, it fills my days but lets me determine what they are filled with. All of which translates into that one reason, I think: it’s fun. I fit into it. My viscera desires it, thrives on it.
“There is another reason, I suppose: I’m good at it. It’s like a pianist’s hands on a piano — it takes a while to train them to adapt to the keys when they’re young, when they’re still learning. But now it’s totally natural; the hands flow across the ivory and the mind merely stands by, watching, waiting to correct while the heart, the emotions and the passion are what manipulate the instrument, what presses the correct keys in the correct order at the correct time to form beautiful music. I have been in every situation at least twice and thus know how to react to every situation, and it comes naturally, beautifully, passionately. I am a dynamic machine, knowing what to do in usual circumstances and how to adapt to the unusual. Again, the passion, the visceral feeling — it overcomes me, almost like H or coke...but in this case, I can choose.
“That’s it. I can choose. That’s what’s so disconcerting to me. The icy fire that’s pricking my brain. I have a choice; the drug-takers, not so much. Maybe I should choose to get out of this. Maybe I have more productive things to do with my time. Maybe what I’m doing isn’t supposed to be done. Maybe I’m —
“Maybe, maybe, maybe. What’s the use in maybes? I should decide. I will decide. After this last deal. The very last deal of my life. Not even a real deal, I don’t think...yeah, it’s just delivering the last of my leftover drugs to a friend. Just to get some extra cash while I find some new way to make money. A new way to pursue life, liberty, and happiness.
“The daylight in the open meadow...that phrase keeps coming back to me. Why? Perhaps because it is such an accurate representation of my emotional state right now — somewhat detached, somewhat carefree, somewhat daydreamy...and yet, totally in tune, with what I do not know, but I feel inspired somehow, I feel enlightened in some way. Maybe it will all lead to something on this cold Christmas Eve. Maybe. The world is full of possibilities.”
Next chapter: "Shut Up/Shoot Up"
-SALVARE
posted by Neal at
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