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| Toliver: 20:05:00
I suppose it was my own doing: I was aware that I was the only individual sitting at a table alone, but when he approached me, I checked again to make certain.
"How's it going, man?" He started. No real way for me to gauge how quickly this situation could have gone sower in so many ways. For some reason, my initial inclination was the presumption that he was most likely a member of some religious group fulfilling some quota or compulsion to speak to weary and unsuspecting individuals about the suspected reasoning of his internal drive to do so. I quickly looked around my table again to make sure I had nothing atop it to confirm the potential idea that I would be an ideal candidate for witnessing practice or that may have in some way provoked and/or challenged the foundation of said the/ideology. But from the way he continued to approach me, I concluded this was not the case. He continued, but his voice more quietly, "How'd you like to earn a little extra income while you're in college."
No name-tag. No marked apparel with familiar symbols or slogans. There was no way I could have known how long he might have stood across the room in search of the best target to approach. Possibly following some basis of principle such as an analysis of one's clothing, personal belongings in plain sight, or even that a lone one is statistically more susceptible to advertisement than a group; possibly some internal algorithmic logic he himself may have been unaware of. Either way, I see no realistic way for me not to have already made up my mind that I was not going to allow him to waste any more time than it would really require for me to get rid of him. I finished my chess game and logged off of ICC.
"Not interested." I said, though relatively quietly.
"What's that?" - He hadn't heard me.
"What are you representing?" I said; I had quickly reconsidered my stand. Not to mention this was actually quite a brilliant opportunity to practice my 'pretense-of-interest' facade - I could always use rehearsal.
I was seated, but from his stand to my side, 5' 10" in height is an estimation that I would consider nearly approximate. Slim waisted and veined arms; Short, spiked hair and a goatee that most likely required three weeks of his time to form. Light-toned polo with an unrecognizable logo atop his left Pectoralis major. And to note, the faint, yet recognizable tell of an amateur's insecurity mixed delicately with the masculine aroma of hollow confidence he sprays on before going out each day. But no, I had decided to give him a moment of my time - one among many which may have otherwise gone unproductively allocated.
Perhaps I was too quick to judge this individual's intentions; perhaps I am often too quick to conclude things based on limited perception. I adjusted my hat. I let free the mouse in my right hand [having selected the system clock at the bottom, right-hand corner of my laptop's display], leaned back and faced my acquaintance. I am, though, fairly accustomed to the criteria of facial expression that I may willingly indicate that one may press onward with one's presentation with my attention: I indicated this at that time. Yes, I had successfully prepared myself entirely for this venture of knowledge; yes, I had made the correct decision to hear him out. I was content with the circumstances.
"I want to tell you about this new kind of energy drink."
I felt as though my senses had betrayed me. I shan't again disregard my initial thoughts so easily. I allowed him to speak for ten seconds short of three minutes, including a request for possible brochures, information packets or business card. I humored another human being yet again with my attention. He briefly explained that there was an informational meeting in the library and that he wanted to extend his personal invitation to me for this event [which was open to all students.] This person never asked my name; he never introduced himself prior to representing his material or offered the traditional, cultural or formal courtesy of extending his hand as he first approached my table. The meeting began at 20:30.
I write this now: Tuesday, the third of November, 2009 Anno Domini; 20:31. | | |
| One seems to wear hats frequently as of late; more often recently than any given particular period of time previously. It is more specifically in fact the same hat under usual circumstances, though it is not unheard of that one may occasionally partake in the whimsical selection of the alternative. What is this seemingly developed enjoyment of said article of apparel? What is this new and captivating addiction to informality and conformity to ostensibly adolescent displays of fashionable taste or adornments? Can the sun simply be in one's eyes more often lately than in years of prior exposure? No. | | |
| I had decided to dismiss you; the thought of you. But here I am and you are, and I stare across at you; to you. It seems that I have not dismissed my thought. My thought is deniable. I am weak in days when I may be stronger. I have longed in days when I could have less. I do so long, but in what desire do I wish for desire, and in what place do I dismiss my desire to long no longer for your desires to be mine also? Deceive me. By what merit I do owe and what place am I yet that outside of time thought alone would remain with me. You are, to me, desirous. Life cannot be but a desire to be desired. | | |
| Is it enough to just be more accurate? Is there a requirement of personal satisfaction dependent on an outcome or result of situational pressure? I'd suppose there is no requirement. The idea of [or limit to] personal satisfaction is possibly one of the more [or only] potentially controlled variables in a stress-level equation; an otherwise disagreeable analysis. How much satisfaction one undertakes, or for what reason, can be solely dependent on the individual more so than the specific occasion or environment. Two can oppose and feel equally [or falsely] satisfied. | | |
| To what judge am I to appeal? Of passionless profession and may one aim to plea for strength but to imagine effortless breath in one's presence. Might one resist a longing for any sort of breath for life alone in short of one's dire and deserving grace alike? - magnificent life fills one's lung if only to cheapen it by thoughts of you. One's hand heeds no warning if only to carry the dragging rest of sanity alike along a road to be neither traveled nor wept for in such longing. Of adequate conclusion to one's own thought's worth, or by lack of the sort, any resolute, definite shape in darkness belonging to the mistress is her's to own. If by any deception one may consider, that in regards to one's soul, another might weep for something more earning for one's belief? And caution to be noted with or without consent of one's owner may question one's imagination, if comparable to that of the breath to be taken in one's lone presence; to be stolen when not. For my breath is stolen by your beauty and when not, I will not take it back. | | |
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