A Self Made Monster by Steven Vivian

Author:Steven Vivian [Vivian, Steven]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781932482027
Publisher: C&M Online Media, Inc.

Chapter Twenty: Monkeyshines

Jimmy cursed as he trudged to his first class. He cursed for the same reason an angry infant screams: to vent rage. The curses made no sense, but they felt good, a random string of words and images. Jimmy told himself that goddamned spring break went faster than tits on a dolphin and I hate that fucker Resartus more than a tart hates boils on my, on my ass.

However, Jimmy didn’t hate Algebra enough to stay awake. He sat in the back, chin on his hand, and kept his snores to a minimum.

He did hate his history course enough to stay awake. Pompous Dr. Jones. A four hundred pounder whose ten-year-old suits were stained, and whose yellowed shirts strained at each button.

But Resartus was the worst. Jimmy had expended a lot of energy hating Professor Jones’s nasal self-importance, and he was tired. He fantasized that Resartus had called in sick.

No such luck. Resartus was already in front of the lectern, shuffling his notes. Jimmy hurried to the last row and wondered what bullshit Resartus would fry up today.

Alex adjusted his sky blue tie before beginning his lecture. He had not worn a tie in several years, and it felt alien. But he liked it. He felt refreshed and wanted to convey his refreshment with the tie, and with the rather sporty tweed jacket.

“I hope your spring break was as good as mine was, ladies and gentleman.” A few murmurs, mostly frowns.

“That’s wonderful,” Alex smiled. “Now. Let me see if I can reduce you to tears of boredom by 2:50.” He took a deep breath, like a tenor before his solo, and launched into his lecture. “We are nearing that section of the course where we study black humor and its underlying philosophy. The philosophy of black humor is wonderfully uncomplicated: life is absurd. In other words, it’s pointless. If we look for meaning, we don’t find it. Nothingness. Religion? Forget it! God? Another childish wish. Love? It’s really just the small comfort of someone’s company before you or the lover gets sick and dies. Or dumps you. Philosophy? A distraction for shut-ins. Absurdism is in direct opposition to much of our most venerable Western thought. For instance, Plato argued that when we followed reason…”

Students furiously took notes, periodically pausing to shake their cramping hands. Others simply stared at Alex. His energy and organization shocked them.

His voice was effortlessly audible—in fact, it boomed. He gestured, he paused dramatically, he even abandoned his notes and offered a mini-lecture on Jean Paul Sartre, the existentialist philosopher: “…and many modern authors are inspired by Sartre’s novel Nausea, in which the protagonist viscerally confronts the pointlessness of his existence. Furthermore, the protagonist finds that…” And out poured a fraction of the countless hours of reading Alex had committed as a teen and young man, locked in a bedroom or exiled in an apartment, address unknown.

Alex picked up steam as the hour unfolded. As class was about to end, Alex stepped forward. “I’ve enjoyed this lecture tremendously, as I’m sure you have.

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