Tyler Fugazzie

What if I accidentally make a friend?
What if I achieve my dream by 25?
What if she says yes?
What if I say no?
What if I create every day?
What if I make great art every day?
What if I capture “those feelings” every day?
What if I always understand, even when I don’t understand?
What if I captured and shared something new?
What if there was always someone who connected with my creations?
What if I always believed in myself and my work?
What if I stopped questioning myself and started questioning the world?
What if I became financially independent by 30?
What if I became financially independent by 25?
What if I remember my soul?

No one will ever get you
No one will ever get you
You won’t even know who you are
And no one will ever get you
No one will ever get you
Every conversation will be a gross approximation
No one will ever get you
No one will ever get you
All you have to do is be yourself
And you will never find out who that is
You will never get you
You will never get you

1. Creative evolution and risking looking stupid by taking bold steps.
2. Independent thought, never letting another person tell me what to think when my mind is boundless and capable of freedoms seldom reached on physical/material planes.
3. Interacting with the world, with all of its symbols, rules, and inconsistencies, in a way that respects my shifting worldview.
4. Improving myself through improvisation and play is more effective than through guilt or expectations.
5. Experimenting with language and tools in ways that maximize expression.

*As of February-March 2015. Subject to change.

Quickly quickly quickly moved the four young men with trim haircuts and matching vaguely-fitting brown suits. They went to the registration table, and then to the check-in table, and then to the second registration table, which eliminated one of the men because he didn’t have the correct documentation. Three men remained, sweating through their suits, going up one floor to speak with the proper department, before being shuffled to another department to file another piece of documentation. One man waited on the line for nine minutes before realizing he was supposed to fill out the slip of paper at the front of the office before going on the line. Out.

The two finalists, true rivals, shuffled and shuffled their way up the floors. They finally reached the fifth floor and found themselves filling out another form. The man with the faster handwriting finished first. He submitted his form and was the only man of this group to qualify for the Red Tape Race.

Smart is smart. Devices running sophisticated software are smart. Dogs who know how to steal food from the kitchen counter when their owners are on vacation are smart. I’m smart all the times I’m not stupid.

If you have a high IQ, you’re smart. If you figure out a novel solution for preventing a wobbly table, you’re smart. If you instantly have a funny comeback, you’re smart.

Something I discovered today is that there’s a definition of smart that means “sharp stinging pain” as in “the smart of the cut on me knee.” The word “smart” derives from words that meant “to bite, sting” and the history of the word contains meanings of hurt, aching, and pain.

I find this to be an interesting double life for the word smart, since I’m so accustomed to its more common and mostly positive use. Next time you use the word to acknowledge a higher form of intellect, in capacity, speed, and precision, remember that you also might be calling that person, or yourself, a pain in the ass.

My roommates and I have been watching HBO’s Girls for the past two weeks. We started watching it as a somewhat-serious-somewhat-unserious agreement, and as a way to make fun of Lena Dunham, which is a watching habit that I bet is not dissimilar to the way many males in their mid-20’s become fans of the show.

I’m invested in the show, I care about the characters, I’m gripped by some of the situations, and I’m impressed with the ways the narrative moves. We’ve been watching episodes consistently after work, dinner, the gym, and whatever other daily errands need to be finished before we’re comfortable letting go of our realities for “realistic” fiction.

We’ve been binge-watching.

Binge-watching, the 21st century version of marathoning, is a phenomenon that’s possible thanks to on-demand streaming services like Netflix, Hulu, and HBO Go and endless options of high-quality programming. My lazy research says people say its not an entirely new phenomenon, but it definitely appeals to chronically-in-need-of-instant-gratification Millennials like myself and my friends.

We’ve also been following Casey Neistat’s Vlog 2015 project. Casey Neistat is a filmmaker I’ve been following for a few years now and is a major source of inspiration creatively, productively, and lifely. He’s had an HBO show, which he cites as a huge accomplishment for “making it” yet major failure for making him creatively complicit, he’s done the Sundance thing, he’s made great commercials for Mercedes and Nike, and he’s had some YouTube videos go viral.

He started this project as a way to force himself to make movies among his hectic schedule as he starts his own company.

Here’s a good one:

And another good one:

Watching Casey’s vlog is technically not binge-watching, as there’s only one latest “episode” to watch in a day, but I often re-visit his older materials in the same span of watching the new entires, and this is like a binge spread over the course of weeks.

Binge-watching happens when we have these kinds of viewing options and a busy work schedule and we want to follow stories at our own pace, whether it’s a sprint or a marathon.

“Thanks for calling Number Assignments Associated, this is Marina speaking, how may we help you today?”
“Yeah I need a reassignment.”
“Okay, can you please confirm your number?”
“1-800-555-5757”
“Checking…please hold…
…
……
………
Hello sir?”
“I’m still here.”
“Thanks for holding sir, it’s a pleasure to help you, I see that your original number was assigned by the Toll Free Number’s Association and you’ll have to contact them.”
“I called them and they told me I need to call here.”
“I’m sorry sir, but there’s nothing we can do on our end. What I can do is connect you to the Toll Free Number’s Association. Would you like me to do that?”
“No because I just talked to them and they said since I’m trying to get a new number assignment outside of the 555 range that I need to call the Number Assignments Association. I was given my Current Access Code and Security Pin, which should allow me to make this change.”
“…I understand sir. We thank you for allowing the Number Assignments Association to help. Hold on one moment while I transfer you…
…
If you are a new assignee, press 1, if you are an existing assignee and would like to renew your number, press 2, if you are an existing assignee and would like to cancel your number, press 3, if you are an existing assignee and would like to request a new number, press 4, for all other questions please hold.
…
You pressed 4…if that’s correct, please press 1…
…
You pressed 4…if that’s correct, please press 1 again…
…
You pressed 1 again, please hold…
…
……
………
Thank you…please explain your request for a new number.”
“I want people to take me more seriously. I want to stand for something real, and not just be an invention for movies and TV shows.”
“Thank you for your explanation. We appreciate your call here at Number Assignments Associated. Please hold while we evaluate your request.
…
……
………
Thank you for holding. We’re connecting you to one of our New Number Request Specialists, please hold.
…
……
………”

“I haven’t played ball in a while,” I tell the catcher as I dig my feet into the batter’s box. He gives me an empty, post-internet, expressionless look. He squats down.

I tighten my grip, and the bottom of the baguette begins crumbling under the pressure. The pitch comes and I swing for the fences beyond the fences, connecting with the sweet spot. The ball sails over the apartment wall and my temporary teammates cheer.

note: i thought of this piece after buying a baguette from a local grocery store and thinking back to my baseball days. after I published this I did some research and found a video online of people doing this as well as a facebook page devoted to the “sport”

He slides the window down until it almost touches the windowsill. He looks to his left, tip toes forward, looks to his right, tip toes forward, looks forward and stops tip toeing. He places a handmade card on the nightstand.

The next night, he walks into a trap.

“I know what you’ve been doing. Put your hands up.”

The man does as he’s told, dropping a construction-paper card on the floor. In the darkness, the source of the voice, comes some staggering. The shadow flicks on a light switch revealing a “Surprise!” banner.

An elderly woman hobbles over to the breaker-enterer. She gives him a hug, holding up a card that reads, “Have a Lovely Day Ms. Waters.”

“Five months in a row. I’ve been the happiest I’ve ever been because of these cards. Thank you. I just wish you didn’t have to be so sneaky about it.”

The man and the elderly woman share a tender hug. As the elderly woman gently roils in belonging, the man reaches behind her to grab a timepiece sitting on a countertop.

If I stay awake one more hour
I will have lived forever
I will have fought off the shadows
One final day
And basked in the glorycave
Of my nightish owllegory