When they talk about the miracle of life they always show–without fail–some idyllic scene with beautiful bodies and some mystical abstract dance of cells and pulsing bits. But where’s the horror in that? When your stepfather is going all brazos locos on your ass, doesn’t he still represent a perfectly choreographed dance of synchronized biological wonder? It’s funny that form doesn’t really follow function–not really. I mean sure, you can tell by his face that the man chasing you down the alleyway with a jagged piece of glass is upset, but does it really change his form? Does it split his face down the center to let spray a fountain of pus and redolence? Does a meshwork of dark sinew reach out from his crotch? I daresay not. He too is a poetic symbiosis, and you never even stopped to consider that, not for a second.

So what are these shapes we’re trapped in? Have you ever really looked at your hand? What an odd-shaped thing to be attached to, and with little shells at the tips. Why are we not perfectly spherical? It seems that a sphere is the natural form of a thing influenced only by itself. Anything not spherical then represents a reaction to external forces, an intent to head in one direction or the other. It’s like the perfect story: In the perfect story nothing happens. It’s when you take the decisions, and you’re actually whittling away at infinite possibility, that any action happens. And I’m certainly no fan of action.

When I was a wee tyke I had an irrational fear that my head was oblong. Kind of like Giger’s alien. I was so self-conscious about it that I didn’t like people approaching me from the side. I would turn my head to face them whenever possible to avoid being seen from a perspective from which my misshapen head would be obvious. I don’t think that way anymore, but it doesn’t matter so much anyway, because in my mind I am a sphere.

What is it when the jar lid is on too tight, but you’re the only one who ever opens your jars, so really you’re just mad at yourself? What’s that? This is the now self–hugely wizened, of course–angry at the former, lesser self. But look: you’ll screw the lid on extra tight this time just out of spite for your future self. See if you can open that, you fuck. Now it’s on good.

What with all that anger? Can’t you just get along with yourselves? Are you trying to start a riot?

And what is it when you clear the last plate from the sink, and there, caught at the bottom of the drain screen, is one single fusilli noodle that escaped hours ago, and you find yourself getting sentimental over it? Is that normal? You stand there peering down at the lone fusilli noodle, and you think of all its friends who made it out after being in their box together for so long, and here lies a lone remnant, cold now, and… diminished somehow. You pick up the pale flaccid spiral and drop it into the garbage bag with grave resignation. Then you rub your fingers as you look out the window.

But again, maybe it’s better than the alternative: unadulterated rage. Nice try you pasta fuck! Come here, the drain’s too good for you. And you add it to the other escaped pastas in that crawlspace behind your toilet.

What’s that all about? That’s not normal at all.

Get better soon.

From “Tools of Survival in the 21st Century,” Chapter 18.

Another possibly soul-decimating experience is seeing someone from some distance away. Assuming you know the person, how do you go about filling the time from the point you make eye contact to the point where you might engage them in a witty exchange without rupturing the eardrums of the people in your immediate vicinity?

There’s no escaping it now–your fate was sealed at the point of eye contact, when you unwittingly acknowledged them by meeting their gaze. This is tantamount to entrapment, of course, but the burden remains on you to maintain some semblance of social grace, even though you are quite aware that they’re watching how you walk even now.

Are you a loper? Do you swing to and fro like an orangutan when you walk? Do you bob your head like Gomer Pyle, or shuffle your feet? Or maybe you shuffle just one foot. Perhaps you’re completely lopsided. You can feel invisible forces of realization tugging you to the side even now, and this person is witness to the entire humiliating scene.

But these thoughts alone aren’t what keep you from maintaining eye contact throughout your journey. Rather, it’s because you don’t want to present yourself as predatory. No one maintains eye contact while they’re walking except for certain types of cats who weigh more than you do, so it’s an acceptable social behavior that you would look away as you continue. That’s well and good, but the burden remains to be addressed.

As you approach your comrade it is essential that you do not look at your surroundings, for the danger exists that you will make eye contact with yet another acquaintance, and that might very well destroy you. Instead, allow your face to go slack as if you are somewhat lost in thought, and look down at the ground in front of you.

Caveats: First, do not think too hard about anything. If your face is frozen in a wince, or if you cave in to the pressure and begin to weep, then why bother even trying to fit in? Why did you leave the house this morning? Why even clean the vomit from around the empty coffee can next to your bed? And second, be sure to tilt your head down when you engage in facial neutrality, and not just your eyes. You are aiming for contemplative, not besieged by inner voices. Only one type of person forgets to move their head: a psycho. So look down correctly.

Now, when to reengage? No peeking! A psycho peeks, because a psycho sees things that aren’t there. Your goal, in contrast, is to not see things that are there, and to do it in a way that seems natural even though you planned it all out weeks ago, and have been practicing in your basement using the trusty doll-head that you stole from your little sister in grade six.

You’re coming up on the person a little too quickly, so slow down. To convey a laissez faire demeanor, manufacture an itch, even if you don’t have one. Scratching an itch has been shown to be a social disarmer, as long as you’re not scratching incessantly at your eyes or tongue.

And at last you’re close enough to them that you can see them in your peripheral vision. Now it’s up to you: you are free to engage them in friendly conversation (as covered in Chapter 12). Remember that it is not always possible to come off as a “normal,” but you should always strive to keep the choking, gasping sobs at bay for as long as possible.

Good job! Later on, as you squeegee the last of the Crisco from the can with your tongue, you can look back on your encounter as a successful step in your ongoing, pathetic quest for social integration.

Tell me, did you see that brief light? It fell fast, but when I looked it was still there, farther away, but in the same place. Did you hear that there are children on Mars? They found them hiding among the rocks, and even though they smiled, they would not speak of their homes. Did you see the cow painted on the face of the moon? It was flat, but its eyes would blink and follow you as you danced. The houses, they were made of blocks, and everything fit together just so. Did you see that? And if you did, where did it go?

Did you ever find a music box behind a crate in the attic that still played the song your mother used to hum? It was sad to be moving away from there, I’ll bet. And did you notice the marks on the back of your hand? Do you remember the book with the pages ripped out? You could still see the stress creases on the ragged flaps that remained, and they brought back…

The refrigerator clicking on, and the crickets outside, and the door that no one else could see that was there, sometimes. The figurines. The lace, the ribbon, and the bell (kept from before). Did you ever wonder why they could only see you when you saw them? The whispering, the magnets in the walls, and the secret passage that you suddenly remembered forgetting? Did you find out who it was who was living in your room when you got back? Did you read about the elephants being born with no tusks? Green lollipops? Did you hear the ticks as the house settled? That’s normal, especially in the summertime.

But if you find out what to do, and about what happens next, let me know.