Another Brick In the Wall by Alex Reuhdanz

Alex Reuhdanz

Mr. Santopadre

Philosophy

19 September 1995

“I don't know how to live. Every second that goes by is a minute wasted. My heart pumps for no one. My telephone rings, and all I can do is acknowledge that I feel nothing. I am in good health, but one day my knuckles will break. Who invented the pound key? Does anyone get paid for imagining the receiver? Why is the chord curled? Who is this?”

Let's break down a second chance as presented to us. The first thing I find funny is the idea of a first chance, but then again, as a writer, James Baldwin was once asked whether black writers had a better chance now (the 1970s) than previously. His reply, “Listen, a writer, black or white, does not have a chance. Nobody wants a writer until they are dead.” “So you’re saying there is a chance.” - Lloyd Christmas

I believe in chances, but I do not believe in numerical antidotes attached to them. The 70th or 7th time one tries to do anything is like saying I’ve been to this ice cream parlor 104 times and the ice cream finally doesn’t taste like shit. There are those who like to invade privacy, need a syllabus, and a whole lot of Kleenex to go to bed, and even then, their dreams most likely resemble a nipple being torn in two. They wake up and use this image as an excuse for their behavior, but these are the same people who dream about a rose garden. The same ones who wake up and say this is my chance, as if they're a foot away from catching that perpetual closing door of chances, which begs us to ask, is it closing? Sounds like it’s perpetually opening.

My enemy is numerical, my target is luck, and I aim to kill success by any means necessary. Success is someone’s vision of your value. Luck is communicating with the right person. Chance is perception, and all three are illusions, whims of our mind. Open another dictionary, and you’ll find chance is courage, luck is knowledge, and success is your reaction to your endeavors. You can fail at getting your screenplay made into a motion picture at the same time you succeed in writing a screenplay that is still shopping for a home. I wonder how many people on a battlefield have cried upon hearing that they lost a leg, but the medical staff was able to save the other. Pain is a gift; nothing good did not have physical pain that preceded it; Childbirth, relationships, basketball, Iwo Jima, etc. It is why Nepo-children usually build sandcastles of subjective crap, but on the other hand, it is fascinating that when all your basic needs are taken care of, more often than not, that person turns to creating art. Cooking is an art, but you don’t hear or read about Demi Moore’s children making pasta; they’re usually acting, painting, or patronizing. How different this century would have been if the Titanic had not sunk and Peggy Guggenheim hadn’t had an inheritance to spend on a bunch of weirdos. Along with the world wars, Emmet Till, and a bomb, I’d place an iceberg hitting a ship in a list of why the world looks the way it does today, and it was the iceberg that hit the ship. It was looking for it, letting others pass, Mr. Santopadre, and waiting for the right one. It did this without a brain or heart; it had courage and whatever those red slippers Dorothy knicked from a corpse. The ones that fit her perfectly, almost too perfectly, just like the house that landed on the victim. Whose house? Dorothy’s. Dorothy is a psychopathic killer who will do anything to get to Kansas, a place she claims to hate. How convenient those shoes didn’t get crushed. Chance? Luck? I think not. That house was too successful, and as soon as she got those slippers, she booked it down a yellow-brick road for the city. There’s a scene where she meets the witch, and you can see the munchkin she hung in the background. That munchkin had The Myth of Sisyphus in its pocket and knew suicide is not the answer. Dorothy hung that munchkin because it was following her. My friends and I recently put on Dark Side of the Moon after the MGM lion roars a third time. Mr. Santopadre, do you subscribe to the Fort Wayne Journal Gazette? Pink Floyd successfully paired Dark Side of the Moon with The Wizard of Oz. Chance is courage, luck is knowledge, and success is your reaction to your endeavors. The band denies it, but talk to the iceberg that sank the Titanic, and it’ll say the same thing: nothing. Language is not natural! We had thoughts before we ever spoke, Mr. Santopadre, and what drives our morality? Talking to one another. Open dialogue. Man is a vicious creature, Mr. Santopadre. Without language, we’re killers. So maybe that is why language was invented? Perhaps the first words uttered by our ancestors were, “Please, stop.”

I know I’m getting a bit off topic, but this is philosophy, and philosophy, I’ll argue, is the language of the universe, the only two things without a known boundary, and what a terrifying day that would be if a boundary were discovered. If Voyager 1 hits a wall, we’re fucked. Monkey’s in a cage. Children in a marble. What’s on the otherside of the wall? The Garden of Eden, or as Roger Waters put it at the end and beginning of The Wall, “Isn’t this where we came in?”

Alex,

I’m going to let you rewrite this, and I agree with our ancestors, “Please, stop.” The assignment is, “Does money equal freedom?” and please refrain from using profanity. I don’t want to see you in Dr. Goier’s office again. If luck is knowledge, let's communicate the right way.

Mr. Santopadre

P.S.-Going to an ice cream parlor 104 times is hilarious.