I’m standing at a urinal in a bar, and there, written in black marker in front of me, is the word Fuck!
There are times when I feel like an alien; a visitor from other origins. Differences in the double helix can not account for this. It seems unlikely I am composed of the same elements. Who are these people? Questions abound:
Is this a private compulsion, or is this the kind of daring act one brags about in an attempt to elicit “high fives”?
Is this a one time Fuck! or is this just one event in a series of daring guerrilla assaults aimed at giving it to The Man?
This Fuck! is written in black magic marker. No one just happens upon a black magic marker in their pants pocket while peeing. That makes this a premeditated Fuck! This Fuck! is the culmination of a series of thoughts that began well outside of the bathroom. Our graffiti artist stepped up to said urinal with knowledge and forethought. Was it the awesome expanse of white “canvas” that threw him off, or was Fuck! always the final goal?
It’s certainly not the graffiti I take issue with. I like graffiti. A nice dirty limerick is a nice way to kill some time while relieving oneself. Hell, even random and stupid assertions I can more easily understand. Racism, Sexism, Homophobia, these things at least have an easily identifiable theme, but Fuck! has a strangeness to it that I can’t shake.
So I finished up in the bathroom and walked out into the bar. The air feels decidedly thick. I suspect on my home world the air would be sweeter and easier to breath.
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[...] Things like this make me feel disconnected, from everything. I feel like I am missing some key human ingredient. Half a million people are in on a joke that I would not understand even if it was explained to me. It’s a lonely feeling when you can’t relate to what you see around you. [...]