the naming of the beast: a short tragedy of despair

dramatis personea:

A: the ‘artist’ known as Batmaninwuhan

B: the winds of change.

setting: early morning, disorganized and poorly lit living room.

A enters, turns on the light. goes to the kitchen, makes coffee. he pours in the last of the milk, shakes the carton, to get all of the liquid. he adds more water to make up the missing volume.the cup has never been cleaned and a thick brown petina is left inside. A drinks the coffee, examins the inside, quietly. he sits on the sofa, takes his laptop and begins to check his mailbox.

A: rejection letter...rejection letter...rejection letter...‘sorry but we can’t ’...‘unfortunstely...’...‘although we appreciate..’...rejection letter...rejection letter...

B appears.

A: oh, hi Winds of change. what’s happening?

B: same all same all...change...winds...

A: yeah...same here...can I get you anything?

B: like what?

A: I can do a coffee...

B: Espresso then...make it a double..

A: I have only instant. the coffee machine is with the limo I don’t have..

B: you don’t say..i always figured you to have a limo..

A: more like limo cleaning at best..

B oh..common...don’t be like that.

A: so..Instant coffee?

B: sure. milk, no sugar.

A: I can do the ‘no sugar’.

B : I see. fine then. instant with boiled water. you really are the master of hospitality.

A: sorry..I really didn’t expect you today..how about some cookies? (leaves to the kitchen).

B:(takes a peek at the laptop screen, then takes the computer in his lap. sitting , reading)

rejection letter, rejection letter...

A:(comes back with the coffee and cookies) here you go.

B:(takes a cookie, ) so....rejections huh?

A:yes. if there was a way to make money from rejection letters...

B:oh..don’t be so defeatist. it’s not the volume of the rejections you should look at. it’s the quality of them...

A: what do you mean?

B:are you kidding me? I know you are a caveman, but haven’t you figured out by now that all these rejection letters are mass produced?

A:no they’re not..

B:yes they are! you send emails , you juke the cover letters so it will have something personal from the agency...

A: so..?

B: they all give you this very formatted copy-paste thing , where they ..you know..‘appreciate your approaching them’ and then the good old ‘we have too much on our plate’ and then...‘better luck somewhere else , Mr. Wastebasket’”

A: but that’s my name. Balshazzar Wastbasket!

B: I know, I know , but every guy that reads this will never think seriously of your work. they read the name in the intro line and they jump to the cut and paste. they have an immidiate rejection window. it’s set up so easy..some intern has to go through all submissions. he’s hating everything about the job and that smarmy supervisor he has. you know, i visit other ‘winners’ too. trust me..he sees your name and he thinks waste of time. so even if your name was exotic in some pleasent way, he would not pass it on.

A: ok...so what should i do?

B: hold on...another problem, is that even if in some majestical, mystical moment, someone actually did bother to read the cover letter, and they were intrigued enough to ask for a serious sample AND read that, they would still have the problem that it’s mostly crap.

A: I see...

B: do you remember that Carl Sagan space show?

A: huh...

B: they talked a few times about the Fermi paradox.

A:why there’s no aliens?

B : no. why we haven’t found evidance of them! you know; ‘Billions of Billions of stars...’ but you quickly trim that number down. right conditions, no mass extinctinction...no nuclear war...

A:ok..so?

B: you are like that. there are billons of billions of publishers and agents. so why haven’t you found one to publish you?

A: cause the conditions...

B:(interrupts) cause of the conditions, man! the conditions! even if you wrote something, you fail because of this, even if not this, you fail over that...and if you somehow pass all that, and there is no nuclear war, you still do crap work.

A: so there is no hope?

B: for publishing? ’fraid not.

A: oh...i see.

B:but you feel that you want to continue writing, don’t you? it is still something you enjoy doing, right?

A:ah...yes..

B: then get on a website, write posts, maybe the people over there can even help you. could be...who knows..

A:which website?

B:how should I know?! (drinks the coffee) ooh this is terrible! even instant coffee you can’t do right...

A:(mumbles) the cookies help...

B:ok...the cookies...so..

A: so where should I go?

B: how should I know?! Google it!

A: Google doesn’t work here. this is China.

B: Not my problem. you figure it out. I’ve done my bit. you know, coming here is not fun for me. even coffee I don’t get. (gets up and disappears).

A: (looking at the cup for a while. then drinking the wind of change’s coffee. twisting his face, cause it’s too bitter. slowly turns to camera. reciting in a bored monotonous way) and so, after drinking the unwanted coffee, I started searching for help. as Google was unavailbale to me, in China, I was forced to use Bing. it sucks. but miraculously I found this site, prose.com. a new dillema faced me. how should I log in? if my name is so laughable.. could I face ridiculue or even persecution for the offense? or perhaps in true PC form, people would fake-smile cooly? I decided to avoid either possibility. but which name to choose? it was then that an old friend (Mr. Filthycottonswab esq.) reminded me of our youthfull days, as we frolicked in the wastelands without care. we reminiced of happy days, playing zombies and mutants, and dress up. in those days, as my tentacle was not fully formed yet, I was often chosen as the villain who threatened the swamp with urban development, I donned a black mask and a cape and talked in a harsh raspy voice, while my friends hid behind mushrooms and compromised canisters. like the few surviving movies the elders allowed us to watch, Batman was my charachter. the evil prince, who cared for nothing but his gadgets.

Batman. the man who is a bat. sounds about right. I took the name, added the location I was living in, to make it sound more honest. I then played with combinations of the two words, growing frustrated with the failure to find something satisfying, until the brilliant idea of adding the preposition ‘in’ came to me. prepositions are truly god’s gift to man.

with that I became ‘batmaninwuhan’. the one that creeps into many a challange, living everything soiled in his wake. sorry you all...