eThoughts : Divergence: Stream of Consciousness as Short Stories, Part II

A Shorter Than Short Story, Part II (© 2004, all rights reserved).

Brought to you by, A Short Series Presentation,™ a division of Book-In-A-Drawer Publications.™

He was a congenial boss, passionate only about moderation. He didn’t like tension, and that seemed to be what drove him. However, this position of his presented some serious considerations since the business was about sex—in the guise, and venue, of a soap opera.
Since the current political climate was dictated by thinkers, and I use the word lightly, who believed that people were mere tabula rasa—blank slates susceptible to external forces—the reigning belief was that the ruling party had to watch out for all of the poor, unsuspecting populace that were driven less by education and more by hormones. How members of the ruling party, presumably mere tabula rasa themselves at one time, had escaped being harmed by the influence of a hormonal environment is not entirely clear. Certainly the external state of affairs, short of technology, had not changed much, if at all, since their days of toddlerhood, much less their days of adolescence.

Nonetheless, another mysterious force other than the external one aside, somehow these ruling thinkers had arrived at the notion of control as the magic bullet to save the masses (now there’s a novel solution). It was their duty and their honor at stake. Or the condition of the world, or something—I’m not sure. In any case, education was thought to be the key, though what was considered important to teach seemed to reside with the current politicos and one was not supposed to consider that too closely.

Oh, yes, yes, deciding what was important was of the utmost importance. But every reader re-writes the book and important information, whatever that means, was always interpreted. That that left facts a bit murky was not an issue—after all, that’s what rulers are for apparently, to interpret and file the interpretations as educational clarity. But, as I said, we’re not supposed to consider that—what’s important is—well, important. Any thoughts to the contrary would only contribute unnecessary tensions, which would dilute the noble industry foisted upon the populace by the ruling belief, however that belief was conceived.

In any case, these rulers apparently were smart enough to know that one could not eliminate sex entirely—that would not be moderation, that would be sheer foolishness. So, sex in shows like the one our moderate boss was in charge of, was part of the rule of moderation, and of control. The trick then, was to influence what people actually interact with, except the ones who could handle it—which, presumably, were the ones that ruled. I’m not sure exactly what the plan was (is). Whatever, I guess the currency of moderation was only for some and the currency of excitation, for others.

All right, I digress, this is supposed to be about the impact of managerial moderation in the business of sex. So, this boss, who was much influenced by political forces, or by the hormones that dictated survival—I’m not sure again—was predisposed to soften the sex in the sex business of soap operas. Among other things, this meant that displays of pleasure had to be moderated. Now it’s true, in most cases, that displays of pleasure had to be manufactured to begin with—after all, this was acting. And professionals in the business of television sex were constantly besieged by the technical environment of broadcasting. Said environments are not conducive to sexual pleasure. They’re not conducive to professionalism either if the truth be known. Yells of “cut,” “action,” set breakdowns, economic considerations, temperamental actors, and other such distractions tend to create some anxious moments and some annoyed egos. But in those rare cases where sexual pleasure was forthcoming—and that honesty always seemed to show up on the screen as exactly that, sexual honesty—the little political blind mole rats in the boss’ head began to scramble around looking for ways to level out what might actually be the natural rhythms of such encounters.

Apparently it was believed that such honest displays of pleasure would surely tear away the fabric of moderation, or create political havoc, or something—I seem to not be sure again. Besides, a lot of acting was going on in bedrooms or kitchens or cars or wherever people were having sex. Apparently life was busy imitating “art.” In any case, it seemed obvious that hormonal humans were just not up to the searing reality of such sexual honesty—it might be interpreted as a license to engage in fornication at will, strictly because of bodily pleasures. I mean, there are a world full of addicts to one thing or another out there, including acting, illusion, chaos, meditation, moderation, or excess in whatever—why display another venue? That the advertisement money came in only if a gaggle of viewers were more or less addicted to the show in question was not the point. Control was, I guess. Or was it money or influence or moderation? I’m not sure.

In any case, on this particular day, the boss in question was having some trouble. It started, if we wish to begin somewhere—which is actually kind of arbitrary, but this is a shorter than short story—at home with his wife. She, callous person that she had to be to overlook the current political climate, was not particularly appreciative of her husband’s moderate advances, much less the moderate outcomes. Frankly, she’d just had it with a relationship whose entire emphasis was this fulcrum that all things were supposed to be balanced upon. That she couldn’t even talk about it because it would upset the balance was now more than she could take. But, this moderate boss/husband reminded her that such upsetting dialogue was not conducive to creating an attentive audience (meaning him), serving only to drive off those with whom she desired to speak (meaning him again). In a rage, not at all moderate, she stopped speaking and threw a paperweight at him, apparently driving him off seemed like a fairly good idea. Thinking she would settle down by evening, he chose to go to work. Sometimes moderation sought its own level, he moderated.

But work didn’t prove any easier. There were constant interruptions and constant delays. Murphy and his law seemed to know nothing about the law of moderation. And then, after finally getting the taping underway and during one of the semi-clothed, simulated coitus’ scenes—right in front of everybody—one of the actresses visibly shifted from acting to reality. How that happened is not particularly clear. Perhaps she let down her guard for a moment and moved from the fulcrum to the edge. But you could see it in her eyes and then in her entire physical being—she was on her way to an organism. To make matters worse, the male, seeing what was happening, shifted as well and headed down the same path. To make matters really worse, the two actors now turned realists, shifted from independent organismic paths, to a single, unified organism. And it was clear to all that were present, that in that shift, there was only one person instead of two.

Everyone in the room, including the former actors-turned-realists (who were in their own state of reverie) were profoundly affected and profoundly aroused—though no one actually saw any real nudity, much less any penetration. In the moments that followed, there was complete silence on the set, no one spoke a word, or needed to.

Now this incident shouldn’t have turned out to be a problem as it was being taped, the boss simply had to scrap the scene and re-shoot it. However, this was a series with no small following and apparently someone recovered enough from the incident to recognize the money-making potential of the scene as an out-take. The actual result was that the scene showed up on the Internet and on talk shows and the print media began dogging it—and so the incident became an even bigger incident.

Big incidents such as this that violated the ruling structure of morality are not much about moderation. Exposed, in more ways than one, the boss, the cast, the show, had now inadvertently become part of what was inevitably going to be labeled as the potential for the “Great Undoing.”

Eventually, heads would roll, apparently in the belief that it took a deviation from moderation to restore moderation—sound thinking by the ruling thinkers I’m sure they thought. Or was the thinking that the rule of moderation was only for some people, especially those that could not handle reality? I’m not sure, but it does sound familiar.

In any case, the moderate boss’ world was certainly in an upheaval and he was not at all comfortable about it. Certainly many, if not most, of the lives of the viewers who witnessed the episode in question were in some form of upheaval. Many were strangely comforted by what had transpired, even if some were sure that society had now moved still closer to the fires of damnation. And certainly the rulers’ lives were upset, having to field so many questions about how moderation had lost its way. But they comforted themselves with the private screenings of the outlawed episode, eager to understand how it all happened—or something. I’m not sure.

Let’s get back to the day in question and the genesis of the “Great Undoing.” It was very late when the former boss finally arrived home and told the story to his surprisingly empathetic wife. But, empathic or not, she had acquired an agenda during the telling of the story that was not at all about moderation. And the former boss/husband, now only a husband, saw in her eyes the look he had witnessed in the actors-turned-realists’ eyes that very afternoon. Since his life was upset anyway, he could not find a reason for moderation and so capitulated to his wife’s agenda. And he soon discovered, or remembered perhaps (I’m not sure), the strange comfort and balance that can arise in intimate sex, especially where the two become one in a wild, hormonal seesaw of a dance that eventually goes beyond both hormones and moderation.

I suppose if there is a moral to this shorter-than-short story, we could say that in those places where life is like a teeter-totter, moderation is of little help. Perhaps we could also insert some thought to just who is interpreting the prevailing moral and ethical view and why those views have come to fruition. But that might just be too much work on our own. Just being told what is the path and following it can seem much easier than asking questions—which may be why stories about heaven and hell play so well, and why so many are so eager to control or be controlled.

But, as you know by now, I’m not sure.

Disclaimer: Though parts of A Shorter Than Short Story, Part II, were inspired by real events, all characters are fictional and no reference to any person, living or deceased, is intended or should be inferred.