“More Banality After The Cut”

“As soon as I pulled my hand out from between her thighs — I knew something was wrong. There was the acrid stench, for one, and the fact that my hand now ended in a bubbling wrist.”

“The last thing my father said before he died was ‘it would be over my dead body, Samuel!’. I think people should watch what they say. Words can be prophetic.”

“When the government people came, it was too late for us. I had already eaten my son, and his friend had eaten my leg on a hot night when I had, in a moment of indiscretion, exposed said leg to the wind on the west cliff.”

Hello there. I am The Vunderkind. Or Justin.

A few seconds ago, I opened WordPress on my laptop and randomly typed out the three opening paragraphs to what has the potential to be a short story.

This is a thought experiment.

Would you, on the sheer basis of reading any one of the above chapters, be inclined to continue reading? Or would the histrionic nature of all three chapters put you off?

I am one of those obvious people on the planet, who like their action rough and granular. There are other people, the appreciaters of the arts. The people who can swirl the nuances of text in the buccal cavity of their well-refined cerebralness, nod like so, ever so delicately, commenting on the author’s dexterity and they way the author evoked from them a tepid provocation not dissimilar to a private catharsis, away from the ogling intellectual debauchery that is mainstream consumption of all art forms.

And I would sympathize with them, and admire them in turns, but mostly sympathize with them. Because I can imagine how garish this portrayal of the arts would seem — and how ubiquitous it would be in terms of distribution — and I would wonder how it felt like, to have your daily dose of literary opium handed to you in rations by an abstruse few.

Perhaps one day I shall ascend up those ranks and become more, for lack of a better word, discriminatory and increasingly selective of the black-text spun by the people who can spin them.

Until now, this, what is called pot-boiling, is all I know.

I — as yet — know no other way.

I am TheVunderkind.