Do these count as mind games? I don’t know.
Beautiful day,
D
From: [email protected]
Date: Mon 23 July 2012
To: undisclosed recipients
Hello:
Sales of electronic products facing the world. Absolute originality, value for money. On this month, the product feature is Seed. Seed.fon Seed.tab Seed.nb Seed.foto. Availability, astonishing prices.
CLICK NOW FOR EXCITING GIVEAWAYS!!!!!!!
Bring ideas to life
It all starts with Seed
Beautiful day
l k j v
From: [email protected]
Date: Tue 24 July 2012
To: [email protected]
Dear lkjv,
So we are back to the original message. It’s okay. The most solid foundation of any relationship is repetition, I’ve discovered. I guess that’s why Rach and I were so secure. She was well-oiled, like the best public relations officer in the world. You could see it in the way she’d talk about my occupation at parties. ‘David works for Taylor & Sondergaard,’ she’d always say to people. Consistent, not unlike a satisfying smoothie. One time, compelled by an almost mean curiosity, I added: ‘I’m the receptionist.’ Oh boy, that got weird. Suddenly the people we were talking to were looking at me like I was a piece of toast with Che Guevara’s face in it. ‘How unusual. A male receptionist.’ And Rach was turning pink at this departure from her PR script, and on the silent drive home she would have confronted me about it but I suspect she didn’t know how to describe my transgression exactly, or her unease. I guess I’m missing all my blue bricks.
I don’t think she was embarrassed by me, really. She just liked to be polished, to leave nothing—not even the perceptions of other people—to chance. I miss her sometimes.
Oh look at me, getting all sappy! There’s a whole world of electronics out there; exciting giveaways, lively ideas! Rach is a big fan of Seed by the way. I still remember her on the day she had to get a new plan and a new phone, sitting on the couch with all the brochures and Firefox tabs spread before her, staking out the best deal with the seasoned accuracy of a crucifix-wielding vampire slayer. No artistic falling girls and fon-tastic spelling would have moved her. She was too busy aggregating customer reviews and making repayment charts in Excel.
Now I know what you’re thinking, lkjv. You think I’m not over Rach and that I’ve fetishized Seed and that’s why I’m your penpal now. I can assure you that it’s just a coincidence that my ex was a Seed.phile. Would I have still engaged you if you were peddling Macbooks or iPhones or discount pharmaceuticals? Probably. You just have an aura about you, lkjv. You’re like a monk sitting on a snow-covered mountain, quietly crafting your replica hipster electronics, their shape and design guided by the market’s invisible yet discerning hand.
Meditatively,
D
From: [email protected]
Date: Tue 24 July 2012
To: undisclosed recipients
Hello:
Click on the link below to enter our shops (Online shops)
Beautiful day
l k j v
From: [email protected]
Date: Wed 25 July 2012
To: [email protected]
Dear lkjv,
You seem somber now. It must be lonely where you are, in your empty shops. Meanwhile, I’m watching over a backlog of clients. There’s a child here, but she’s observing the same silence as everybody else, bent patiently over her mother’s Samsung Galaxy. So the Duplo blocks are still packed away in their bucket, and every now and again the phone will ring and the whole room will listen to me say, yes you can make an appointment, of course you can reschedule your appointment, I’m afraid we’re fully booked this week. You know, lkjv, a well-run waiting room is like a temple. So docile and reverent, these clients—even the ones on the phone follow my hushed cue. Sweet as hymns. They thank me so earnestly, with such rapt gratitude, and like you they wish me a good day, a beautiful day.
You know, there’s something strange about watching a kid use a mobile phone, because you can never really imagine what it’s like for them—to be pre-existed by the internet, by smartphones. The world was just always like that to them, always a screen within grasp. Or maybe—and this is where I have to stretch a bit—maybe they do know somehow, subconsciously perhaps, what it was like before all of this. Because there are bits everywhere, residue—desktops, recycling bins, folders, typewriter font, QWERTY keyboards, compasses. Clues to a past life.
And speaking of clues to a past life: you know what I saw yesterday, when I checked my mailbox after work? A newsletter from the Society of Consumers Against Fraud. Rach updated her mailing address for every bill, every subscription—except for this newsletter, which arrives in my mailbox irregularly and is always typeset in size 12 Century Gothic and has the ugliest stretched-out Word Art header you can imagine. They’re probably the only society in the world that sends out newsletters by post. Presumably they don’t trust the internet, a veritable breeding ground of fraud. There is a lot of column-padding fodder in the Society of Consumers Against Fraud newsletter—meandering articles about ATM horror stories and the exorbitant price of checks, and whether supermarkets are injecting water into their bacon. I’m not sure how Rach got on this mailing list exactly. Maybe a well-meaning relative subscribed her. Who knows. Rach never read them, but the paper was exactly the right size for the kitty litter.
I hope you cheer up soon, lkjv. I would hate it if you lost your enthusiasm for selling electronics.
Best,
D
From: [email protected]
Date: Wed 25 July 2012
To: undisclosed recipients
Hello:
What is the most up-to-date technologies available? How to make plans for the future and a time to be happy? How can you know that the lowest price is this? Join with Seed to make ideas come to life.
Pay a visit to our sites and be up-to-date every day. (Online shops)
Keep up the very good job
l k j v
From: [email protected]
Date: Thur 26 July 2012
To: [email protected]
Dear lkjv,
Yesterday I created the inaugural newsletter of the Society of Consumers Against Freud (population, 1: me) and borrowed some stamps from the office so I could mail the newsletter to my subscribers (population, 1: the Society of Consumers Against Fraud). Even though the Society of Consumers Against Freud newsletter is strictly for non-electronic circulation, I have kindly made an exception for you, and have attached a copy for your perusal. It has a tasteful layout with a well-proportioned header, and contains columns such as Psychoanalysing Psychoanalysis and 10 Tips to Avoid Freudian Slips. I trust you will find it useful.
One of the specialists came in today with a new box of Duplo. She said that her daughter had a birthday party and received two identical gifts, so why not use one for the waiting room? It was difficult to hide my dismay as she tipped out the box and tumbled the bricks together. There is a child playing with the bricks now, rummaging for the blue ones, and I can’t help but scowl continually in his direction, which is difficult when I’m simultaneously engaging a client with oh yes this year IS going rather fast; what are we to do? I haven’t done my tax return! Ha ha ha ha ha.
You raise some intriguing questions in your latest communication. You seem to be suggesting that this fine capitalist mess we’re in—this nine-to-five drudgery we endure so we can fill our houses with new technology—is antithetical to our happiness. How can we be happy when we are constantly delaying happiness, postponing it indefinitely for an unguaranteed future, creating glimmering storehouses of technology we never have time to use? How can we really be sure that we are paying the lowest price on our electronic goods? Are we not paying... WITH OUR LIVES? Very astute, lkjv. But here is where I believe your message becomes confusing: is Seed really the antidote to our capitalist woes? Is ther
e really a line of consumer electronics that is so brilliant that it can revive the idea of capitalism itself, and make us see this nine-to-five hamster wheel afresh?
I’m afraid I must return to my very good job. That kid’s mother will be called in for her appointment soon so I will covertly dismantle his horrible Duplo structure. Tell me what you think of that newsletter, okay?
Ponderously,
D
SCAFNewsletter.pdf
1 MBViewDownload
From: [email protected]
Date: Fri 27 July 2012
To: [email protected]
Dear lkjv,
Hurry up and write to me.
Best,
D
From: [email protected]
Date: Fri 27 July 2012
To: undisclosed recipients
Hello:
Sales of electronic products facing the world. Absolute originality, value for money. On this month the product feature is Seed. Seed.fon Seed.tab Seed.nb Seed.foto. Availability, astonishing prices.
CLICK NOW FOR EXCITING GIVEAWAYS!!!!!!!
Bring ideas to life
It all starts with Seed
Beautiful day
l k j v
From: [email protected]
Date: Sat 28 July 2012
To: [email protected]
Dear lkjv,
Well, the shit really hit the fan last night. Rach came around. She wanted to pick up the card table she left at my house. Another rare Rach oversight, like the Society of Consumers Against Fraud newsletter. Or maybe it’s not an oversight. Maybe her failure to unsubscribe from that newsletter was deliberate, and maybe leaving behind the card table was deliberate too. It’s hard to tell with Rach.
At first it was okay. We chatted as I cleared the stuff off the table, folded it up, and loaded it into her car. We had a glass of wine each. I told you Rach was well-oiled like a PR officer and the break-up was no exception; our break-up would have won awards. She was on my couch, nursing a glass of wine, and there was no tension between us—just two friends catching up. And then I made the mistake. ‘Hey,’ I said. ‘Remember those Society of Consumers Against Fraud newsletters we used for the cat litter?’
‘The what?’ she said. Don’t you just love the almost scripted quality of her confusion? ‘The what? Oh those! Do you still get them? I’m so sorry! I never read them. I’ll unsubscribe. Do you have the latest newsletter?’
I tried to look for it, but then I remembered. I told her I must have left it at work. More scripted confusion from Rach: ‘At work? Whatever for?’
And here’s what I actually said, as if my life wasn’t enough of a bumbling sitcom already: ‘Well I needed the mailing address of the Society of Consumers Against Freud. I mean Fraud. See I’ve started a newsletter from the Society of Consumers Against Freud and I wanted to send it to the Society of Consumers Against Freud. I mean Fraud.’
She stared at me for a second. Like she was waiting for the canned laughter to finish. She said she wasn’t sure what I was talking about—‘You’ve started a newsletter, Dave? Why?’ So I fetched the extra newsletter that I’d printed at work. It was all glossy and quite pretty really. I handed it to her and she inspected it at arm’s length like she was doing a reading test at the optometrist. ‘You printed this at work?’
There was no turning back now. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I did.’
And it’s only because I know Rach so well that I saw her face become cloudy for a second. Then it cleared, just like a freshly flushed toilet with one of those scented things clipped to the bowl. That floral froth really masks everything that came before. Rach smiled, put her glass and the newsletter down on the table, said that I was ‘very peculiar’—like she’s a commentator on Antiques Roadshow now—and thanked me for the wine.
And then she left. Now, I know that doesn’t really look like a shit-hitting-the-fan scenario, but honestly, from everything you know of Rach, what did you think it was going to look like? I know what that look was all about. It’s the same look she gave me when I ruined her line about my job, the same look she gave me when we went to karaoke for her birthday and all I wanted to sing was ‘The Rockafeller Skank’. What kind of grown man spends five hours on a Wednesday night making a fake newsletter? A goof, a time-waster. A little boy desperate for attention. If Rach has any doubts about snipping me out of her life, tonight was a confirmation that she did the right thing.
I drank the rest of the wine after Rach left so I’ve felt screwy all morning. I don’t even have the heart to engage with your latest email (which is your first email). Why didn’t you write to me on Thursday? It was so boring at work and by the time I got your Friday email I was clocking off. What’s up with that?
D
From: [email protected]
Date: Sun 29 July 2012
To: undisclosed recipients
Hello:
It is the duty of good business to tell you about these deals. Seed.fon Seed.tab Seed.nb Seed.foto. Professionals and beginners choose Seed. Absolute originality, value for money. The trusted brand that takes good ideas to life.
Act now for you may have already won (Online shops)
Your memories are safe with Seed
Beautiful day
l k j v
From: [email protected]
Date: Sun 29 July 2012
To: [email protected]
Dear lkjv,
This weekend’s just too damn slow. It’s like being in high school again. Okay I know that sounds ridiculous, but stay with me here, lkjv. It’s like when you’re in high school and there’s someone you’re just waiting to see, someone you’ve got your eye on, and there’s something nice about just being in the same place, to have the potential for, I don’t know, some encounter or conversation. And when you’re a teenager that feeling’s like ten times larger. Or maybe it’s the same as it is now, except when you’re an adult you’re meant to have your shit together. I don’t know what I’m waiting for though. There’s nothing to wait for. All the stuff that was on the card table is still stacked on the carpet. The newsletter is exactly where Rach left it. There’s no more wine (I’ve checked).
You make me feel so philosophical, lkjv. At what point does an idea come to life? At what point is it conscious? These are important questions. You ask all the important questions, lkjv.
Maybe I should go outside.
D
From: [email protected]
Date: Tue 30 July 2012
To: [email protected]
Look, lkjv. I sense that you’re trying to cool off our relationship here. You’re certainly not as regular as you used to be. And that’s okay. You were just trying to sell electronics. I understand. I will always remember you fondly, though. We have some good memories.
Check out this waiting room: just a father and his son, playing with the bricks. Every single time his son assembles something that might look like a completed work, the father congratulates the kid like he’s won gold and snaps a picture. Imagine being the Facebook friend of that guy. All the obnoxious status updates you’d be subjected to right at this moment. Just spending some Q-time with my little dude!—At Taylor & Sondergaard. Johnny Daddykins added 5238 new photos to the album You Totally Must Give A Shit About My Kid’s Every Playtime. ‘Nice job, Kieran,’ he says. ‘It’s very colorful. Hmm. I wonder why there aren’t any blue bricks?’
Oh, but I was saying goodbye to you. Don’t worry lkjv, I’m not really that bitter. In fact, I’m jumping back on the hamster wheel, and I’m saving up for a new laptop. I never told you this, but the Asus is still running on XP. Yep, it’s time. A new laptop, a fresh start, a clean Spider Solitaire scoreboard. I’m not sure if I’m sold on the Seed.nb yet, but we’ll see. We’ll see.
With a fistbump that echoes through the ages,
D
From: [email protected]
Date: Sun 19 August 2012
To: [email protected]
Hello:
Beautiful day
,
dave
SCAFNewsletter2.pdf
1.1MBViewDownload
U (or, That Extra Little Something)
I once had a sister who taught me to share and to forgive. It is unclear if you could call her existence ‘living’. She did not have a heart, so the precise hour of her death, too, is unclear. Like a good sister, I hosted her for eleven months, and perhaps she is still, even now, my guest.
He says I’ve got that extra little something. He says I look like a girl who is not like other girls. A girl who thinks for herself, who is comfortable and sassy, but isn’t, like, a total bitch about it. He says I am So Real. The perfect match for the Ampersand brand identity. I’m amused by this idea, as if my body grew into a pre-existing personality, which also happens to be a national brand. But then, I suppose I’m used to my body not quite belonging entirely to me.
He asks me what I know about Ampersand. I say that it is a clothing store that specializes in unisex fashion. I do not use the words: faux-vintage. Twee. Accessories for milky-skinned pseudo-alternative youngsters who drink herbal tea and write poems in pocket notebooks with cream-colored pages.
He flips the Seed.tab and I take up the stylus, too sleek for the serrated digital ink it brings forth. An annual contract: after which time, I’d guess, another young body who exemplifies the Ampersand brand identity will sign her name in the white cell.
We shake hands.
My sister, lacking a heart, also lacked a name. I think of her as Rsu, a corrupted form of my own name. Inarticulable. A syllable of me.
Rubik Page 12