The Complex is a game about magical realism.
A relatively long time ago I was a college student by necessity. The Navy handed me my DD 214 and honored its promise to set me free when my contract expired if that is what I wanted. And it was.
I landed back in civilization with new skills. The ability to identify small arms by sound from a mile away, the ability to assemble and dismantle explosives, the ability to follow orders that don't make sense, and the ability to run two miles in full gear at 4am after drinking a 40oz of Old English and a fifth of vodka the night before.
Not many of those skills transferred to the civilian workforce so I decided to cash in my G.I. Bill and learn new things. Well, to tell the truth, I needed the money.
I declared a Journalism major because I thought it to be the best use of my new skill of following orders that don't make sense. I figured in Journalism all you are doing is recording information that doesn't make sense. I still believe I was on the money, but what do I know?
A creative writing course was a required part of the program, I rolled my eyes hard, said, "hippie shit," and signed up. The creative writing teacher was an old adjunct who looked like Kurt Vonnegut in the way a kid these days will try to look like Trippie Redd but get really mad if you accuse them of trying to do it on purpose.
Here is how he introduced himself to the class:
"Congratulations on deciding to grasp the low hanging fruit of a writer's life. A few things you should know. One, you will never write anything you are proud of. Two, writing does not contain the ability to make you love you. Three, it's not the job of the audience to understand, all you can ask is they try. If you can accept those three things, then you are a better person than me. If not, then I suggest an engineering major."
I laughed and thought, "Well, with that attitude no wonder he's an adjunct professor at a shit tier school." He asked me what I thought was funny. I said, "Well, with that attitude no wonder you are an adjunct professor at a shit tier school." He laughed and said, "True, and here we both are." Then he started the class.
After class, the professor stopped me as I was walking out. I was expecting to get cursed out or kicked out. I wasn't worried about it, the story of my life. He asked me, "What's your major?" I said, "Journalism." He asked, "How many times have you been punched in the face for saying what's on your mind?"
I stared at him obstinately, but I knew the answer. It was fourteen times. I had been keeping count. When it became apparent I wasn't gonna answer he said, "Well, whatever the number gets up to, don't let it stop you."
I shrugged and walked out, but looking back he provided the best advice I ever received. Knowing what I know now, I would have gone with an engineering major.
Shouts to information, rip TB rip TC rip Tall-T. Love is wise, hatred is foolish. Get out there and do great things, we believe in you. Also Jobs.
The Protoculture Mixtape : Issue : People : Garnish
