Brilliant, oblivious, justifiably arrogant, the glowering, uppity, highly strung and elongated spectre of Sheldor (the Conqueror) stalks the excessively-lit rooms and hallways of Pasadena’s Caltech, Cheesecake Factory, Comic Book Store and 2311 N. Los Robles, ever vigilant
towards the threat of spiders, dirty socks, non-standard cutlery, illogical reasoning, and people touching his food. 

 

Nothing escapes the agile grasp of his swift and
titanium-clad mind, other than sarcasm, social
conventions, the gibbering rage of his companions,
empathy, sympathy, interpersonal subtleties, or the
concept and point of coitus. 

 

The solitary and noble Homo Novus, whose overriding
purpose in life is to tear the mask off nature and stare
at the face of god, whilst making sure his laundry is
done at 8.15 on Saturday night, and that the integrity
of his spot is preserved, cares naught for the ridiculous
fripperies of romantic interaction, preferring to devote
his time to unraveling the mysteries of the universe. 

 

Honourable, aloof, pathologically honest, childlike, obsessive, loyal and driven, Homo Novus is in
exile from his own land. His efforts to navigate the
perplexities of the conventional world and its baffling
paradigms, whilst maintaining a fixed sight upon his
coordinates, his vision and purpose, to the approach
of near insanity, puts him in the company of Fitzcarraldo, Don Quixote, and Captain Ahab. Whether he would tolerate their company is another matter entirely.

 

 

by Major Gripe