This is not modern art.

Alexq stared at the white paper cup set before him on the table. Its steaming brown contents wafted out from its open aperture, in another world they would be soup, in another world they would be the steaming pile of feces left out on a cold winter morning, in another world (which so happens to be the one we are in) they would be coffee—plain and simple—two sugars and shit load of cream.

Of course, on any normal day, a normal person would pick that paper cup up and proceed to gulp the scalding hot contents down, the taste and temperature of the mixture being completely ignored due to the fact that everyday the same scalding hot contents were consumed in a similar manner. In another world, this would be known as idiocy, in another world, this would be known as silliness, in another world (which so happens to be the one we are in) this would be known as repetition.

It is an odd sort of repetition. Alexq thought so. Today while sitting on the sterile chair at the not so sterile table in a sterile room, he contemplated the meaning behind it. Why should he lift this cup, this carrier, this medium, and deliver (voluntarily at that) something which not only tasted mediocre, but would proceed to burn his throat as it traveled to its final destination, the stomach, whereupon the series of chemical reactions associated in breaking it down would not release any substantial amount of energy. It would actually cause him to burn away those cells filled with fatty acids and lipids and all sorts of long chains, saturated, unsaturated, kinked tails, straight tails, hydrophobic. But that’s another story.

Alexq didn’t want to open his organic chemistry book from last year so he didn’t.

However, he picked up his economics notebook and flipped through last week’s notes. Children are an inferior good. His mother only had one child so that statement had to be true. His aunt, who was poorer, had three children, so besides making good logical sense empirically, it was corroborated by personal experience, a necessary factor in determining the validity of any socially constructed law.

After all, from psychology it has been determined that people will believe a statement describing general human behavior if their personal experience appears to agree with it. Or has it?

Alexq sighed and leaned back in his chair. Picking up his white cup of coffee, he took a sip. But the steaming hot contents had turned lukewarm, so he forced the inert liquid down his throat before getting up to toss the cup in the garbage can.

So much for inspiration.

In which Alexq contemplates sexual intercourse

The female beneath his body squirmed uncontrollably in the throes of passion (or was it discomfort? Or maybe it was an act. He could never tell with these things.)

The female at this point was gasping and bucking up against him. It was frustrating to the utmost extent that prolonged penetration required so much work. He focused on the two nipples staring straight up at him, rising and falling like any sensible body part positioned above the diaphragm. The static view bored Alexq to no extent, so he smothered it with his chest, still playing tug of war with the female’s hips.

“Alex! O Alex!”

Wrong name.

The repetitive motion had thus far been taking much too long for the likes of Alexq and he began to slow down the machine to what he considered a reasonable rate of action.

“Harder Alex! Faster! O I’m so close!”

Too many demands. Alexq did not have the ability to keep up with three separate tracks of requirements and orders so he just keep going as he had been all along.

“O God, o God!”

Masturbation is so much easier, Alexq thought, as he ejaculated into her birth canal. Too bad the force behind such an expulsion was met with the calculated prejudice of rubber sheathing. Oops.

“Gosh Alex, that was amazing.”

Alexq couldn’t feel a thing. Was he supposed to?

So much for camaraderie.

In which Alexq comprehends Modern Art

What was the possible meaning of the 200 labels of Campbell’s Soup? Alexq could not understand the meaning of such simple art, as it was obviously far too esoteric for his Neanderthal mind to comprehend. The depiction of 3-D cylinders on a 2-D medium was much too silly, in Alexq’s mind. He would not try to draw a square on a line, after all. Cubes should not be drawn on squares, was the conclusion he came to understood. But 200 almost identical Campbell’s Soup cans aligned together had to mean something, Alexq decided.

So he returned home, but not before making a trip to the supermarket where he purchased every variety of Campbell’s the store had to offer. Once home, he was unable to distinguish which can contained which soup, a simple feat which allowed Alexq to finally comprehend the meaning of the 200 Campbell’s Soup Cans aligned in a rectangular fashion. He concluded that while everything looks the same on the outside, it is the contents that are unique, fascinating, and delicious.

On an eventual re-visit of the museum where he originally found the Campbell’s Soups, He was stumped by the portrayal of certain elements: An untouched white canvas that was on display, and a blue one, and a black one, and a red one.

Here he determined things which look different contain the same elements: a vapid uselessness. He looked into his black mug, which contained this morning’s coffee. Steam was rising out from its brown contents. He silently gulped it down.

So much for intellectual maturity.