Primordial: An Abstraction

16

Before the holiday break, I am required to visit with an academic advisor to discuss my progress.

He’s about twenty years younger than me.

He’s overweight. He’s unattractive. He’s going bald on top.

“All bald spots are guilty-looking,” I note.

“Pardon me?”

I don’t think he maintains a healthy diet. I ask him if he works out and he says no.

“So how have things been going?” says the academic advisor, studying my papers.

“All right.”

“I see that you got an A in astronomy. That’s good.”

“Thank you. I like stars and nebulas and so forth.”

“You also got an A in business mathematics. Well done.”

“Thank you. I like percentages and amortization schedules and all that.”

“Well it looks like you got As in all of your classes. That’s a 4.0 grade point average.”

“I’m not altogether sure I needed to take most of those classes. Any of them, in fact. My Ph.D. is in a very particular field, although I am not particular myself.”

“Don’t worry about that. Everybody has to take electives and core courses. Or retake them, as it were. You’ll be fine. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

I nod.

“Well everything looks good. Good grades are a good sign. Any questions or concerns? How has college life been treating you?”

“Very well,” I confess. “I must say that I don’t like my roommates or my professors or the hall monitors and janitors or anybody really. But I have become an expert in the pornographic industry. Everywhere I go there’s something new to learn. I had forgotten how much college students enjoy fornication. Give young people a taste of modern technology and there’s no stopping them. I’ve seen more copulation in real life at the University than any magazine could ever hope to show me. There are so many kinds I don’t even know where to start. Transsexual porn is just the beginning of Vanilla Death. There’s Darjeeling porn. Buckwheat porn. Refrigerator porn. Entropy porn. Diglossia porn. Black supremacy porn. Arch-donkey porn. Evil genie porn. Apornal porn. No-bones-or-joints-in-corpses porn. Synchronic analytical dithyrambic bad motherfucker porn. So forth. You know. There’s, like, everything. The list is truly endless. There are formal, scientific names for all of these subgenres. But who cares about names? The sky’s the limit. In addition, I have begun a new research project based on my rereading of a so-called ‘forgotten’ Greek mathematician whose algorithms and modes de vie have presented themselves to me in a new light. I can barely sleep I’m so excited about it; the moment unconsciousness threatens to extinguish me, I stumble upon another idea and have to turn on the light and write it down. My brain is an electromagnetic earthfucker. Furthermore, my bench press has exceeded 300 pounds. That’s a lot of weight for an ectomorph, not to mention an academic.”

I remember that I’m no longer an academic. It hurts me.

“Let’s see what else. I haven’t made many friends, but I don’t want any friends, and I don’t like people because people just get in the way with their bodies and their words and so forth. I just want to do my work. I’m a bit of a stereotype that way. I was a stereotype, I mean. But I’m adjusting to the reality of my situation.”

“It sounds like you’re adjusting,” says the academic advisor, putting my papers aside. “I’m glad.”

“I’m glad you’re glad.”

We wait for something to happen.

I say, “Is there anything else?”

“I guess not.”

I think he’s going to say something. He doesn’t.

He’s scared of me, I think.

I have large biceps with big veins, but I try not to hold my arms at ninety-degree angles so as to diminish the swell of my vascularity. I have a tendency to overtrain.