In Search of Organizational Control

Craig Foltz

I.

Despair is a useful starting point, although there are certain inefficiencies which must be attended to. In order to authenticate your experience you call on the expertise of three marketing experts.

II.

The first marketing expert is all transparent bristles and wispy antennae. She feeds on pollen and flying insects and inscribes her initials in the lower abdomen of her lovers. She says, “It’s not enough to adapt to those around you, you must also be willing to coexist.” She balls her hands into fists and begins to pummel. There are small anatomical variations within her body from one day to the next. One variant scavenges off the carcasses of strangers. Another variant hangs upside down using nothing but a row of

Craig Foltz

hooks attached near her elbows. Still another variant is a dispassionate memory, comprised of liquids of varying thickness and viscosity. Hers is a solitary existence, on the cusp of some indecipherable memory. She sleeps during the day.

III.

The second marketing expert is characterized by a sharp drop in air pressure. It’s as if everyone within his reach is suddenly thrust deep underwater. He says, “Your happiness depends on the richness of your unarticulated desires.” His movements are restricted to mossy and aquatic habitats, but he transcends these by subtly pairing himself to a host—in this case a pack of wild, ravenous dogs that had been set loose upon the city years ago. He tells you about a film he made in which all the characters were eyeless, but had achieved a clarity of vision through the invention of promising, new dimensions. “Perhaps we should reinvent our concept of time.” In the interim, he suggests, you embrace the natural world.

IV.

The third marketing expert was a poet in a former life. Her writing often described characters who had a pastelike consistency. These characters weren’t really characters but people who had arrived here after encountering many years of war and famine. A large percentage of them had perished during the journey. Unlike other poets her work is not parasitic, but relies on a pure and concise scientific knowledge. Metaphors and images are validated with data and technological resources. She uses a microscope to examine the words and tells you that you are a central character in a number of the poems.

The poems she directs you to do not contain any humans or anything that resembles even the most removed form of human offspring. They are lifeless swatches of language devoid of color and tone. She doesn’t even attempt to present some ontological filament for you to latch onto. There are, however, some specific thematic traditions which resonate. A row of neatly arranged chairs. A grove of chestnut trees. A tower of chronometer needles. She uses your shoulder as a crutch and gains a slightly better view of things. “The stars in the background are so far away, but I do believe that this feeling of emptiness is natural.”

There are crevices in our skin, you think, but you are unsure what function they serve. The ghosts you initially thought of can only confirm your despair by projecting their own reflection upon your wall of windows. There has been no light in the sky for weeks now; it’s cold. It’s become normal to expect a depth in our experiences, even if they mostly go unnoticed.