Tuesday, October 1, 2013

i write when i can do nothing else

by the way, "she screams from the other room without following up".
up to the tip of having enough.
i say, "i know i'm not a psychic but i have this feeling that something just horrible is going to happen," naked wrapped in a towel on the bathroom floor.  "no, you're not psychic.  you're insane," they say, looking down on me (which is the only way to look at a person who has splayed on the floor).

when we are old when we are dead what will they say?

a whole generation was told that they could do anything, be anything, take everything.  their parents signed their permission slips.  they believed what they were told about themselves.  then the planet ran out of trees, and there was nothing to print permission on, so they couldn't do anything, they couldn't be anything and they couldn't have anything worth having.

but please, future humans, do not exert your empathy muscle for these poor creatures, for if they had a soft pile to recline on, an electronic device capable of streaming video, a wifi connection and someone's netflix password, they didn't really want to do or be or have anything else.

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