Growing up, you realize, not everyone likes you, not everyone will, no matter how kind, sweet or gentle, regardless of how cool, or funny, or attractive- someone just isn’t going to like you. The more you try to be liked by everyone, the larger your margin for dislikes. It’s purely a numbers game. Fortunately those aren’t the numbers that really matter anyway, unless of course nobody likes you, like at all, not even your own mother. In which case, good luck. But I think most people tend to be liked by most people. You just don’t get everybody, you get somebody, maybe even a number of somebodies. You might get 99% but still that 1% will always be there, but who likes that 1% anyway? Fuck ‘em.
Anyway, moving on.
So I may have a job for you Steve, we’d like you to go out on the Savannah and shoot you some white boys, they been down in them fields all day, just layin’ about, we wancha ta rile ‘em up a bit you know? Light a fire under their asses. We’re sending them a message- get what I mean? Who cares right? Them’s just a buncha crackers. John, get me a cheese plate, and a malt, I’m absolutely famished. I could simply die right now. It’s terribly dreadful, what we civilized folk must do to get by.
In the future we play a game, like Ender’s only it ain’t against no ants, it’s people. No, it’s no Modern Warfare 3, it’s more like Pilot Wings meets bombing Bagdad. We compete for prizes, everyone wants the top spot.
My wall just meowed, I do not own a cat.
I’ve been tripping down the road most of my life, just trickling down the river like any other leaf, only, I know I’m a leaf, trickling downstream.
WGBH is pretty wonderful, Spohr come at me bro. You don’t even know.
Occasionally I find myself hours after an impulsive decision, as though I had not truly existed until then, that I had little or no control, no perspective until that moment, when I think to myself “Huh?!” or “Really, dude?”
And then I get lost, and the tea is cold, and it’s night and everything is closing in around me and goddammit the tea is cold.