Pretty Bird

I think I would rather hear one hundred ugly truths than one sweet lie. Then I think, that's total bullshit. Then I look in the mirror, wonder if I've met this guy. He looks a little dimwitted. But he reminds me of someone I used to know. Or it could be the mirror? It could be that time and bad choices add up (who would have thought?) It could be a lot of things, but I'm going with that one sweet lie. Must be the mirror.

The sun is shining, warm air wafts by me carrying the scent of honeysuckle.

I don't get it, and I guess that makes sense. Still, you'd think time would breed some kind of understanding. But it just gets more confusing. More twisted. I like to think I know the angles, but it's a polygon nightmare. Enter the Octagon.

So, there's always people telling me stuff. I'm not averse to most of it. But some of it ... Christ, it's like I don't have a brain. How do you reply to someone who talks to you like you're a moronic asshole? You don't. If you're like me. Then, somehow, five years later it bites you in the ass.

People like to point out commonalities. We all bleed red blood. We all have fears and insecurities. We all like the people who point out the commonalities. That's why they do it. Because, otherwise, what's the fucking point? The differences are what matters - they are truth. Would you walk into a car dealership, point to a row of cars and ask, "OK, I want to know what all these cars have in common?" Tires? Check? Engines? Check. Steering wheels? Fucking stupid.

I don't understand why so many people want to be like so many other people. This is why I can't follow most conversations. Because they're all about the common ground. What TV shows do you watch? Are you tired? Did you hear about Bertha? How 'bout that Miley Cyrus, eh? Tell me about the time you drank gasoline and almost died. I'm not nearly as interested in the time you watched The Bachelor and it made you sad.

Pretty words are like pretty birds, they are flighty and pompous - overdone. I don't mean that this diminishes them in any way. I like birds and words very much. They are not as concerned with paranoid conformity as we seem to be.

It's normal to be sad. I don't understand why so many people think it's not. Seems like the only rational response to living as far as I can tell. But maybe I'm the sad minority. I just find it hard to read about genocide while I drink my tea and then play golf on the weekends.

Mos Def was right. Fuck a bank, give me a twenty year water tank. We're drowning in stupidity as we spray potable water at leaves, and cars, and small children. Because we don't think.

What does all this mean? I don't know for sure. It's complicated, see? I gather up words and ideas and spin 'em fast and then I try to make sense of it all. But it doesn't make sense and all the pretty words don't mean shit, really. I mean, they count as much as a peacock's tail. They get the job done. Some people like it flashy. Me? I think the whole thing is a little overdone. Even when I'm the one doing it.