...when it comes to ones ability to hit a golf ball, and "it's a man's world", and "greed (selfishness?) is good" (is the default profit-without-_____ corporate catalyst because actual people are taken out the equations and replaced with #s), and it's a capitalist system, and baseball is America's national past time, and we still run on start or the art transparent, clear, explained, and self-evident logic...
...but it's like, just thank God these weren't yachts right?
Or giraffes.
Or, God-specifically-forbid, that "Yacht Z" and matching SuperCar combo I posted the other day.
See, that is the kind of toy I would show off and let other people look at, but not drive. And at the same time, I know full well there are those types of people in life who will brazenly come up as complete strangers and ask to ride my motorcycle, though I have never and would never consider doing such a thing to someone else, and there are probably a hundred different examples of this I could reference in my life, even like when back in college, when I had a second motorcycle around just so friends I trusted could go riding with me...
But when it comes to a Human Being as a Reflection of Me and not everything else in the world, well, that's not a robot, or an insect, or something that one can put a price on, so even sitting here being mocked for the list of things I've been mocked for, while a random female ape of our species can get 5 figures of paper currency merely for whatever it is that she does that makes that one signature by Charlie two of the grandma 'club tangent price' buy-ins, and lets see, how much is what I've created worth or not worth at the moment because of.....ummmm...nevermind, but that is gonna be one fun movie. Meanwhile, how dare churches even exist as they do in as world so
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What? Every bullet of billionaire-level genetic blueprints exchanged for zero instead of being exchanged for...ummm...'that grading curve question mark'...
ReplyDeleteWow, if only hooman genetics were valued like the trillion dollar to-be-treasured-above-all-else one-and-only-known-life-experiences as if this whole f7cking thing were just some sort of all-too-easily-masterable game/experience/test/problem/rubiks's cube in need to inside-out solving of itself.
What has happen to the blanket?
What color is the ceiling?
Why?
If it's a glass ceiling, does that me I can see what's under the bed if one looks up?
When they said "monster", did they mean the spirit of hidden baseball bats?
That which-specific-person-or-mechanism-is-supposed-to-resolve-180-at-which-specific-time-and-for-which-specific-reasons 30 SoHo obsession model?
Of you?
The sportsman?
That's been what I was devotedly trying to avoid my entire existence?
And I'm supposed to want to become involved in that same masked and gagged atmosphere that can separate the gays from the rainbows from the mothers, daughters, adults, teens, sisters, lovers, insects, snakes in baskets and friends?
In the dark?
After it's literally hit me my entire life, so hard it destroyed my life to this state, that it then took the opportunity to make itself famous with, even as
Whatever, I'm just going to call it a night and start over without all the salty smears that random tangent threw into the Twitter stream.
See, here is where I would ask the psychiatrist or friends how to respond or what to think about instead, but they never asked me to show ID, and I've been doing nothing but saying "Hey, WTF you guy?" all along when the dumb sh7t pops into my life under the wrong context, and that's what happened with my superstar ambition...so many others tried to hijack it and got in the way and f7cked it and themselves and me up in doing so...it makes the true story really ugly - and THAT isn't my fault. So things you can put on me. I do plenty of dumb sh7t. I'm a highly-carefully-calculated rick taker, and I'm pretty f7cking sure when I put my life on the line in the ways I have I know what the f7ck I was talking about and doing enough for it not to be a problem, but I never expected whatever view of "sports" misapplied to things some people have, but when it's a warzone, you don't attack the medic. Much less the one that was on a under-the-radar mission to save you. Unless you're really stupid or blind or wrong or have been lied to or God only knows - but in the meantime, until they straighten things out with me in person, clearly, you realize my poor mind still has to see and think of certain things in certain references of association, because those are the only ways I've seen them beside the other ways my mind can imagine in all the blank and dark 5 that doesn't exist for no reason, it's not exactly an easy model to find true Beauty in. But I'm tired and grumpy after having spent the day ordering yet another Droid as the external mic on the replacement one does work correctly, then I spent the afternoon writing a draft to Law Pivot in a rambling attempt to explain the...
...well, all that "potential unleaped" I guess.
I'll be more cheery in the morning. Just this about a modern day very of the Shawkshank Redemption...except still being in the surreal adult terrorstorm 7-upd world of deafening silence and people that can act like completely different creatures than the labels associated with them would lend one to believe, because, how do you see people?
How do you allow them to see you?
Well, at least the internet is a common ground virtual frontier we all can exist on, even though do to the money and specific skill and nature of existence itself, everyone's presence and the dynamics and impact of their presence on it is not the same.
I would share the letter and ask for opinions, but why rght?