I like to keep things simple. Hard as I try to do just that something or someone will butt in, complicating matters and making it difficult to keep it smooth and easy. Muck it up now, stir up the pot and create problems. A day doesn’t pass when some bullshit statement, review, critique, or useless crap info piles up on my plate giving birth to a new way of looking at the same thing. And we ask for more. Please, more of the same.
I have no clue about the world and what makes it tick. I don’t know what all the fuss is about. I do know I’m in the thick of it most of the time. I’m a player in the game of life. The parts change and the characters are all different. I make decisions on a daily basis that affect the choices I made without an inkling of thoughtful consideration. Things pile up and become obstacles getting in the way. I try to make sense out of all the garbage dumped into my head via my eyes and ears, the receptacles of recycled information churning in my cluttered noggin. My brainpan is slimy with the greasy residue of undigested thoughts and excessive detritus I’ve no need or use for. But my insatiable hunger to know something more drives me as a well-informed know-nothing consumer.
Memes and soundbites are endless echoes of nothingness bouncing around off the freshly-painted walls of our inner sanctum. I neither twitter nor tweet but I’ve been known to text and give a thumbs up, “like” to things I really have no business being part of in the first place. Popular people purchase bots to boost their popularity as celebrity is a fan-based contest of who has more people following them down that path to oblivion. It’s so very crowded and noisy there. Not to mention expensive.
This cult of personality devours itself in a Mobius filmstrip of non-events, bits and pieces in a culture of one. This slimy slideshow sideshow of your life in personal image blips. A stroll down some strange street to another memory lane. Who are these people? Who is this sorry entertainer singing and dancing during the halftime show in the game of your lost and found of forgotten remembrance. Why are these grown men running around an astroturf field in fiberglass styrofoam reinforced helmets? Tight-fitting costumes emblazoned with birds, predators, Indians and letters. Chasing an orb fashioned from pigskin? Exotic rituals of freedom where eagles soar and patriots mingle and prance and dance among hot dogs and buffalo wings. We’re now accepting wagers on how long the national anthem will be sung at sporting events. It’s all good safe family entertainment. We have vapid middle-of-the-road pop people to cover all the genres that we must overlook reject, ban, omit, or otherwise censor with extreme prejudice bad taste in musical interludes to kill time. Who am I singing this old hillbilly song?
Exactly like these words that are coming out of my fingers, passing your eyeballs, entering your mind at your own absorption rate in your own time. I’ve no idea about the inner workings of politics or hand-crafted Swiss watches. I’ve no idea about space or real estate. I chicken peck this laptop keyboard trying to make sense out of this world. It’s one big bamboozle. I’ve been hoodwinked. I’ve also had the wool pulled over my eyes. It is truly the blind leading the mute in a totally dark room of possibilities to see and talk about. And we don’t need a podium to see what’s happening now. It is what’s always been. But now we get instantly screwed by knowing that we are. How a one-of-a-kind becomes multiple copies of the same one at the same time instantaneously at a ridiculous sum of what we value. Yeah man you are so fly and woke and happening to the scene. I know you dig it baby. Perhaps we died long ago and this is our new improved economy time now. We’re merely part of each other’s illusionary mind fuck. I could not exist without you. Thank you for allowing me to be part of your mind, town, country, even your world. We are the terrorists of our demise. We know better. We are the only best thing in the world.