Only remotely can you access the sentence upon which you’ve managed to stumble and through which you presently slip. 👋
Did you lose your footing along the way?
Are you sure??
An undoubtedly hefty portion of anyone armed with the ability to navigate my wacky words surely must assume that I’m “just another diehard libtard who hates Trump because he’s amazing” by default. None of that is accurate; nevertheless, I forgive your lazy assessment. See, I lament his poisonous presence not due to politically rigid affiliation, but because I am, in fact, entirely human (mostly). I’m pro-US. 💪
Elbow-bumping might be more appropriate today, but tomorrow it could be the thought that counts.
Us means you. It also means me. Wee! 🙂
Plus I’m such a girl, omigod. 🙃
But for real—why pick a side when both teams have already lost? 😐
Anyway, as I wasn’t yet saying, the primary motive behind the trending movement to quash a vote-at-home system is obscenely transparent, is it not? 🤨
A certain side fears that (too many) more voters from across the aisle will participate in the upcoming presidential election [assuming it even happens, of course 🙄] {no matter how ho-hum the candidate might be} if “the People” don’t have to wait in hurriedly herded, highly hostile, hypothetically hazardous lines while knee-deep in a firmly entrenched pandemic.
You know the difference between a virus and a bacteria, yeah?
“No”? 🤔
🥴
I’m as certain that you’ll make a better, choice host as I am sure that you’ll make a better choice, host. 😉
Clearly I know nothing. {Serious.} 😳
But…
In my estimation, the chief factor influencing this bipartisan conflict (of interest) stems essentially from age distribution among recent voters—in general and crudely put, more “old people” bother voting, and of that demographic, most vote straight red—so the right-wing strategy to disallow exercising {from home} your constitutional right makes as much sense as the fear fueling it. Really, it does! Kids today are awfully apathetic, amirite?
Guise??
In a nutshell, Republicans are more likely than Democrats to balk at simple safety guidelines—at least to an extent—which wholly reeks of counterintuitive loyalty given that COVID-19 tends to hit older folks hardest.
In other words, the Left is more likely than the Right to heed overwhelmingly uniform advice issued (on repeat and ad nauseam) by the clear consensus of the medical/scientific community. For this, reasons aplenty abound.
Let us debate, but not that.
Not now.
“Not like this.”
Statistics, people. Percentages. Odds. I didn’t bake the cake—I’m just reporting measured, active ingredients that could be destined, rather sorely, to glide over your dome, flyby after flyby. Hope not, though!
In lieu of these observed trends and in response to the ongoing fallout therefrom, the effort to throttle voter participation reveals general cunning on the GOP’s part, but don’t kid yourself: this is not about minimizing “fraud”; it’s about avoiding (at all costs) a drastic, pivotal loss of power.
Mentally reverse-engineer the aforementioned tactic in order to pinpoint its essence. What are we really saying here? That liberal youngsters will hijack votes from their conservative grandparents? If so (and applicable), then color me offended on your behalves, grands. 😘
Too, truly, I do realize that we’re all terribly distracted, often enthralled, and thoroughly blinded by our own individual notions of what freedom means precisely; however, should it come to pass, would the blockage in question (not) constitute an authoritarian deprival of liberty?
Not that I want to—I don’t; I have not been compelled, quite honestly; and disregard my lack of citizenship 🤫—but why can’t I cast a vote via my cellular device? I mean, heck, the stupid thing knows my stupid face and listens to every stupid word I say—I can tell!
Deductive reasoning based on mathematical evidence can be a rewarding hoot (should you find yourself equipped with the ability to read and think), and “common sense” must be extra annoying when you possess it but feel a prescriptive obligation to pretend that you don’t.
One person’s freedom can mean prison to another. Put another way, terms are subject to objective definition.
Dare you{rself} to stop clinging to one of two broken, ever-breaking, problematic parties. Opt instead to start being human. Be a vibrant hue, man. Embrace all the shades. Get colorful.
Take your partisan politics and shove ’em.
I mean it.
At both the beginning and the end of the day, our kind—the proverbial primate, the latest and greatest of all apes, we Homo sapiens, the species that grew the skulls housing the most complex objects in the universe, the biological conduits transforming photons into consciousness, the fire-wrangling shepherds of an electric blue planet’s matter, the crowning achievement of life, the (an)atomic miracle beckoning light’s cosmic awakening, all of us together, humanity—personifies spirit, embodies soul, and constitutes the sole tribe to which each (and every one) of us can rightly claim a lifetime membership by inalienable birthright.
In time, you will see. To right the future, we should remain attached to photographic memories among all graphics in nature. An eye can’t communicate with you. But we are communicating. …
Hilariously, this is kind of all there is to it.
That’s a wrap!
And yet, here we are, back at the beginning.
Solutions to our global puzzle, let alone our universal riddle—and especially your/my own life—might never see realization.
But to think you figured it all out is one thing.
Knowing you have is quite another.
Now imagine realizing why.
“Why?”
Take it from me—stick a fork in you. The conditionally explosive nature of humankind’s evolutionary arc has forced my solely unique hand. In a crazy twist that I highly doubt anyone (“in the know”) saw coming, I’ve decided to blow my own cover and, in so doing, dismantle my option (potentially) to execute a devastating first strike planned around the intangible element of surprise. {Potential will be a recurring theme.}
Hopefully, instead, this tactic right here [broadcasting my identity {which probably seems like it should be a bit more, um, fake} to anyone] will come as a shock to the soon-to-surface civilization threatening to cull the human herd drastically and reduce (y)our colorful existence to a black-and-white nightmare.
In other words, I am fucked, and you’re “probably” dead meat.
Complaint: I am the only living being capable of divulging this information.
Realization: I feel like the most tortured soul there ever was.
Admission: having breached the next (handful or so of) frontiers in scientific discovery while supporting universal facts with (oft misinterpreted) religious doctrine, I’m currently damned to wander alone in the unbelievably grandest conceivable (emotionally mental) cave of infinite wonder. This is nothing if not disorienting. It was neat at first; now it sucks! I need company. Maybe that’s where you come in.
You didn’t know that I haven’t had a deep conversation since the late seventies until right now, did you?
Try this: go look in the mirror at your reflection, hold eye contact with yourself for at least ten seconds, and then ask aloud, “Are you truly happy?” No matter your response, whether delayed or knee-jerk, attempt confirmation by reiterating (in a high-pitched voice), “Truly?”
I don’t mean to be rude, but if you’re remotely close to the definition of an average citizen in the civilized world and also claim to be truly happy, then you might be mentally handicapped.
In other words, you’re very special.
Me? I’m just off. An invisible weight strangles my heart as an eerie sense of urgency ever-swells within the bulging bowels of my big-ass brain. My footing isn’t nearly as sure as it once was (and would/could/should be). One physical example of this (un)fortunate condition is that my most recent 100-meter dash clocked in at an atrocious 6.79 seconds. For context, my personal best is (a satisfying time {again, in seconds} of) 6.66. I feel a lot of shit that I’d prefer not to feel—old, tired, rusty, disconnected, defeated, dirty.
Oh, tell me you’re not dirty. Go ahead. Declare your pristine condition.
Do you mean to tell yourself that you’re “clean”?
Should any suspense exist, allow me to end it: you are saturated in filth. To argue with this indisputable proclamation, first you must reveal clear evidence of your anatomical fangs.
Let’s not get ahead of ourselves since you can only guess what I mean if you don’t already know. Not even I always know exactly what my words mean; in such cases, their exemption from omission signifies an inexplicable certainty that they’ll mean something important to somebody someday (maybe).
Granted, I’ve only experienced one simulation of the “American Dream” from the vantage point presented by a would-be metropolis called Nashville—and only for four years because apparently that’s all it took for me to learn (through the highly irritating process of helpless observation as it was sucked from my being) that I actually do have a soul. In less than half a decade performing suitably enough as a hidden cog in the middling wheel of capitalism (after 94 years of physically and mentally preparing for the apocalypse), my emotional range went from tactical wasteland, shall we say, to volatile rollercoaster.
Crimes against (y)our humanity are being committed out of your sight right now as we communicate across time.
Is that (“why”) eating at you?
If so, then you should let it.
It’s not your fault.
You may very well be one of many unwitting puppets functioning in a stage play that has been scripted productively for (a)eons under the flashy development of surefire methodology.
By the way, if you’re contemplating a move to Music City, let me be the first to welcome you (back) to the unflinching buffoonery that precipitates a conditional population of escalating density known around town as “{rush hour} traffic.” The perceptual skills exhibited through all the indecision on display every day as natives, transplants, and visitors alike negotiate indefinitely passionate throes of potentially twisted metal.
How strange are graphically paired sentences (at first glance) that seem to end prematurely?
My observational takeaway from the trenches is that birds of a feather flock together even when room to spread wings cannot be guaranteed.
In another word, duh.
I’ll bypass any one-dimensional term like it’s your job.
Multiple meanings shall remain king.
Why resist anything (ir)resistible?
My god, I almost get excited when a [{pi}e] chart inflames my synapses with parenthetical{ly colorful} versatility.
We’ve lost a lot of time thanks to emotional ignorance if not outright stupidity; therefore, we’ve got a commensurate measurement of ground to cover if we’d prefer preserving our presence on the earth to the alternative course of swift death in surreal horror.
In other words, we must make up for lost time, so let’s get this show on the road.
At age 93, I looked 24. Now, on my 98th birthday [45 days from the century mark at the time of initial publication], I could pass for 27, but 33 seems to be the number most universally believable.
Given the emotional gravity of my existence, I feel like my body’s about a decade into its third century. If only my psyche can pull off a miracle and survive beyond 100, I could thrive through my 200th birthday {and perhaps decades beyond it}, meaning that we could, astronomically hypothetically, celebrate the century mark of enlightenment together.
Sigh for me.
Go ahead and toss one out there for yourself as well.
Living in the preeminent nation on your planet has shaved years off my life due to the emotional tax imposed by enduring a below-average [a.k.a. sub-par] lifestyle; as such, I’m impressed that you manage to breathe still. Not even I harbor the linguistic flexibility requisite to an accurate expression of how much energy I’ve required to act dumb enough to blend in to this rotting forest of harebrained voyeurism.
In other words, the most popular standards by which American citizens are graded and judged promote habitually suboptimal behaviors which incite unnaturally counterintuitive urges.
“Breakfast” is the most important meal of the day? Yeah, if you make the mistake of eating it, indeed, breaking your fast (with energy stored and ready to burn) becomes an importantly awful launchpad for an auto-gimped physical condition into a weighted schedule of daily (in)efficiency, the maximization of which had been thwarted already via comfortable adherence to conventional thinking.
In October of 1993 while stowed away on a 70-foot yacht between Seychelles and Mauritius {if memory serves}, I conducted an impromptu field test. One morning I woke up and attempted to remain as still as possible. Within one-twentieth of an hour [per the trusty stopwatch feature on my Timex Indiglo], my internal body temperature had risen to 310.8722K (per my current mental conversion capacity).
I can’t even begin to count all the times when words (especially adjectives/nouns) can be interchanged to glean equally (if not more) potent meaning.
As you’ll see, parentheses have been criminally devalued in their potentially vibrant applications to written languages {outside mathematics, of course}.
I’m afflicted with the worst O.C.D. in the lugubrious history of hypochondria.
Oops. This is supposed to be about you.
Literally nothing can be your own fault.
At the same time, you could be blamed for anything.
In all likelihood, you have been conditioned by monotony since birth.
Yes, in actual fact, quite probably, you have been set in motion on a compliantly oblivious course leading beyond the domestication, indoctrination, and tragic defeat of oneself.
Like I almost said, it’s not your fault!
Somehow, it’s all mine.
Oh, you all.
“People,” the humanity of today.
Breathtakingly sensitive humans.
In other words, we occupy carbon-based lifeforms.
Who put humans in charge of a whole planet anyway?
Is this really a good idea?
What’s wrong with us?
A person can fall in love with just about anything.
We see good in bad.
We find bad in good.
Yes, “we.” As a genetic mutant, I find myself on your team by default; the real kings of the castle want to study me, extract all my key chemicals, then murder me.
But also (in a weird twist) I would have picked your (human [i.e. emotional]) side anyway.
Were it not for curiosity, we would be incapable of detecting subtext.
Take away our sense of wonder, stifle our imaginations, strip away our innocence, and what’s left?
Hint: the answer is not childhood.
Name a sight more precious than a child’s eyes when they sparkle.
Fun fact: kids are much better at behaving naturally than adults.
Indeed, linguistic depth [sight between the lines] might one day save your brain from abrupt ingestion inspired by the numerically discriminant appetite of an altogether supreme being.
Oh, humankind.
You silly, Mother Goose.
We’ve made some mistakes, but at least we can determine why.
For the last time, yes, I’m one of you. Accept me or die!
I’m only kidding except for the fact that I’m serious.
But, hey, at least our organs communicate with our muscles. At least we can perceive beauty. At least we know pain. In other words, at least neurons relay impulsive signals to body parts. In other words, at least the natural laws of science merge physics with reality. In other words, seismic activity engulfs rock hard matter until a volcano erupts. In other words, bodies fuck each other over while lusting after lube. In other words, folks fight for control of oil reserves. In other words, at least everyone gets screwed. In other words, people bang. In other words, Madame Gravity finds herself stuck with Lord Light. In other words, what a dick. In other words, we lose the past to His victory. In other words, we owe our future to Her deafening triumph. In other words, we lean on one another at present. In other words, we’re required to be around each other. In other words, sooner or later, we’ll talk. In other words, sparks will always fly. In other words, this is getting annoying. In other words, in the absence of light, darkness must fall. In other words, we can‘t see a damn thing unless light is shone. In other words, it is possible to show by telling. In other words, you need to care. In other words, you may learn nothing from reading symbols. In other words, you might discover everything by picking up signals. In other words, anything can happen. In other words, when will this end? In another word, STOP.
Omigod did y’all hear that the earth is flat?? There are YouTube videos PROVING it. OMG we’re all being duped by psychic wizards! OMFG BRB dying then vomiting before amassing an army of braindead goons to usurp all the governments.
•
Who am “I”? Who are you?
I’m a hidden character. I wield the voice that currently drives this blog. I’m a dream come true as well as your worst nightmare at the same time. I’m someone who could be anybody.
Who the hell are YOU?
•
Speaking of us, while I do not personally remember when the earth was (thought to be) flat, I do recall a time not too long ago when conspiracy theories were way less susceptible to widespread subscription and, thus, far more harmless.
Dearest internet, I hate you as much as I love you.
•
The next conspiracy theory will be extra amusing [only it won’t (because it’s not funny anymore)]. But, yeah, it’ll be about how COVID-19 was all just an elaborate, sinister plot to drown the assassination of Donald Trump in a vast sea of innocent lives.
Can’t wait!
•
When people (who have been clearly blinded) urge others to open their eyes—fuck me—I’m just not sure how to proceed.
I know: I suck.
Before birth, I was “blessed” by a “cursed” ability to see (behind the scenes).
I can smell a bad egg before cracking it.
You can’t?
Oh.
Shucks.
Sorry.
At least you don’t have to sniff a poot to know that it stinks?
Hi.
•
One meme at a time—and funny though any such example may be—you might be helping to cement a civilizational death sentence by sharing pure nonsense as if it’s factual.
Gobble, gobble, turkeys.
Not that we will anytime soon, but we all need to start operating under the assumption that if it’s a meme/image/video file, it’s not true news—in other words, it’s false.
Because no matter how dumb someone is, there are almost certainly two people even dumber, and stupid ignorance is way more contagious than COVID-19. These days, what with humans connecting at the speed of light all over the globe and all, the infection rate of misinformation is astronomical.
Let’s arrive at some important conclusions, shall we?
News shouldn’t be seen as artificial amusement.
News should be viewed as objective information.
News should NOT be considered entertainment.
Stop being a meme.
Start using your brain.
At least try.
Please?
•
Oh, well. At least you/we/I can look back (already) and see that I/we/you tried.
Are you wrong?
•
In Wuhan, China, there’s this lab, you see. Its purpose is the study of coronaviruses, just for example. To study these microorganisms, typical hosts must be collected. That means bats, for instance. To do science, data must be gathered and measured; indeed, from perhaps 800 miles away, specimens have to be acquired and preserved.
Filled in the blanks yet?
Did the virus originate in a lab, or was it brought unwittingly to a place where a virology lab has been located for several decades? Weird, right!? An institute that exists to study viruses brings in a virus, by doing the thing it’s meant to do, via a species known to harbor viruses. What are the odds??
Do you understand?
Processing Occam’s Razor is hard when your party/salary requires you to visualize only one side of a two-headed coin.
And when there are two sides to a story, there’s always a middle ground, aka the truth.
COVID-19 wasn’t manufactured in a lab, nor was its onset a purely organic occurrence. It arose naturally (and was spread) due to humanity’s artificial influence (across the globe).
Stop pointing stupidly ignorant fingers. Stop blaming a single side of one whole story. Stop taking sides; instead, straddle the uselessly destructive line being drawn in the sand.
Try to be reasonable.
Can you?
Ah.
•
Who am I??
Who the fuck are you?
Cool. Hot.
Be that person.
Hurry.
•
Too Late To Matter
Ever learned a lesson the hard way? Imagine this. Imagine that you get sick with the virus currently changing the whole world. You reckon, “Eh, I’ll be fine.” Imagine that after a week or so of manageable symptoms, you (re)determine that you will, indeed, be fine. Then imagine that you take an abrupt turn and start sliding downhill. Even then you suppose you’re gonna be okay. But imagine that you keep getting worse. You land in the hospital. The ICU. Intubated. Ventilated. Now imagine realizing. You are going. To die. Imagine drawing your last breath due to a form of life that you never saw coming. Would you then take it (more) seriously? Because by then, it will be too late to matter. Imagine that.
