Dear Reader, Wizard People,
While sitting on the old couch that teeters on the apex of my life, the 22nd year, I contemplate my future. Where am I going? Am I a dead star, dense and contracting, or a comet whizzing towards an asteroid belt to crash into a kinetic metal cocktail mixer. Is the universe shrinking or is the distance between things just getting smaller? Is it bigger than my dad’s? Will I tire or my lifestyle- Fred Bread, Italian Cheesy Bread, Safeway Bread, Nugget Bread, Savemart Garlic Bread, Roti Bread, and humus I don’t like? What if the battery on my delay pedal runs out? Will I fall in love, and if so will she believe that I’m actually amazed by everything, not just patronizing? I fear change yet embrace the discarded relics of a revolution past, revere the ideals of chiller, more chill time. I’m youthful and watch youtube, but get cranky as a dad after work. How many more bands can I start before the rule of diminishing returns kicks in? You and I, shall find out. Tonight the curtain of my life, a curtain made of tapes twist tied together, falls at Sophia’s Thai Kitchen (20% of proceeds go to the KDVS Fundraiser)
I hope that the advice I offer, although insulting, demeaning, incontinent, and self-serving, and most of all written by my ghost writer, I hope it has brought you joy. My humble musings on the quirks of life are a pure flow of real consciousness, no self-censorship. If I called you a Narc, that’s because my third eye I dialed up to the cosmic vibes coming from your post, and downloaded an certificate of in-authenticity into my subconscious mainframe. When I drunkingly ramble, it’s not because alcohol has alienated me from myself, but because I’ve freed my self from the medieval structure of everyday language. Embrace me and embrace the future. Or get bent numbnuts.
S.e.m.i-Self Entertaining Man Imitator.