Deep in a dark hole in America lies a bottomless chasm of contradiction for which we have many opinions but no explanations. For me, the realization that everything in my view and earshot should be scrutinized through my rusty wheels of thought, and resolved in my stagnant pool of baseless assumptions, helps relieve the pressures on my ever-questioning mind. Every experience multiplies the weight of my hypotheses and I suppose, and I reason, until my head size doubles; forcing pressure to build and ultimately the release comes through my keyboard. I suppose I should act but I’m not that kind of curious. I’ll think long and hard before ever thinking of doing something about it. A skeptical ponderer: I wonder as I wander through guesses and suppositions, symbolically untangling complications and meeting contradictions head-on in my fantasies. Recognizing the world’s missteps and analyzing humanity’s ungraceful attempt at coordination, I record the ironic realism on mental tapes with highly questionable accuracy; filtered through judgmental interpretations. I’m not a questioner of lies and liars but a questioner of the factuality of truths; a doubter of declarative honesty: a human expositor, and yet a hypocrite of epic pettiness.
The log obstructing my vision may be blinding me but let me have a look at that speck of yours. My view, my interest, my needs are not important unless yours are different and then naturally I will be happy to explain why yours are wrong. My changing philosophies are not a sign of instability, they are a sign of flexibility; fluidity even. I’m on the move; stacking decks and crashing through obstacles like the Dukes of Hazard, avoiding hazards and creating chaos. Curving and swerving around decisions looking for the copacetic in disgruntled angry faces; irate over anger. Exposing the awful stench of dirty laundry, with no intent to wash clothes. I think I’ll drink my coffee and go to sleep.
civilwritesdotme 