So lemme tell ya ’bout myself.
I’m deranged. And a lunatic.
I’m imbalanced, and prone to excessive bouts of misanthropy and cynicism. I am not dangerous, nor am I violent. I am assuredly not your neighbor. I don’t hang out where you live, because most likely, you make me sick as would anyone who chooses to live in your bullshit pristine community. There is no locale that befits me for there is no one in this world who speaks my language.
I am a sick, demented man with no self-regulation except for that of not losing his freedom.
I am foul. My brain frequently hurts and sours my existence. I often suffer from heartburn of the soul.
I examine myself many times and because of this perverted and obsessive sense of self-awareness, I am too keen of my actions. I am continually plotting my crooked course through this really fucked up life.
I would really like to try some psychedelics right about now. But with a reliable and SOBER and trustworthy guide, of course. I am the putative LSD user who would do something stupid like jumping from my balcony with the intent of saving my own withered soul.
Do not unleash me! That would be my death. Those seeking to extinguish me best keep this in mind.
Freedom nourishes some, obliterates others. I am obliterated. I would like some psychedelics right now. I think I had psychedelics in Hollywood a few years ago. I was drinking in a bar and encountered some Russian guys in the bathroom. The rest of the night is a blur, but I ran down the street in front of my apartment that night and then threw up in my bathtub that night, but not before thinking I was in a foreign interrogation chamber.
All so real.
I am a sick, wicked man and stay away.
I notice that when I stand in line at the grocery store (or any other pay-at-the-counter setting), I stand in a direction facing and parallel to the counter. I do not stand facing the direction the line is moving. 99.9% of the people do this in line. They situate themselves facing the back of person in front of them. Not me. I face the counter and sidestep my way to the front. Most people face outwards, at a right angle to the counter, facing the direction the line is heading. Not me. I stand in a direction facing the counter, so in effect, every time I wait in line, I’m standing at a right angle to the person in front of, and behind, me. If I was more prone to shame, I might be disconcerted. But I don’t give a fuck and I’m rather amused by my check-out pose.
But I do it because I revel in my originality.