"Do
you want to disable tracking"? Does a bear shit in the woods? But, I have
no choice. Of this I am certain. (can I "like" the idea though?) I
tend to be a bit of a conspiracy theorist. In fact, any minority that isn't I
admit I view with a bit of apprehension, dismay and perhaps disdain. A minority
friend recently said to me that getting involved in thoughts of conspiracy are
pointless because it
doesn't matter how much you think about it because there is nothing to you can
do about it. I think this is in itself a conspiration of silence in which we
are encouraged to participate. If those in power can convince you to say
nothing about the moderately-to-obviously questionable then they can convince a
person to simply agree on the mild, but deadly offenses one sees everyday. Shit
is shoveled into our faces daily and we digest it—in every sense of the word—
simply (in our metaphorical stomachs, our brains, and on social media) as long
as the cookies we get after our blood is drawn is made with splenda (like)
because we have can always say we've swallowed worse. I strive to simply not
learn to tolerate the taste, even if it's sugar loaded and sprinkled with
government-issued crack (like). Perhaps I have spit it out on others once too
often. But, even regurgitated I sadly predict that most will swallow it in my
stead like malnourished chicks. To not think of conspiracies that may exist
simply because its easier to do so or for fear of sounding crazy DETERMINES
that you can and will do nothing about them... ever. Count on it: Those in
power do. Prophecy fulfilled. The bear has taken the diarrhetic and is headed
into the woods. Also, while typing this "facebook" pops up as a typo
until I capitalized the "F". (like). Fuck it if I'm the only
non-crazy one around... I understand and accept exactly what that means. That
you think I don't makes YOU crazy. (like) Now, if you'll excuses me, I have to
finish chopping this tree down in the forest... and I spit that fucking pill
out.
The problem with staying in hotels is that every once in awhile you remember that someone, many people have had sex on the bed upon which you rest your head while watching Netflix. The truly awful thing about corporate apartments is that all of those people have faces. Clear, wholesome, smiling faces. And while you imagine them these faces tell corny jokes about healthy relationships and give sh itty innuendos to their partners... whose faces I also recall in detail. Then I consider that they probably did some trail running or rock dancing (offbeat) just before they did it...probably in the middle of the day or at like 7 before they went out for sushi or something involving Quinoa. It haunts me at night... I'm so fucking tired.
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