Earphones in, Pencap off

8-29: written in Chamblins

Do you believe in the hype?

I want to say something;
I got something to say.

I want to tap more into my subconscious. 
I want to hear the things I know, the things that are buried in the Security Clearance Only vault.

Now this... this is a place I like to be.
Earphones in, pencap off

I really want to believe that there will be time for this sacred ritual in the later more matronly days of my life.
Will my poetic heart survive the suckling youth?

..Ok even I rolled my eyes at that.

...I’m also curious about that constant stream of self-deprecation and stupid jokes I’ve got going on. It gives me cause to wonder how many hours of “family friendly programming” I sat through before I had this infomercial style of language memorized. How long it took for all of the rimshots and plastic laughter out of a can to work its way into my ways of thinking.

As if even in my most private of pages I am unable to take off the microphone. As if I’m always addressing someone with these coffeeshop capitulations.

It’s an interesting thing to note how, in many ways, I am the product of everything I hate. Do I hate it so much because I know there’s not a single part of my personality that hasn’t been affected by this giant monolithic plastic television that I hold with such hostile regard?

Of course I can’t explore that train of thought without remembering that, in all actuality, I’m pretty in love with myself, about 80% of the time... and logically it would then follow that I have to love my corporate overlords that so carefully designed who I should be and what I should like.

Cue brain explosions. Jesus Christ. Fuck you, logic. Fuck you and the weird alleyways of thoughts you lead me down.


Well... I suppose that if I had to have a manufactured life (joke is most definitely on me)... this isn’t such a bad one to be stuck with.

I choose to accept the food from
the hand that feeds
and also to bite
and rip

I have to say that I am most proud of myself when I prove that TV is not necessary for my life. That moments with only the slightest bit of technology are absofuckinglutely delightful.

On that note... why do so few people create anymore? I’m talking an everyday kind of creation, an expression. It’s strange to be strange, I guess, at the heart of it all.

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