“Maybe I just do not like people.”

 

The thought came into his mind and got stuck there because, finally, it was original.  He always regarded the inside of his brain, the thought network, as a loosely woven spider’s web. In one day, we remember less thoughts than we actually have in one single second, and this one stuck, as that random mosquito does in the web, as a few thoughts in the past have, because…because…

 

“I understand that most of what I remember is what I want to remember because of habit, always rotting on the gluey silks of the web, but the only thing that can explain these new ones that stick are…what?  Chance/Fate and all that Energy/Spiritual crap, or something so technical about the synapses of the mind that I could never understand?  But, the gray area.  I have to believe in that gray area.  So, what else could it be?  Why else these specific thoughts?”

Which, at that point got him back from this all-too-common tangent that all-too-often makes him forget what his original point even was.

 

“Maybe I just do not like people.”

 

Whenever he would see a Made In America sign or sticker, he would get annoyed…at everyone.  He would be annoyed that we try to be so patriotic towards this country that we have to be celebratory about every little thing that occurs within it or in the name of it, even though just about everyone had absolutely nothing to do with any of it; At the individuals who carry on this patriotism, most often a little too ambitiously, not even understanding that there is nothing natural, nothing in communion with Spirit or Nature in honoring the notion of a country, in claiming a particular piece of earth is theirs or ours and then making silly rules to prevent other people from enjoying it as well; At the individuals who argue with them, doing the same themselves, with big smiles while proclaiming a love of all things yet sheltered themselves, even more so, screaming for everyone to be the same, conforming just as passionately and hypocritically as the rest; At the two guys sitting next to him, talking too loudly about “the biz” with the righteousness of working in television, a culture where cool and money seem to equate importance and superiority all the while contributing absolutely nothing to our natural existence; At the commercial artists, the rapidly growing tumor of disrespectful jackals who believe what they do is art because they strive for fame, money, success, public acceptance and polite love and who will never understand that the very definition of art is completely void of the idea of money, sales, popularity and commerce, that anything outside the thread-narrow scope of real creation/art is only a product and all of those faux-artists are simply salesmen and saleswomen; Annoyed at the old couple in front of him, sweet nice with integrity and values but who wasted their lives with the Father-Knows-Best States by keeping them United all of these years by never questioning and who are now convinced that mortal lies are God’s truth; At the protester for fighting the political world when they should ignore it for the natural world, for not understanding that no one really cares for what he and she have to say because if they did, he and she would not need to be there, for not understanding that humans are more stubborn than logical because we act from our egos and not from our instincts which means anything said, truth or lie, will be ignored in the name of individual empowerment and freedom…

 

Of the thousands of thoughts hurtling through his mind-space, one more thought stood out.  Or did it get caught in the web?  Or grabbed a hold of by something higher within him?

 

“Maybe, if I do not like all people, then I do not like myself.”

 

 

 

 

to be con’t

 

 

 

 

 

af

 

 

 

 

(written with pen on paper)