I came into the world only to discover my head is too big. I’ll come around. It’ll take me a while. I need a bone saw. It’s crazy, I have very broad shoulders. Yet my head is still too big.

Like I’m wearing a helmet.

It doesn’t really bother me. I have big hands and a deep voice. There’s some symmetry there.

Otherwise I seem to be normal. Typical.

That’s where it ends. I’m strange. I’m just fine on my own. For the most part. People like me because I know how to talk to them. The smarter the better, but I do fine either way. I like to sit and think. I don’t know many other people that do that. I understand life gets ever faster and our level of media saturation is invasive and insidious, but I need to sit in silence daily.

To be fair, I know a few who do at least something like turning the sound and fury off for a little while pretty regularly and I seem to get along with them well. I know some who think on their feet almost exclusively and I seem to like them too.

It’s the folks who just can’t be bothered that I have the toughest time with. Sometimes I can’t stand it and that’s just part of it. Sometimes I hate it. It makes it hard to care. People are stupid. The masses frustrate me constantly.

Many of your fellow Americans hate your freedom.

They hate it more than does the Taliban.

*GASP*

These Americans would take your right to free speech, free assembly, freedom from unlawful search and seizure, your right to privacy, your fundamental right to face your accusers, be appraised of the charges against you as well as access to counsel and the entire legal apparatus. I call them willfully ignorant mouth breathing Republicans. They are why Habeas Corpus and Posse Comitatus are empty shells today. They are right across the street.

Anyway, I remember that there are quite a few people I like a lot. Quite a few. I’m no misanthrope. I’m just a little hateful here and there. I can’t suffer fools.

I’m either going to realize my potential or not. It’s getting close. I’d bet on me.

She sings to me. All of the sudden her voice fills my head with a melody so beautiful and delicate I am awe. My mouth is wide open in despair and joy. I don’t make a sound. Who am I and what is this? Now I’m confused by a song.

The world should be painted blue. It’s too much you see? As it is, it’s way too much.

I can’t wait to consume more of it. Greasy kiosk tacos and ancient structures. Cannons, flowers and violent seas. Symphonies and wine. Morning in the forest and afternoon in a meadow.

Figure in concepts like dinosuars and Christianity, along with the Big Bang and love of family and cats. Hitler. Manson. Lobbyists and the greedy bastards they service. Great writers and great thinkers.

She walks back in to my head with a melody. Oh my she can sing. Velvet to gravel and back in a single word. Effortless. Sublime.

As near as I can tell, the closest thing to reality is ice cream. A well known quantity. Predictable, but ice cream always delivers. Soft serve from the drugstore, Häagen-Dazs or any ice cream parlor, ice cream makes the time spent consuming it a little better than it would have been. Always.

The opposite is giant green grashoppers busted open with orange tic tacs coming out. Crazy. I’ve seen and held giant green grasshoppers in my hand. The strength, torque, the thrust of those crazy hindquarters is fucking spooky. Hamsters and gerbils can’t kick or launch like that. I’ve busted them open and seen there eggs spill on the hot concrete too. Disturbing. I fear man sized grasshoppers more than just about any other man sized insect. I loathe bugs. I loathe them.

I had a lovely afternoon. I’m pretty sure I saw Angry John on the sidewalk before I got on the 101. I spent it with my girlfriend and her two daughters. Four and seven and they were delightful. We had lunch. Chicken pot pie, macaroni and cheese, a salad and cherry pie. Watching these two eat and color with crayons and talk to each other and talk to me and their mother is an essay on it’s own.

Walking back to the car, the little one asked for my hand. She talked to me the whole way. She asked me questions and told me about her favorite things and revealed that she’s a little afraid of stairs. I noticed she keeps a hand on the rail in her own house. She danced while her mother and older sister played the piano.

A little out of tune but the best sounding upright I’ve ever heard. It sings. A generous slice of sweet melon on a Sunday afternoon.

Wanna wrestle?

Drinks for my friends.

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