I don’t think I’m smart. It’s simple really. I think I’m significantly more persistent, comfortable, OCD, disregarding, disrespectful, and “honest” than smart. Maybe if there was an equation you could fuck with those variables and get somewhere spelling s.m.a.r.t. but I’m skeptical.
For as much as I rabble on about perspective, I feel I hardly ever nail down mine. I think I have a certain professional courtesy and fear of having to deal with the fallout of my disposition. Instead of letting things “get old” I hold out for when I can make things “exciting” or perhaps marginally memorable.
What do you really want to learn about yourself? To what sickening degree do you want to embody what it means to be “human?” I think it is the massive revulsion of reality that prompts a significant portion of people’s day to day actions. Who wants to belabor the circumstances under which they would kill? Who wants to feel the excitement of a wanton affair that would “technically” cheat them of their previous love affairs? Who wants to intellectually dance around the supposition of intellectually dancing?
So I don’t think I’m smart. I live in a world where when I make a metaphor, you understand it. When I say a word, or make a rhyme, or levy a situation against another, you see, or have the capacity to see every, be it ten or none, angle I imagined. Then I just keep on going like there’s no room for clarity. Maybe once in a blue moon I get feedback. Maybe I get someone to challenge or ask a question. But really, that’s reserved for blogs about sex or personal call-outs of particularly insidious behavior.
I’m having trouble understanding what I would do if I were smart. You’d think someone with my ego would have found a way to amass a fortune, have subjects for his every beck and call, and maybe even his own kazoo. You’d think I’d be out “fixing” things, or maybe you wouldn’t. I would, but that’s my retarded opinion. You’d think I’d avoid fights or cater to peoples’ feelings. You’d think I’d devised a way for me to project a life, demeanor, and method that would make it so you understood what I thought. But that’s only if I were smart.
I know what I want, and I think I know how to get it. My terms are strict. If I hadn’t tasted what it was, I wouldn’t bother speaking of it. I think I am creepily equipped to enact what I want done. It makes me nervous to say that. I think if you even bother with my presence or friendship, you are more than capable of grasping what it is. I would love to converse further with anyone willing.
