I feel like a cokehead

because I keep wrinkling my nose. Not like a closeted witch or a bunny, but with my lips and my squinted eyes and my knuckles dragging across my nostrils. I look like a mess.
I accidentally snorted some shampoo in the shower. That's why.

I make it a habit to smile while I'm walking. It makes me seem different. I don't need to be substantially different. I don't need to create or anything frivolous like that. Silly. I need to have the pretension of being different and warm and caring.
It's all about the image. I'd resign if it wasn't for that.

I don't understand the iPad, other than a nasty joke. It's an iTouch, right or an iPod, something beautiful that can capture attention. I don't need people. I can interact with my friends, designated by the queue on my iPad. What the hell is it?
It's a trinket, a bauble. It's an indulgement.
But have you played the toilet paper app, Joel? Don't knock it 'til you try it.
I have to invent a new pocket for it. That's when it becomes unnecessary.
The first man to build a house didn't need it, right Adam Smith?

I'm tired of schoolwork, by the way. I love communes and Islam and women and poverty and theory regarding the former sobjects, but I don't feel the drive to be an intellectual anymore. I want to be a man of the people. I don't want to limit my discussion to only those who know a analogous set of facts as I do. I want my words to be as bland as they can be. I want to make up in marketing what I lack in intelligence,
or something.

My rants get so strange. I make both sides seem ridiculous.



I had a great aunt that was one of those figures that you were supposed to love because they were family, but you only loved them, ignorant as you were because they were family. Those people were real characters before you met them. They were round and susceptible to mistakes and failures of reason.
When you meet them they love feeding you and giving gifts, the synagogue and game shows.
Age isn't fair to real characters.

She was loud and opinionated. Sometimes hateful. God spat on her when her daughter came out as Catholic and her eldest son gay. She grew past these prejudices and was loud and opinionated again, but like a tire will lose its air over time, so did she.

By the time I was aware of her as a person she would call me Josh. I've had teachers and professors alike calling me Josh. That's not my name. I don't look like my second cousin named Josh. I'm not Josh, but she was deflating.

It's hard to face that one day you'll be empty,
so I don't, personally.