"I hate straight people..."
I could describe the girl's appearance, but it wouldn't matter. Shopping malls have a homogenizing effect; the individual becomes blurred. Identity is morphed, a peg meant to be banged into the most convenient hole. Everyone is on sale. This is by no means a phenomenon exclusive to gringos. Ever been to a mall where everyone was black? It's the same thing.
I tell myself I'm not a people person, but I'm drawn to stare into the masses. I don't like street drama, but I find it fascinating. I hate people, but I like people. Be my friend. No. Fuck you. Ever wonder what it might be like to read people's minds? It's a horrible, beautiful thing.
"Can you help me out with some change, sir?..."
I'm not curious and I'm rarely shocked at the nature of people. Public places can be calming, like big aquariums. Looking around, I see patterns. The predictability is not altogether unpleasant. Invariably, (people are) all the same. Sometimes, if you listen carefully, you can hear what they're thinking.
Matching the random thought to the thinker is a (strange) game, I know. And often, one must first ask can anybody hear me? Sometimes, it requires tracking a person discreetly. One must decide on the fly whether or not to attempt telepathic contact. Woe unto them that fire mind bullets only to cut down the innocent passerby. The sloppy psychic is unfulfilled and sketchiness follows him in his wake.
"...motherfucking mexican prick...! "
Yes. The school is self-harmonizing. The pack determines it's own purpose. Yet the individual is given to rebelling. Punching a fist in the air, we strike out at everything. This outburst has a rancid center. I'm not laughing at me, I'm laughing with me. What I'm trying to say is, you can trust me, but don't put me in charge of the button. What's the point of having nukes if we're not going to use 'em?
I could describe the girl's appearance, but it wouldn't matter. Shopping malls have a homogenizing effect; the individual becomes blurred. Identity is morphed, a peg meant to be banged into the most convenient hole. Everyone is on sale. This is by no means a phenomenon exclusive to gringos. Ever been to a mall where everyone was black? It's the same thing.
I tell myself I'm not a people person, but I'm drawn to stare into the masses. I don't like street drama, but I find it fascinating. I hate people, but I like people. Be my friend. No. Fuck you. Ever wonder what it might be like to read people's minds? It's a horrible, beautiful thing.
"Can you help me out with some change, sir?..."
I'm not curious and I'm rarely shocked at the nature of people. Public places can be calming, like big aquariums. Looking around, I see patterns. The predictability is not altogether unpleasant. Invariably, (people are) all the same. Sometimes, if you listen carefully, you can hear what they're thinking.
Matching the random thought to the thinker is a (strange) game, I know. And often, one must first ask can anybody hear me? Sometimes, it requires tracking a person discreetly. One must decide on the fly whether or not to attempt telepathic contact. Woe unto them that fire mind bullets only to cut down the innocent passerby. The sloppy psychic is unfulfilled and sketchiness follows him in his wake.
"...motherfucking mexican prick...! "
Yes. The school is self-harmonizing. The pack determines it's own purpose. Yet the individual is given to rebelling. Punching a fist in the air, we strike out at everything. This outburst has a rancid center. I'm not laughing at me, I'm laughing with me. What I'm trying to say is, you can trust me, but don't put me in charge of the button. What's the point of having nukes if we're not going to use 'em?