Can you carry a tune? It's a lost art like sight reading. Cultures soon have to die. Sheet music goes unread. We don't even want to remember what hip used to be like. We only remember how much we hate each others music. And how much we hate each other. Vinyl melts. Diamonds rust. Nostalgia corrodes. Bit files degrade over time . Memories are now intellectual property prohibited by international copyright law. Nothing is sacred except for the real estate property on which our religious traditions are founded as envied tax shelters. Gospel is now a kind of music. So is Country. Religion is just politics, Beating to the National Funk.
Instead of trying to change the way other people think, "Why don't we just go back to producing better music?" Wouldn't you think that everybody might just want to sing along? Well, if you hum a few bars, I'll try to keep up. You know you want to.
Oh, I forgot. You're trying to get me to show you how to change someone else's mind for you. Oh. There's nothing wrong with my thinking. It's just, I'm just supposed to help you get inside someone else's mind against their wishes, so you can correct how they think. (And you think I'm crazy.) I can't imagine why you think I should have to interpret for you. What it is that you that think is so very wrong with my thinking? You are right. There is no reason why I should always disagree with you this much, but I do. And speaking for myself, I am sorry. Maybe I just like being difficult. Frankly, I don't understand why you're so afraid and I personally don't care about your selfish personal issues. And besides, you don't want me to tell you, you're unrealistic and selectively ignorant. You just want me to help you change the minds of everyone else in our Country, with it's sentimental Country Western, and it's dangerously Paranoid Right Wing Lunacy. I keep telling you, brainwashing isn't always just about telling other people what to think. Sometimes, occasionally we all need a good rinse. And then we all can be, equally silky and manageable, together. Why discriminate? When you start washing other peoples brains we can get awful dirty in the process.
Let's start with the most obvious rational point of mutual departure. As the Psychic Entertainment Medium, I am not "The Art of Living Fiction." I am not even the urban legend, Zenophile. I'm just plain delusional. No one ever reads me, you never will. No one ever has. Not the Government, not the Russian Porn Mafia, not Google. And certainly not you. Never, not even. You are merely indulging in a private guilty pleasure as an innocent voyeur to my very systematic self disassembly by disassociation. You at present are not reading me, or my very auspicious webslim for signs of life left over after from your very critical mass of shared poisonous boredom. You don't want to believe that a deluded evil genius like me knows exactly how to save your dismal little realities from boringly self contained cerebral ego implosion. Sorry, but beings as it was evil genius that got you into this confusion, you might need a total psychopath like me to help get you back out alive again. You know, I think can dance to this, the Beating to the National Funk.
Let's go back to our initial beginning. You've decided a long time ago, you don't like anything that I've been writing since the very beginning. Always with my obsession with non violent neutrality, and then bumping it up with "Complementarity." How dare I disagree with you, when I refuse to argue? Let's examine your terms. You don't want me looking at your hands. "Do you?" That just means you're probably still not showing your hands to anyone else either, yet. So even if the proof of Human Variability still escapes you, you still smugly judge me to be your obvious mental inferior, because of that whole "Psychic" thing. Someone has to sweep away your ashes after you're gone. So now I ask you. If I can change your national mind, how would I be any better? (Wait. That's not the question you wanted me to answer for you, is it?) I can see I'm going to have to use some fancy dancing, to sell a Beating to the National Funk. Independence? It's a good thing.
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