(Or, now for something completely different...)
This is stupid.
but really, if you think about it,
this whole concept of
sharing one's inner thoughts is
utterly ridiculous.
Random strangers
poking around in your mind's diorama,
knocking over the clay figurines and
sparkle-painted ocean you spent
so much time crafting.
they don't know how valuable those
cotton-ball clouds are,
only you do! why share?
they won't get it anyway.
(amateurs.)
I decided to try
writing from the heart, because
it gets bored sometimes, just hanging around,
beating the same monotone pulse... It's like
exercise for your love-and-loss muscles.
It reminds me that I have them in the first place,
which is huge. I try to ignore them when I can and
I think I could be sued for negligence by
the State of the New York. Let's just keep that
between you and me.
Also between you and me,
loss and love muscles get far too much
credit in this day and age.
"follow your heart" and related maxims suggest
that the heart is something to be followed, when
really all it's trying to do is beat a drum, so to speak,
over and over and over again until you die, at which point it
may begin drumming again, slowly this time,
pending "do not resuscitate" clauses.
It's not asking to be a leader, it just wants to
do its simple job of pushing blood and bits around until
there's a hostile takeover, or the company goes
bankrupt, and he gets fired.
Then he sits on some ice for awhile until maybe
someone important or rich or important and rich decides
he or she needs a heart, because he or she is
trying to start an indie rock band and the pacemaker
is simply a subpar percussionist, no matter how you scale it.
The heart gets far too much credit for being this
"sensitive guy",
just because he was willing to sit through a
couple romcoms with his exgirlfriend and cried when
his grandma died, somehow we think he deserves
"matters of the heart". Heart is a liar like
those people who rent leather couches for parties.
He's not the expert on emotions at all. Actually, he's been
borrowing emotions, (at a good price though, he knows
a guy... ) And by a guy I mean the boss, the mind, who got tired of
being blamed for everyone's poor decision-making, especially with his
reputation for being the best decision maker there
ever was. Pride before the fall, lovelies. Whoever decided the
brain was the best at choice clearly never met my
friend "eenie meenie miney moe" or my other friend, fatalist Tom.
Clearly these people never took a behavioral economics course,
or are too biased in their search to even
stumble upon an article telling them how silly
human beings are, and how incompetent they are at
maximizing their own utility.
Heart is actually the most famous scapegoat. But
he doesn’t care, he’s a sucker for attention and loves
getting referenced by every single country singer
there ever was, because for every song title with
“heart” in it he gets at least 3 cents. I digress. I digress quite a bit actually,
it is a hobby of mine. I plan on digressing in Europe next month
at the digressing convention, pending someone gets off topic enough
at the professors who forget to drink coffee convention to plan it.
Banking on a tangent always leaves you someplace interesting. Or
at least unexpected. Or at least three-dimensional, if we are speaking of planes.
This is stupid.
but really, if you think about it,
this whole concept of
sharing one's inner thoughts is
utterly ridiculous.
Random strangers
poking around in your mind's diorama,
knocking over the clay figurines and
sparkle-painted ocean you spent
so much time crafting.
they don't know how valuable those
cotton-ball clouds are,
only you do! why share?
they won't get it anyway.
(amateurs.)
I decided to try
writing from the heart, because
it gets bored sometimes, just hanging around,
beating the same monotone pulse... It's like
exercise for your love-and-loss muscles.
It reminds me that I have them in the first place,
which is huge. I try to ignore them when I can and
I think I could be sued for negligence by
the State of the New York. Let's just keep that
between you and me.
Also between you and me,
loss and love muscles get far too much
credit in this day and age.
"follow your heart" and related maxims suggest
that the heart is something to be followed, when
really all it's trying to do is beat a drum, so to speak,
over and over and over again until you die, at which point it
may begin drumming again, slowly this time,
pending "do not resuscitate" clauses.
It's not asking to be a leader, it just wants to
do its simple job of pushing blood and bits around until
there's a hostile takeover, or the company goes
bankrupt, and he gets fired.
Then he sits on some ice for awhile until maybe
someone important or rich or important and rich decides
he or she needs a heart, because he or she is
trying to start an indie rock band and the pacemaker
is simply a subpar percussionist, no matter how you scale it.
The heart gets far too much credit for being this
"sensitive guy",
just because he was willing to sit through a
couple romcoms with his exgirlfriend and cried when
his grandma died, somehow we think he deserves
"matters of the heart". Heart is a liar like
those people who rent leather couches for parties.
He's not the expert on emotions at all. Actually, he's been
borrowing emotions, (at a good price though, he knows
a guy... ) And by a guy I mean the boss, the mind, who got tired of
being blamed for everyone's poor decision-making, especially with his
reputation for being the best decision maker there
ever was. Pride before the fall, lovelies. Whoever decided the
brain was the best at choice clearly never met my
friend "eenie meenie miney moe" or my other friend, fatalist Tom.
Clearly these people never took a behavioral economics course,
or are too biased in their search to even
stumble upon an article telling them how silly
human beings are, and how incompetent they are at
maximizing their own utility.
Heart is actually the most famous scapegoat. But
he doesn’t care, he’s a sucker for attention and loves
getting referenced by every single country singer
there ever was, because for every song title with
“heart” in it he gets at least 3 cents. I digress. I digress quite a bit actually,
it is a hobby of mine. I plan on digressing in Europe next month
at the digressing convention, pending someone gets off topic enough
at the professors who forget to drink coffee convention to plan it.
Banking on a tangent always leaves you someplace interesting. Or
at least unexpected. Or at least three-dimensional, if we are speaking of planes.
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