I Hate The Point Where You Have

It Seems As Though Our Ability To Change Technology Happens So Quickly, And Our Ability To Evolve As Creatures Is Still Very Slow.

What My Mom Failed To Understand Was That I Didn't Even Want Long Hair -- I Needed Long Hair. And My Desire For Protracted, Flowing Locks Had Virtually Nothing To Do With Fashion, Nor Was It A Form Of Protest Against The Constructions Of Mainstream Society. My Motivation Was Far More Philosophical. I Wanted To Rock.

-- And It Occurred To Me That People Who Don't Talk About Themselves Are Limiting Their Own Potential. They Think They're Guarding Themselves For Some Sort Of Abstract Dange, But They're Actually Allowing Other People To Decide Who They Are And What They're Like.

By Now, Everyone I Know Is One Of Seven Strangers, Inevitably Hoping To Represent A Predefined Demographic And Always Failing Horribly. The Read World Is The Real World Is The Real World Is The Read World. It’s The Same True Story, Even When It Isn’t.

Sometimes I Think That The Amount Of Time You Live On Earth Is Just An Inverse Reflection Of How Good You Were In A Previous Existence. For Example, Infants Who Die From Sids Were Actually Great People When They Were Alive For Real, So They Get To Go To Heaven After A Mere Five Weeks In Purgatory. Meanwhile Anyone Willard Scott Ever Congratulated For Turning One Hundred Two Was Obviously A Terrible Individual Who Had Many Many Previous Sins To Pay For And Had To Spend A Century In His Or Her Own Unknown Purgatory Even Though The Person Seemed Perfectly Wholesome In This Particular World.