It's always a treat to encounter another extant being replete with aching pulses of mind, heart, and soul. So much of such one's typical encounter requires that one to diminish their own burst of self to some narrowly acceptable realm of impervious platitude and pointless noninteraction. Often, I think to myself, "how stupid must I stoop for these irrelevant nobodies of trite safety?" Truth has only a few friends, and those are mostly suicides.

There is very little in life I actually seem to care about. I'm pretty much an acerbic jerk for the most part, coining trademark aspersions such as, "I have more profundity in my little pinky than you could muster in an entire whelm of soul," for the occasion of most human contact. I hold myself in actual life mostly snidely aloof, bitterly pissed, unamused by the moron musical number in progress around me. Yet, there comes on occasion a cadence, some reconciling sense of sound and movement beyond the mundane pettiness of everyday life, some fluid feeling of connection other than empty echo ... and it is then that I dare to come uneasily alive in total vulnerable self.

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