I was thinking...

Validating useless art majors is the number one qualification to be a successful art critic. You have to seep your disapproval into a pool of tears over years of your wasted life before you can have a published opinion, which should go as follows: "This (art piece) was (inadequate) because of (reasons)." Great critique. Good job, you outsmarted make believe. It's worse when so-called "nerds" or "geeks" get in on the action during private conversation, whether spoken or using a forum. No wonder we haven't cured cancer as a species, or even the common cold. So much effort from the self-appointed experts of logic and science are too busy with better things. Because there's no sound in space! And the word should be spread, so we can avoid another scientifically and historically inaccurate retelling of the true events we've come to know as the Star Wars legacy.

Redhead sunburns are like a demon's skin being touched by the finger of heaven. It's like, you're just standing somewhere, being a demon, then an angel comes down to bless you. When it descends upon you and touches you, scalding all of your skin, it sees this and says, "Oh, s***..." then tries to quickly ascend back into heaven. But it can't. It can only be majestic. So, instead, it slowly rises, avoiding eye contact while you stare at it, with your hands lifted and your face twisted between confusion and disbelief. Redheads are the most unique creatures on earth, because we still get sun damage in a dark room. At night. But, we redheads are able to essentially synthesize our own vitamin D. We grow a lot of skin cancer, but hey. Vitamin D. Our skin, so proud, says, "Yeah! Look--well, we made some melanoma, probably malignant, 'cause we haven't figured that one out yet--but check it out! Vitamin D!" Then our skin makes our hands hi...

People want you to be yourself until you actually are. When you know what you like and don't like and you continually share that information as likes and dislikes come up in your life, especially the dislikes, you're considered to be pushy. Bossy. A nuisance. A cynic. Or, even worse, a "realist". Certain people don't want you to be yourself, they want you to be their version of you so they can own a piece of your identity. It makes them feel like you've achieved their approval, because they believe that, in order to be a part of their social schema, you have to earn it. You can't be yourself. There are too many 'yourselves' you don't know about, and you can't possibly keep up with the ones you think you do.

The men where I live are ashamed of their knuckles. They stand either with their hands in their pockets or their arms folded. They also have to stand facing away from each other in order to have a conversation. They can't say dollar amounts in their entirety, either. The truck wasn't $35,000, it was "thirty five." The mortgage wasn't $270,000, it was "two seven." And they can't say entire names of things, either. Everything especially must be nicknamed or turned into an acronym, if possible (i.e. camouflage is "camo"). Mostly guns. An assault rifle is an AR. Ammunition is, somehow, called "ammo". A gun that shoots 45-caliber rounds is nicknamed a "forty-five". The entire gun. Not just the bullets, the entire gun. Together, the ammunition for a 45-caliber round gun is called "45 ammo." I'm pretty sure it's simply military influence in the line of fire bleeding into the greater culture (manslati...

It's beautiful to see someone succumb to gravity. Because that is true justice. You can't escape the physical reality of nature. Sure, you can sue someone for nearly any reason and for nearly any amount of money; you can pull out in front of someone when there's no car to be seen behind the person you pull out in front of; you can even kill a lot of people and never be convicted of it. But, if you get drunk and clumsily climb on top of public property to jump off it, there's no escaping the consequence of your knee crunching your teeth and jacking up your jaw, your tail bone being snapped like the tiny end of an enormous falling branch, and your floating ribs popping away from your spinal column then jabbing into your liver and your spleen. That sequence of events, to me, is truly beautiful.