I don’t give advice, I share
my experience, strength, and hope.
This is what I did. This is what happened.
This is how it made me feel. This is what
I did about how I felt. I wrote about it.
I sent it out. I wrote about what happened to it,
and how what happened made me feel. I tried
to understand what motivated me. As Thoreau said
about his good behavior, which he said he repented of,
“What demon possessed me, that I behaved so well?”
I shouldn’t have made fun of retards. They have
chromosome issues. There’s nothing they can do
about it. On the other hand, they shouldn’t expect
a trophy. They shouldn’t wear make-up. They shouldn’t
have a rich, uncomplicated sex life, without guilt, without
recrimination. They should know their limitations. They should
feel bad because they aren’t beautiful, not a part of the smart set.
They are different. They aren’t right. There’s something missing.
They aren’t normal. On the other hand, I am normal.
I vote and pay taxes. I obey the law.
I am a mini-Eichmann of capitalism.
A member of management.
I worked for a giant multinational corporation.
I would have had a defined-benefit pension with free health care
in retirement but they turned into Enron and left me sucking
hind titty. Ha ha, it served me right. Who did I think I was?
The Lone Ranger? I wasn’t busted, I was reverted to
my permanent rank. Yardbird.
Write Yardbird Suite. I wrote Yardbird Suite.
The lowest enlisted rank. Bucking for private.
Take the short bus. Wearing your tinfoil helmet.
I took the short bus. Wearing my tinfoil helmet.