Monday, September 18, 2017

Secrets Part II: The Stink of Dishonesty

The pen is mightier than the sword. 

I cannot fall back asleep.

I was sleeping earlier and now I am awake.

I have roughly twelve files opened inside my head.

The rainbow wheel is spinning, though. My brain is on empty and my brain is nearing capacity. 

In my own "selfish" attempts to save myself, I must reveal some recent realizations that I feel certain to be true. My goal in revealing these realizations are completely selfish and yet also altruistic. 

I am going to selfishly attempt to save myself so that I am still here for You.

Secrets. They stink.

Like a forgotten fish caught on a lazy Summer day, a Secret grows it's own ecosystem of maggots and the maggots bring the flies. The carcass of the fish eventually turns to chum and then freezes and then, in the Spring, the Rot is refreshed until the Dead dry up in the Sun. The brittle, salty bones lie in wait, while Sea Gulls swoop down to chomp with the delight of a three-year-old boy eating Cheetos.

I am alone and hanging by the thread of my own conviction. My conviction is my one True Friend, and it feeds me and comforts me. It tucks me in at night and reads me a bedtime story. My Conviction tickles my back until I fall asleep. It coos encouragement when I doubt I can take one more step.

Conviction has a trusty sidekick named Anger. Anger is a badass bitch who walks around with a Vietnam-War-era Napalm jet pack, ready to incinerate anything in it's path.

If you are like me, and you have a Disability, watch The Others. Other People who are not disabled are different than Us. They walk around not worrying whether or not the "Handicapped" doors work at malls. They walk around ambivalent to the "WAIT...(beep! beep! beep!)... WALK..." mechanical voices at crosswalks.

Secrets stink. Millions of them float around the planet, just junking up the sky, hanging out with Smog, Birds, Insects, and Airplanes.

I am honest. I try not to harbor Secrets. It's just the way I was built.

Humans are exhausting.

Like, absolutely tiring. Humans poop and pee and have bad breath. Humans do what is in their best interest, and they enjoy a game called "gossip" because it makes them feel better.

Somedays I have empathy for humans, and other days I long for the ai that is already here but will take ten more years to completely catch up and twenty more years to surpass us.

When I am feeling particularly dreadful about being a Human, I just sit. I stew. I stay alert. Sleep is OK. Laughing is better. The claustrophobia of this Home Planet is oppressive. I may never make it to Mars, but I know I will make it up there, inside the thinner atmosphere.

I will look down on Humans as I sit up in the sky with other humans and I will think to myself:

At least there will always be Medium Oreo Blizzards at the Dairy Queen. I still have yet to receive one. But, when the time is right, one will appear in my still healing broken hand, and my cyborg wrist will hold onto said Medium Oreo Blizzard, and my Human brain will go into pleasant Food Coma, and then I will sleep.

Try to stop being such an annoying Human, and I will, too.

Good morning / Good night,

1 comment:

  1. I love you always Franky. You are my human and I am yours.