Or at least that’s what my counselor keeps telling me.

It feels kinda f$&ked that folks would read my posts if I curated and printed them out as a book.

Malformed logic is all but guaranteed when one’s subconscious can delete out of existence (without your knowledge) any event that threatens to change one of your settings that requires a reboot to take effect if you aren’t even attempting to actively guard your data from that little f$&ker. GIGO

For the sake of my sanity, translators, could we please stop westernizing surname order when we find one riding goofy foot unless the name itself is an intentional westernizing construct (in which case the surname is already trailing or WTF are we even doing).

Amphetamine salts can mask depression. It’s the dopamine release. Identical to y’all and your social media memes.

Wouldn’t it be f$&ked if the thirty five minute attention span were boredom rather than ADHD. I can still fall either side of f$&ked that my brain scan confirmed my Dysthymia (wasn’t aware it was checking) while saying I’m all good on the whole attention deficit thing.

The most annoying thing about feeling chipper is this tendency to ignore the room read because I feel like talking out loud.

Your subconscious can also pick scapegoats.

The problem I have faced for years is that no passing glance could ever possibly absorb enough of me to keep up with conversational connectivity.

Or, if you prefer a haiku:

No passing glance can
Achieve conversational
Connectivity

You break a worldview with good faith logic. You bend a worldview with more than one person.

As your worldview begins to break, the emotional unit in your brain sends the emergency response team out to prune the offending portion of your present reality.

I wonder if the silently smug told-you-so fantasy that just played through my head is my subconscious eyeballing oil paints at the local art supply.

I suppose it will fall to me to explain to the realtor the implications of making plans to sell the house I am still moving into, that I would rather not leave, and with the only plausible six-months-and-out excuse (if all the stairs that be jackin’ me be too much) having been flat out eliminated.

Swing and a miss, darlin’.

The ninety-seven year-old tuple warning that no means of human communication is safe and that propaganda will never die out:

The tuple explaining how we are dominated by a fraction who understand the mental processes and social patterns of the masses:

The tuple touting how the expert manipulation of public opinion can rake in millions:

The tuple explaining how repeatedly interpreting new scientific ideas has made the public more receptive for big business:

The tuple explaining the repression and suppression of education:

The proof I created (probably not long before repurchasing my discrete mathematics textbook, I also wanted to prove some philosophy using boolean algebra) for the Bernaysian idolatrist so utterly offended by my little word salad:

The tuple acknowledging the danger of dictator worship when selling an entire party on personality alone (and also that the greatest problem is inducing leaders to lead):

The tuple explaining how power may be concentrated by manipulating the social machinery controlling the opinions and habits of the masses:

The tuple showing how to sideline politicians simply by vomiting meaningless words:

The tuple that outlines the recipe for brewing up a white nationalist nation: