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Dead End Journal: Normal



Normal. I came to dread what that means. The good thinking majority scares the living wits out of me. There is something in what I am that doesn't please them and consistently reminds me that I would be better off without them. Yesterday I was in a boutique with Josie. The girl at the counter looked like she came from a good family. Well dressed, smiling, she even had a goddamn scarf around her neck. Could I honestly doubt that anything was wrong with that fine young Canadian?

I was quietly minding my own business while the girlfriend was shopping for jewelry and checking out some fashion mag. I comment about a girl's hair looking like cotton candy and she's like:

"No"

"No what?" I answer.

"It doesn't look like cotton candy".

"It kinda does"

"It's really, really not necessary what you're doing".

Now fuck me, but that was mean. There was nothing to my comment by some bored, friday evening attempt to reach out and be friendly. What the fuck have I done to this girl for her to judge my behavior out of line. Seriously, fuck you. She's probably some student, still living in the suburb, taking finance and hoping for real love. Fuck, I'm so above that. I have found everything that she wishes to so her life would be more complete. I get hit in the face every week, I have found true love and I have found "Solace" (literally and figuratively).

I will never be normal. I will never fit and I will never feel comfortable around somebody that has professional power over me. Writing is lighting up like a landing strip as a path of life. I thought academia would shelter me from assholes before, but I was wrong. Academia is full of assholes too. They will try to rape your pockets to get some funding for their researches. It's just another business that mirrors false hopes of a future.

I have to be my own man.

Thank god Josie's there.




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The Ghost of the Absolute

Memo: Paul Powell is dead