Our daimon

I am not interested in Pop culture. It seems so many people mindlessly hang out there. It is a safe and comfortable place to be. I find it is dull (and dulls the brain) and uninteresting. It tends to control most businesses and publishers. Pee-pressure and conformity is too much for them to challenge or overcome: they need to fit in. I found it refreshing to give up our Times Warner multiple channels. I don’t get the L.A. Times anymore either. I can pick what I what to bring into my own created culture.


I have this eccentric lady that follows me around. She whispers, “That is betrayal, go for the balls. Seek revenge!!” She has real character. She sees through the lies and has extreme foresight. If I don’t respond to her threats she pokes me in the belly. Then I get that confused chaos feeling right in the pit of my stomach. I spend a lot of time ignoring her. I still feel her presence and if I shun her too long nasty cartoons manifest and manifestos of tyranny focus on the tip of fuck you on her fingers. She holds many concepts and catches them all in an epiphany, and with concentration has the ability to cut to the chase. Her extreme pity brings waves of compassion, sorrow and despair; as if dusk were a disease to altruistically pawn away. Passionate and playful, with many pints of beer, she may dance into oblivion. She is my daimon. If you see her in a dark alley please don’t confront her. Just observe her as a Praying Mantis on a flower; don’t touch her, as she may turn her head towards you.


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