…predator…prey…the hunted and the haunted and the clueless…

It has become increasingly clear that I have never understood my place in the food chain. This makes sense, actually, because it has something to do with science, which, like math, has never held even the tiniest little bit of interest for me. There has never been a good musical having anything to do with science or math, and thus, not on my radar.

Ever since I was a child and somehow got the impression I was not like the others, somehow special – meaning, in this case, I was called names and ostracized – and I could not manage to HIDE that special-ness, I tried to convince myself that I was embracing it. This continued throughout my life. I would proudly embody a sort of eccentric eclecticism; what I wanted to call “Unique” and “Individual” – and what honestly should have been (and often was) called “huge fucking delusional fail.”

I get it now. I’m somewhere beneath algae on this food chain. Which is, in fact, rather a liberating discovery. I don’t owe the bigger fish – let alone the humanoid with the rod, reel and nets – anything. The bitches are gonna eat me without ever really knowing anything about me. So, you know, fuck them.

I have determined to surrender the babbling gab of lingo-jive perpetrated daily on the world by those still deluded enough to believe they will ever be the ones in the boat doing the fishing, or, even, grow some gills and elude the hook. I am, instead, going to embrace my slimy-self-characteristics and you know what? I think I can start a trend with this and – with some luck – get one of those toxic algae blooms going, become part of a poisonous red tide polluting the food chain of all those hoping to make a snack out of me and my kind. See how pretty such a noxious, pestilential plague can be? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! DEADLY BEAUTY!


Bite me, indeed. And then die, bitches.

Good morning.

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