2015-I’m a teacher, wanted to be a writer but life said so it goes. I teach a bunch of uncaring unrelenting brats how to write essays and read a book correctly. That’s what I do. But they don’t care. They’re forced to see me. Every-single-one of their fibers wants to jump out their desk, run for a touchdown, fuck prom royalty, or stand at the podium of acceptance and anniontment. Or the more interesting pupils want to experiment with drugs and read a book.

Nobody reads except the fast-tracked try-hards bound for the “ivy leagues”,and they’re even more dull than the silently sex-crazed and concerta fed restless.

You start to think funny things when you’re a teacher. Like am I a brainwasher or an educator? I’m a brainwasher. I scrub perfectly fine brains to shine better for society. But not as much as the others. There’s a certain freedom to writing and I only polish ingenuity if my boss is watching. I give out as many creative projects to open the doors to the best talents of each of my periods. Maybe I’ll feed a young mind good healthy doses of what they end up doing with their life. Or maybe I won’t make dent in any one of them.

I’m not well spoken, I’m just an English major. That’s why I’m a senior English teacher. Im so bad at talking to kids they won’t let me run the advanced English class even though I completed my masters. The bitch who heads it has a PHD. She’s dumb as shit. She teaches very bad agenda based books. No soul. I guess they’re giving those out like toilet paper in this day and age. Like I was saying earlier about funny thoughts, you start having funny thoughts as a teacher. You start thinking of yourself as a non-religious preacher. I give out sermons. I told you. Funny thoughts.

Like the only way to get people to listen to you intently is to have them worship you. Start a cult then your curriculum will be digested optimally. But I’m not smart enough or good enough to talk people into worshiping me. I bet every vain conceited narcissistic man has had thoughts about the sweet luscious temptations of being worshiped by a small group of people. Only problem is it takes a lot of drugs to get people to forget everything and listen to you talk for a living. Hell that’s probably why people like Charles Manson only pop up every once and while. It takes 20 times the bullshit to get twenty dopes to bow down to you. It takes exponentially advanced ability. All it takes today is looks, money, the media, or appreciated passion.

In my youth I used to imagine the sexual side of a cult leader. But now I’m over sex entirely. Never had but one kid and she’s in Oklahoma. For good. Fuck the bitch she came out of. I’m not a fan of my ex-wife.

I bet the greatest men to ever walk the earth are the ones with followings. The rest are just an answer to a random lucky formula they happen to be part of. The great men are worshipped. I bet Jim Jones, Charles Manson, and David Koresh were a sight to behold. Holy men, but that’s just theory as is time itself.

Either way you never really know what’s going on all you can do is make an educated guess and hope you have a clear perspective to the chaos and confusion. Everything’s just a mutated formula. But what do I know I’m just a civil servant. Chances are if you use just a lot to describe yourself you’re just pathetic. Wouldn’t say that about myself but then again I can’t be a spectator to myself. I all I can do is be myself and that in itself is a tragedy.

Life is since it ends in death: the concept behind tragedy. But don’t go through life thinking about the end. Think about the next good fun or joy coming your way. Put that joy in perspective to properly appriciate it. But if that joy is success then be open minded in cynical fashions.

The real joy to life is every new day is new timed illuminated potential for happiness. Fuck, all you can do is guess what it’s about. Me I’ve given up guessing. At this point I don’t care. Apathy doesn’t hurt much in fact I’d say it’s the most numbing of all concepts. Try a hard dose of apathy it’ll get you through the day. But give yourself a few years to find some drive. I’m nearly forty and I’ve adopted this principal, but you should wait a few more decades to do so. Read Calvin and Hobbes if you didn’t understand any of this. The last line Bill Waterson ever wrote was There’s treasure everywhere.

Even under a collected pile of elephant shit Bill?

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