Relatable?

I don’t understand how I can be so comfortable wearing this shirt. A slow building heat permeating my body, forcefully enraptures my senses lulling me to the realm between dreams and rest.

How can I feel comfortable wearing this orange shirt - a class dedicated to a collection of peoples circumnavigating a verifiable post apocalypse brought about by my ancestors - I should feel wrong, I don’t know how I could even put it on.

And yet here I am, being dragged towards this uncertain realm, where words spoken and thoughts uttered coalesce into an unremembered jumble of reality - Complete in tone and construction, but devoid of any and all substance.

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Pills that transport you into other more interesting lives. Futuristic T.V. Chemical control that tricks your brain into thinking and reacting to very specific things. The show changes because your brain influences and retools it based on your input. You are the main character in these shows. You get to affect how it ends.

Sandals, leather ribbons laced tight up my shins and around my ankle.

I am ready for the dance. My sword hangs dull against the armored flank of my skirt - still dangerous, It must not find any undue mark.

To ensure my own protection against my partner's spear, Polished smooth and shining like a bathhouse's solem pool at midday, a buckler dinged and scratched but cared for in the most resolute fashion I can.

Evander waits and the crowd gathers. No colosseum floor prepares us, instead a cleared market stall - bracketed by the cities public fountain - is to be our theater for the night.

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Foreign object, song - “I am literally going to stab you in the eye with a foreign object”

A strange tangent in the album, Beat the champs, by the Mountain goats. Shared with me by my brother. There doesn’t feel like a connection to my day to day. I would bet serious money that based on my bright clothes, gentle speaking manner and general polite demeanor, no one would guess how it holds onto me.

I want TO bash YOU in the back of the head WITH A hammer.

Reminiscent to me, and perhaps to those if I’ve recounted the story (If their memory is subservient to them in a manner that mine has never been,) is a particularly innocuous trip my dad and I took to our local thrift shop. A child, no more than eleven (I’ve worked with children alot, I would know,)was channeling all positive reasons for abortion: Screaming, tantruping, demanding. As we walked from the store, the child and his mother were ahead of us; A wailed squall still emanating from his gaseous maw. “Do you remember that scene from Blade runner 2049, the one with the female android in the police station.”

“Yes of course.”

“That scene, where she hits the officer, I swear I’m gonna bash that kid in the back of his head, with my bare palm, until his eyes bleed.”

“Oh?!”

“Just like, wham!!”

That's a highlight I tell people... about a time me and my dad bonded.

I want to BASH you IN THE BACK OF the HEAD WITH a hammer.

You might be getting a theme now, you might be sensing a pattern. There's a chance you know alot about me, about my family. My brother, My father me; why do I WANT to bash you in THE back of the head with a HAMMER? What story is entirely my own and yet is capable of bridging that inherent influence that an external force can give you.

Why did I BASH THAT FUCKER IN THE BACK OF THE HEAD WITH A HAMMER?

I'm not telling.