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Thursday, December 27, 2007

MW
The airplane composer
Inspiration always clues in
Where he fails to get a snooze in
On the bus,
Rockin out to the Tuss
Or by train,
Singing 'November Rain'

MYW at 10:24 AM

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Typical

I dabble in contrarianism. Amongst a bevy of unscrubbed hippies, I lust for shirt and tie. In the midst of Marley, I choose Bach. I sheared my dome just to scream "long-haired freaks!" at my classmates. If intelligence ever flies into fashion, I fear I might trade my cortex for duct tape.

Apparently I grossly overestimated my idiosyncrasies. I thought I was aberrant, yet in my new surrounds I find myself consistently outclassed in every area of deviance. The competition is fierce: poop stompers, perverts, public masturbators, lepers, yokels, anarchists, flibbertigibbets - professional weirdos. For a critic of the heteroclitic, it's utter fantasy. But for the up-and-coming kook, it can prove daunting.

I have decided not to compete; my heart and my achy knees are telling me to abstain. This is undoubtedly the wiser approach. Enamored with its logic, I gave an effusive declaration to my counterpart on the plane, a nervous saxophonist with ominously dark eye-bags. "There's no need for it, just compete with yourself." It sounded good. I was convinced. Little did I know what a difficult opponent I would become!

MYW at 9:57 AM

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