Reefer Madness, Part One: He's out to get you.

I have been asked by a hooded, passive/aggressive denizen of the netherworld to answer questions pertaining to tolerating certain local conditions, and I fully intend to comply. In the coming days, I’ll post my thoughts here on my blog, not at the location where they were first asked, because doing so is the best way to explicate the fundamental senselessness of the process, and this futility is crucial for comprehending the mindset therein.

I’ll do this clause by clause, at least until I grow bored, or a plea agreement is copped – whichever comes first.

1. We know it is neither healthy, wealthy nor wise to criticize Mayor England. We understand that.

You understand what you choose to understand, just like me, and just like anyone else. Perception is situational. We see the world from self-chosen vantage points, and depending on the foliage and the fog, sometimes we see very little of the actual landscape.

Furthermore, there are times when the haze comes not from without, but from within, and no manner of rote repetitions corresponding to the matrix of an abacus that never really existed can change the plain fact that paranoia truly is the great destroyer.

You’re free to feel that way, and I don’t doubt how reality might sometimes seem to be configured out there amid the dark shadows of guilt, failure and substance abuse, but kindly (thank you, god bless) refrain from assuming that your own paranoid fantasies apply to me, to my cohort, or to the world as it is, as opposed to as it seems to be. In the absence of evidence – in the absence of facts – that’s pure narcissism.

Why is it that the space aliens always come for the insignificant, meaningless people whose squandered lives attest to nothing of value to these supposedly superior life forms? Shouldn’t the little green galaxians aim higher, for the human life forms that actually might be of benefit to them? Is it because they possess a cosmic sense of humor, deigning to wreak havoc in the addled brains of the damaged? Or, did the intergalactic Zagat guide somehow send them astray?

In other words, what I say or do not say has no bearing on a fear that this mayor or any other is going to step into a phone booth and emerge as Don Vito Corleone.

Next? Maybe tomorrow.