Four Legs Good, Two Legs Bad

I've been thinking a lot lately about who I used to be and who I am now. I think I got lost somewhere between the realm of high school and the dimension of college. I got lost in venerated booze and dumb sorority talk somewhere around 2004.

It did begin in high school, though. I see it on little girls' faces everyday in my line of work. "Status" and "class" (two words I hate) are written all over their faces. We live in a caste world. I know people who think they see through these words but don't. I know people who sincerely think that one way is better than another. This act became labeled along the way (somewhere between Samuel Johnson's Dictionary and Ben Franklin's Almanac) by a term called snob. I still smile and nod [and ramble. defense mechanism.].

Either way, I have been victimized by this word [snob] in the same manner that Frederick Douglas so profoundly describes blacks, whites, reds, greens, and purples being victimized by slavery. Like Olaudah Equiano, I've been forced above deck and now I see through the quadrant. My living motif is the big picture, and now I must live my life alone floating in it.

This little prose piece is random [just like my life], but I mainly wanted to call attention to the fact that I "look" different now. Trust me, it's not just on the outside. My life is different. I no longer need petty dwelling details in my life. I no longer need death sitting on my shoulder next to Pallas Athena [although it never leaves]. I no longer need proper and public opinion [and ticky tacky teeth]. I just need that dumb word that has no definition: art [because it makes me feel somehow better].