About Me
No one knows you.
Or at least that's what you used to think.
Only a few outsiders have ever seen the true you and of course, they'd be stupid to try and guess who that was. Even if they did get it right, hitting you on the head with the proverbial hammer, how would they really know? "You" changes. Plus you're not saying shit.
But recently, much enthusiasm has been expressed. "You are great," they say, as if it just dawned on them. Then they follow with their go-to-proof: Time. The've ALWAYS known you were great ... since way bac
k when. "I was there, man."
But they can't really know what they're saying. Can they? Beacause everything else that they know for sure always turns out to be wrong. Didn't you find it strange that after they said we had a week of sunny days to look forward to, Wednesday and Thursday were partly cloudy? Yeah. And that bottle of aspirin would have you believe that the porper dose provides you with four pain-free hours, but a little over three hours later the throb was back. Weapons of mass deception? An economy on the upswing? Great new taste? Fifty percent more frontside? Sure. You bet.
But that's the probllem, isn't it?
You bet.
We all bet--tossing on the sure-thing report citing reasons for the wildly spiking gasoline prices ... that has to at least be based in the truth, right? We want to believe that our political representatives have our best interest at heart, but then nuclear waste gets shipped right through town, and we hope it was just a mistake. Then another tax is assessed to the poorest sons of bitches, schools close, friends are handcuffed and taken to jail for skateboarding,, and when the parking meter times out early you're the one who's wrong. You brainless bastard.
"But you are great," they say again. "We saw you in the paper. We saw you on the TV. We heard about you on the radio. Sure. Even on the radio, you looked so handsome. We should team up. Take this thing to the next level."
And you want to agree. You want to put your money on the table. You want to be great and be seen and be handsome and headed to the next level. You yearn to be recognized, accepted, known.
But wait.
They can't know you. You just met, remember? Plus we've already established that they don't know anything.
"Sorry," you politely tell them. "I'll pass on your flattering offers. I'm not even sure what I'm doing. Really the only thing i do know--the one truth I have--is that I'm the one doing this, not you."
Then, for the first time, truth comes to town.
"Well," they snap smugly. "If you don't come on board with us we'll just move on without you. We'll buy you. We'll sell you. We'll blog you. We'll go for the gold and then we'll become you.
And you smile.
"No you won't," you say. "You're not going anywhere without us. You're not claiming to speak on our behalf. You're not claiming to act in our best interests. You're not telling anyone that we've somehow endorsed your selfish agenda of money and fame and numbers. Oh, the numbers."
No one knows us, including us, and that alone is proof that "they" will never be "us."
We do what we do, when we want, how we want. It's all we have. It's all we know.
You know?wordsKevin Wilkins
