Skeeter Writes for Me

Skeeter says, "Please be careful during this snow that's coming."

The Price of a Smile Are smiles free? They may be received freely, but there is a cost. What is the price of a smile? A smile costs all suffering. All of it. When I smile, all of my pain and remorse is spent. When the corners of my mouth drop the coffers are rich again until the next time I need to cash out. A true smile is too expensive to be bought with money. A man rich with sorrow knows the value of his smile. A smile is never wasted and when he is humbled again by his vast remorse, he'll seek to spend every last sorrow for a smile.

Press a button get a beer. This is how I became a killer. Press a button get a beer. I realize that there are many reasons that I found myself emerging from the output of the machine pressing out killers but those were my own reasons for showing up. I was romancing the idea of world travel when I arrived on deck and boastfully fell into the hopper. I did receive a lifetime's worth of travel. Was I hardened after bootcamp? Not at all and unexpectedly not. With my orders delayed and the rest of my shipmates travelling off to their respective schools or commands, I remained behind. For two weeks I was left on my own and this is where I slowly felt the programed robotic numbness fade. Bootcamp won't make you hard, it only makes robots. It is designed to empty you of thought and into the void is a small opening to fill with the technical knowledge required to perform as a professional sailor or soldier. As my window began to close and I regained the ordinary senses of the world,

As I slung my sack over my shoulder and stood by the receptionist's desk I proclaimed, "I'm off to make sure all is right with the world." This meant heading to my apartment to feed Skeeter his daily snack, grab my laptop to send off a daily song to my friend in Guyana, and to belt out this proclamation. My ego is delusional, but without these acts, something would seem wrong with my world. To face a daily existence of these lunchtime rituals as routine without grandiose intention would mean a thankless and terribly boring existence. I find my delusion to be fulfilling and my accomplishments are my own. Ah, and to leave the office folk perplexed is vastly satisfying, but to be weird is my noble endeavour.

Now, it is time for my introspection. It is time to lick my wound. It wasn't as critical you may believe. It was deep but not fatal. I have died long ago from the mortal wounds inflicted from my own hand, and have been as a madman among your glass walls passing between and brushing the shoulders of the sane of your world. You live in a glass tower but it is glass and I can see into this tower. I see the interactions. I look for a while and turn up my collar and feel the sun on my back and I realize it warms me. I am more bear than man: I am a madman.

Ask any merchant what the worst product on the menu is. It will be an awkward conversation. When do Starbucks employees lose their mind?

I am a blueberry today. I drive a blueberry I'm wearing blueberry. I drank blueberry mead from wild blueberry yeast. I eat blueberries. I'm a blue bear.