Change: It Doesn't Matter Who You Are

For some odd reason, my text must today be accompanied by this pesky underline. Hi there, fella! Are you following me? Are you? Awwww.
So, while I try to ignore the advance of this subterranean pest (not to mention this fucking annoying blue hue), I will attempt to, through sketchy prose, fess up and face the boiling twist of total enlightenment I seem to be enduring. But now that I have to write it with this blue/underline menace, I may wait until I don't feel compelled to include a picture of myself as a Simpson. I think some HTML tomfoolery is at work here due to this strikingly real personage of myself.
Anyone...whoa! It's gone! Hot damn! Finally, I can rant and rave in peace! In Real Time! And in total anonymity, because I'm on Blogger! I was contemplating a second-story shot-putting of my work PC onto the silent 6th Avenue thoroughfare. I'm glad things are working out more favorably for you, you doomed and looming mess of tech-y mischief (man, two Americanos and I'm speaking to my computer. What a morning). Onward! Rescind the attack of our personal dementia for greener pastures and wireless connections! We need convenience! We worship the toil of the minority for our own residual pandering to a majority! We claim independence on a machine marketed for and powered by a conglomerate whose interests toe the storied lines of wickedry, and we almost never note the irony! Ah, but doesn't every decision we make hold some level of irony?
Change is a stubborn beast. And without even the smallest sliver of pride, I seem to have broken free from whatever shadowed this hulking bulk. Not so much in ways that I aim to hand over to the public in elegant design or rooftop exclamation, but in ways that do much more to facilitate a purpose for me. I shed the layers of yesteryear in stinking mounds from my body; new skin, thicker and tanned with the blood of the world falls sloppily and wonders why it ever was. Eyes berated by insane onslaughts of fury do now release their focused squint; inviting orbs now nestle between my ears and thin only when I venture toward the brightest lights. Fists once forever-clenched in stasis for invisible combat extricate themselves from the white-knuckled pinch of fear.
See, I've finally admitted to myself that you can train your mind to be what you want it to be; to believe wholly in the things you only thought you valued before. I used to attempt to "discipline" myself by absolving certain worldly vices from my routine. There was the time I quit eating meat; seeing as how I'd been smoking cigarettes and drinking alcohol for a few years at the time (I was 19 when I shunned the consumption of living flesh), I felt that a swift affirmation of will was in order, and what better way to do that than to make hamburgers, pepperoni pizza, chicken tacos and steak off limits? The brutal experiment lasted two years. I supposed I had "disciplined" myself long enough, and dove headlong into a frying vat of chicken fingers drizzled in hamburger sauce at first chance.
Another instance saw me forsaking computers (oh, how I cringe at the absurdity of that notion today. If robots want the planet, let man riot in protest; just leave my iTunes be).
What was I really looking for? Some kind of anti-acceptance acceptance? A first-place ribbon in the methods of underground and damming social practices? Or was I just trying to figure out what the fuck I was? If all I am is what I have lived through, then I believe I am a man of rotund decency. And this man just may be in the thick of a metamorphosis. Wait and see. Or not, whatever. (See! Enlightenment makes you apathetic! Whoopee! Look out world! Here comes another disciple of free-thinkin'!)
I'll leave you with a scowl, for the last time...