Misfire social norm inspired ambivalence party of one.

(A letter I never had to send because I read it to the recipient)


I don't know if you'll read this.

I should be asleep right now.

Sometimes I have an urge to write about you, or to you; I feel compelled to use unspoken language, an impromptu monologue in scriptspeak... except written with no oral expectations. To be spoken and heard by solely the narrator that accompanies you every time you read silently; written to be articulated by the inner voice.

It begs me to question what of this urge?

I've recently come to terms with a linguistic reality that has haunted me for years... people do not use spoken language to express truth, counterintuitively they speak all things except that. Thus leaving the only possibility of communicated truth to work itself out in the silent dialect of body language.

Let it be known that this has been misfire at the frequency of never fails and always.

These situations remain infamously undefeated in a race of irreparableness.

People change never.

And by the power of deductive reasoning, case rested.

And what of it if changing other people is an impressively stupid thing to pursue?

Lets pretend for a moment that we're over optimism.

Give it all up to worst case scenario.

Still. And what of it?

Lets say it is true.

You are alone in your world of truth motivated spoken language and action translations.

Misfire social norm inspired ambivalence party of one.

Translated first person POV for screen this feeling would be a zoom out and dolly back to wide shot, naturally. Hitchcock invented this, and dubbed it le "zolly."

If you're actually hearing this, let me guess. The problem has always been:

You cared all along.

Even when you didn't want to and eventually tried not to.

It still doesn't matter either way.

Apathy translates to me in those words.

The always caring by default instinctual reaction.

The suddenly defeated force of habit.

Hello Darwinism.

If you're smart you recognize that caring, if a relevant variable, is a volatile constant of rival sprawl competing with the endurance of said widely accepted and ignored language of miscommunication/fire.

When what is cared about has an unequivocally bipolar disposition, the peculiar black/white fork in the road phenomenon occurs. Most notably characterized by how it is impossibly easy to avoid the wrong direction because both sides of this imaginary fence are clearly marked.

Can't get out of a ticket in this part of town with the "I'm lost" bit.

Probably much better off with the "wow I'm amazingstupid" monologue instead.

You can't ignore math. A mean, median or mode. Ratios. Counting. Adding subtracting multiplying dividing. Math is inarguable IF you have the correct answer. A mathematical solution is a textbook example, a reminder of how specific a process of any kind can be.

This could probably be a narrated satire.

At best, it'd project to screen with infectious direct cinema pheromones.

At best there would be riots.

Deep down, I feel and know these things every day.

The moment of impact is foggy, but why is certain.

You don't have the same self actualization twice.

It can only be experienced at the moment of origin.

Hello reality.

The day you inventory when you stumbled upon a recurring truth, you forfeit the power to forget.

The funny bit about you and all this overanalyzation...

probably precisely what catalysted an urge to record the present internalized thought:

you say exactly what you to mean to me every time.

Like yin and like yang, your actions directly reflect your intentions as they are described to me.

I suppose I should find beauty in how after articulating that, I feel full-circle enough to retire internal monologue 001.

To you or about you, I don't know. But you have my full attention, unabashedly.