Orange County

I am sitting here in a ritzy bar in the Mecca of the corporate America cubicle vortex called Orange County. I cant help but get the feeling that at any moment I will be escorted back to the cave that I crawled out of because they can smell the authenticity.

The mouths of the beautiful and smart remain closed in fear of the judgement of stupidity or the awe of intelligence. It was once said that the stupid people do more talking than the smart ones and so we are doomed to being over exposed to the blistering rays of cancer that is the essential asshole or cunt of society.

I sit alone in fear or reluctancy to engage in actual conversation with the locals. They have this way of looking at me during my monologue like I just tried to make a sexual advance at their pet fish. The rubbing alcohol that covers my tongue will cost me much more than if I just went to the local drugstore and bought a bottle of brand x alcohol and jump a fence to steal a lime.

Perhaps I am bitter that I cannot join their hot topic and remain forever 21 as I eat carp and burp caviar. maybe it is a part of me yearning to be this novelty of an artist that i unpredictable and interesting for as long as they can stay intoxicated. If they were caught standing next to my barbecue on a saturday they would be certain to call a hazardous waste team to scrub them as they entered back into the sacred county.

It is quite possible that I am soured by my youth? A time when I did not necessarily give a fuck but that I was genuinely not interested in anything that did not please me. This nonchalant attitude had secreted into the air and acted like a pheromone for the non-haters and a repellent to everyone else. Does it really matter that there ever was an anyone else, other than family and friends who know me and still liked me? Of course just not around here.

Maybe I am the asshole. At least I admit that my shit stinks.

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