A Fleeting Thought

Squares

Square head. Square jaw. Either that or professingly weak, and underbit. Let's not forget the posture, shoulders pinched back as if he were holding a pencil behind his back. The men and the woman have the same sized breast. Though not to compare it to an actual bousum, they are much more akin to the breast of a chicken. Squares started ombre hair. With the way that it fades down the side of his face revieling evenly his lethered skin beneath. Often they are a red kind of color, though it's nothing of their race, they likely believe it looks tan. This is false though, it's rather transparent. Though they speak with an heir of authority, they are no smarter than you. In fact, they may be even less adpt. Let's not forget the belt, as authority as hips, authority is your mother who appears to be always watching. This is why they wear the sunglasses. They're less sunglasses and more black protective glasses for construction. Fashion ruined the aviator for them, and now they must only wear lenses shaped like the headlights of a Japanese muscle cars.

It's a profile now, I know. I can point out the shadow of a square; everything about the silhouette seems square. I'm prepared to let them be square, it may as well be the way they were born. I see the square not as he wants me to; I don't see him as authority. I see him for what he is, struggling for authority. I feel sympathy for him, but I am unable to feel any trace of empathy. He is as the rail road, as coal became less efficient. His polished black boots are going out of style. However I will not tell him otherwise, that's just not who I am.

The man came up to me today, bully club in hand. Asking me if I was the owner of this place. I told him I lived here, but I was not on the paperwork. He then proceeded to make me very aware of his suspicion of me. To think that a man who walks up to my porch and asks me if I own the place, is suspicious of me, is incredible. I was not suspicious of him, as I knew exactly what he was looking for; something wrong. He asked where I was from, so I told him I was from Palo Alto, the place I had gone to high school. He proceeded to force words down my throat, telling me I came from money. I told him twice I was not from money. The third time I explained my family history. My family once owned a house in Belmont, near Palo Alto. It was a modest house to start with, not in a bad area, but not a particularly good one either. In 2008 the housing market crashed, my dad also lost his job. We moved in with my grandma, her house was in Palo Alto. He again told me I was from money. I raised my eyebrows at him, surprised with his bravado. My grandma moved to Palo Alto in 1940, back when it was a farming town. Her house costed only twenty thousand dollars back then. The house is currently mold infested, leaking, and sinking into the ground. No one in the house is able to work, it had become a place of abuse, which is why I'm now living on the street-side, in a big wooden housetruck. He dropped the subject and moved onto another thing to pick at. He insulted my beloved house, acting as though nobody could possibly see it as beautiful, when in fact it has made this street a tourist attraction. I know my house is beautiful, and my life is too. However the square doesn't see it this way, and he let's it consume his mind. Nothing can be circular in a squares world.
This is a crucial point, as some things just can't fit in the box. I am one of the cases, everything that has been happening is noteworthy in the way that lives have been lost and destroyed for not fitting in the box. If society is a different shape, then why is our authority square by design?
These people are the real nusense in our society. They say who should live, who should die, who should disappear, and so on. They can't possibly let someone live their life in peace. They can't be happy that an individual made a situation work; forget happy; they can't let it alone. I urge squares everywhere to take a look at yourselves before you say the poor man sleeping on the street is a nusense. Or the family living in a camper. Or the hippy that would just rather not stay in one place. What are these people supposed to do? Homeless shelters don't work if you have a job, they have curfews and limitations that break up family's and keep poverty alive and well in America. How ridiculous is it that the expectation that a square holds for each and every person is to be the same. To own a house and tie up all their time with a job, and never ever screw up, or do anything that might make your lifestyle value drop in any way. Forget efficiency, forget self worth, and creativity, and pleasure. You've got work tomorrow, or school. You must have debt, and if you don't, you must be rich. Forget going to college for something you love, you've got to get moving, you've got to study something that will pay for all that debt. I stepped out of the borderlands in October of 2015. I fell away from my father's standard for me. I never wanted to buy a house, because they're too expensive these days, I also have a habit of getting the itch to go somewhere else as soon as I settle in. He kicked me out, I was living in my car with my boyfriend as well as my dog. A house truck seemed perfect with or without the given circumstance. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. I see the value of my own hard work, and I get to reap the rewards in fairness now. I still want to go to school but not for engineering, or political science, I want to study plants and become a naturalist. I'd like to write, but to me, school for a creative art is blasphemous. All a school will do for art, is say what one can't do, and in art, there is no such thing as wrong. It's the same thing with life, there is no wrong way to do it. Why would anyone think that they have the authority to say otherwise?