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  • Mike


Updated: Nov 10, 2023

When did the word 'classic' escape the emoticom?

Not in a commercial, but in real life. Walking down the street in a town that nobody cares about along a street that would rather have no name to an outsider until that car parked along the sidewalk is so polished and so unique that I have to walk on the moon just a little bit just to believe it as I walk on by to my destination.

A distraction when I pretend I don't care if her parents will like me when I arrive.

The dinner is amazing and her father eyes me from across the table as she puts her foot between my legs under the table.

I hate people. If I could kill people and get away with it I would and that is what they will probably say about me and nobody will come to my defense.


We laughed about it as I sat in the driver's seat. She had the same look in her eye as I always did. You could say that it was young lust, but it was mutual. Those green eyes and that long blonde hair - I don't know what it was. She was stunning, but it was something else. It was definitely something else.

I walked out of a college building and met people cheering for me, once. They were probably expecting someone else. I have no idea who or what they were cheering for, but they all looked at me and acted like they were going to rise me up and carry me around and so I dissented and walked two blocks to the east toward the art institute, a place where artists said the gathered, but never did.

I contemplated these works with a seriousness as if I examined them enough that I would somehow learn how to create one of my own that would hang in this same place many years after my own death.

As I walked down the stairs of the grand atrium, my eyes met with a girl in my music class. The best looking hippie chick I had ever seen. She looked at me too and walked toward me. The Cure - Plainsong.

We had a few seconds, but it didn't happen. I still remember it.

I mostly think of women as objects of pleasure and the 'muse' for creative inspiration, but they know that they are only there to tap into your resources these days. It is pathetic really. That is why they are still so unhappy. But who am I to say?

I see this old guy driving a highly polished and obviously well taken care of classic car down the street. There was a time when his car probably got him a lot of good ass and whenever he takes care of it he is probably keeping up his dreams or memories that are somehow connected to that car. He is happy, so why mess with him. That guy is in the zone.

At least thinking about her makes me want to write about how she made me feel. That is all the AI tools really want to know about now, so they can figure out how to harvest and recreate and redirect it for their own purposes.

But before the memories become available for download for a fee, my brain lit up in ways that your tools can never replicate.

I have forgotten many, many things. I will not say that I remember every moment with her, but they were the best because I am still thinking about them decades later. The point is that I remember what it it feels like to feel something good in this world full of shit.

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