You know you know you know
I sometimes hear them, you know. Not voices, not words, but thoughts or more really, the gist of a conversation. And people look at me like I’m crazy when I tell them, but I’m not. It’s science. It’s electromagnetism, bits of information whizzing around through the air. They pass through my head and then leave again, but they leave something behind. You couldn’t expect it not to have an effect. Most people don’t know I can hear their conversations, so they talk more freely than they would to my face, and they say nasty, mean-spirited things. Then talk to me later like I’m their favorite person in the world. Well fuck them. I can smile right back, but I’m smiling because I know, and I know they don’t know I hear them. One day when the Son of Man returns, all will be set right. I don’t care, really I don’t, but I wish they’d stop saying such mean things. I just want to be liked. Why won’t anyone love me? Kill me, fuck me, I wish everyone else was dead.