I Don't Trust Bridges

“Peggy Sussed” is at 11. I’m watching rain in Arkansas. The philosophical train has derailed; I’m contemplating a moat filled with oil.

Now Peter Gabriel is covering David Bowie.

It’s been 23 days. I still don’t have an answer.

I want to counter-argue every fucking point I make. I want to simplify; I want to simplify because I don’t trust bridges.

And here you come.

You keep telling me I’m polarized.

I don’t attack. You do.

I don’t reject first. I don’t disappear.

As Walt Whitman said, long before Ted Lasso, I live curiously, not judgmentally.

And right on cue: “virtue signaling.”

There it is.

I’m not telling you how to be. I’m deciding how I will.

“Like a Rock,” second verse.

I’m not going to hold anyone’s hand. If a hand needs grabbing along the way, I will.

So here it is. I’m going to write how I intend. I’m going to say what I want to say. Others’ opinions of me are none of my business.

Philosophy is an argument. The burden of proof belongs to whoever makes the claim.

I see myself again.