I just realized that I have never gotten the point of going into lengthy introductions. Why be formal if you are just going to assume no one is ever going to read what you write. Why try to satisfy a reader or anyone for that matter. My comp. 1 teacher says you should always be aware of your audience, but how is your audience ever to know you if you insist on conforming to their wishes. I'm sure that Dickens read just like a normal book in his day because he remained true to what bothered him, but now, we must bend over backwards and relearn our vocabulary to even get a sense of what he meant. All good writers accept that their audience will die out and in doing so make themselves immortal.
Anyway back to my little vision on top of the bridge. One day about three months ago I was a little depressed. Okay a lot depressed but I hate to admit such things to myself. As I was driving over this bridge to get to my job McDonald's I suddenly thought about the greatest thought, the greatest act. Destruction. don't know why. I just thought it. I figure now that in destruction or in the coming of possible destruction we do our greatest works. just look at the Greeks. They beat the Persian army all those years ago. 6000 to 200000. that is a feat to be seen and then feared. Destruction is one of the greatest motivators. Anyway, immediately after my little thought I just heard some voice ...I imagine it to be an Australian man who has spent the majority of his life in England and has now found himself sitting at a little sticky table in IHOP. At the top of his lungs he proclaims, "Is this what you Americans call BUTTER!!?" Of course he's looking down at a stack of pancakes with this little dome looking mound of a yellow heart attack and he is truly disgusted.
Why I thought that, I don't know . Immediately upon reaching McDonald's I told all my co-workers the complete gist of my thought and was promptly told that I am a fool. A complete fool. And they wished me to calm down. You see my depression was over. I knew again that I was still spontaneous and original. And that my mind lacked any sense of organization. In short I was still me. I had not allowed my attempts to protect myself from the words of my classmates had not destroyed the part of me that I loved and cherished most. my Imagination. even though it tends to scare others I still loved it. It always gives me something to say. It always helps me see the angles that other people miss for whatever reason. My imagination. My one true treasure in the world.
Of course I slept good that night and had the greatest day when I woke up.
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