I’d be lying if I said I haven’t sort of tried, though, you might be embarrassed to tell people who miserable a feeling it is to be surfing near a dolphin and wish it was a shark without either making up a lie or revealing at the end I was actually a half-eaten mermaid.
I’m not following you.
Please don’t, it might just lead you to be surfing in a foreign country where you should theoretically be happier than a pig in shit but instead you’ll be hoping you get eaten by an already half-eaten mermaid.
Fair enough, now can you please get the fuck out instead of wasting all of our time?
I don’t really have anywhere to go, just like you.
Don’t just like me, me, you, you.
My family is here.
My family might be here too.
There goes your undocumented orphan twin so-called brothers of yours in San Diego right down where Michelangelo and Leonardo play dice in the early mornings.
They don’t have to leave either.
If they were born on United States soil, whatever that specifically refers to, they’re granted citizenship even if they don’t have any papers.
So I can just get on Protonmail and send secure messages to all my Canadian girlfriends and have them take a holiday playing roulette in Tijuana and they can just pass on through dropping off their semen-daemons anywhere around here and they’re citizens?
They are, but the mothers aren’t.
I’m sorry too.
Me too, dude, I’d be pissed if my fucking mother dropped me off on her way to play roulette in Tijuana –
– If she didn’t pick you back up on her way north?
Sure, assuming I’m the same person as before and that my mother doesn’t live down in Sayulita, Jim, and so she drops me off at the market before bringing home the bacon in Tijuana and then she just scoops me up and takes me back down to Sayulita, we’ve got a pretty good thing going on up there, so please don’t fuck it up for us, or any of us, ok?
Seems reasonable, but what about all the people?
You’ve been reading Bill Hicks again?
Or any of us, Jim.
Should we look up some Aaron Swartz quotes or do you have some original shit about what this country means to you and please don’t ask anyone else on Earth, Jim, and we mean it this time, what the American flag means to them specifically, yep, the same flag, Jim, as long as we’re here, ok?
There’s more than just these United States of America on land that’s referred to as America.
We get it, so which fucking America are you talking about when you talk about how you feel about America right now, Jim?
Probably the same America you’re thinking about.
Well, tell us about that one, Jim, maybe we can make believe it’s so fucking wonderful the rest of America will want to join us and be united, wouldn’t that be a dream?
Not sure about that specifically, but nice intersection.
The America I know and love, the one that I didn’t use to feel ashamed to be from, if that’s even that right word for it, is an idea. Fuck it, I’ll start over, but you can hold onto that.
I didn’t always feel afraid to be a fucking human being in this country. There was a time when I believed in an idea about this place we know to be these United States of America. That idea meant a cualquier-cosa of ideas related to freedom, freedom from, and freedom to. It meant anything that was possible, could maybe only be possible right here in these fucking United States. That there would be no real point in ever leaving, yet now I sit here wondering what the fuck I’m doing here at all aside from the obvious connection I have to my family. As for the undocumented orphans from San Diego who may or may not be twins, at least they have each other, and I simply do not know how to relate to a person who simply has no one.
Even if we’ve got a fucked-up family too?
They’re kinda funny.
We’re funny too, Jim, we’re funny too.
How fucking alone are you in the world, Jim, that you’d even compare yourself to people who have literally no one?
Is it pathetic – to some, Jim, to some – if having voices in my head was the greatest gift a lonely person could receive?
I just don’t know what to do with you and your pesky voices, Jim, there, I said it.