I am unabashedly greedy. I just realized.
But what I should be telling you about is not any of this self-indulgent rambling, suitable only for a diary. I should be telling you instead that I sort of truly believe that Angels must love board games. What else is there to do in heaven?
—
A lot of good writing exists that will give you something, a new idea, A New Perspective, useful information… But I for some reason prefer to write in a way that takes. I want your best ideas,
your new thinking,
your effort,
not mine. It’s very disappointing that whatever I might wring out of you will probably never make its way to me, but still– for the good of mankind we could say– I find it helpful that you should be forced to think as much as possible.
Of course I know that everyone finds being forced to think distasteful, as we all learned this in school when we were taught how to speak and to right. We were taught at that time that the best communication leaves just a little bit of room for interpretation, around the safer edges of whatever is being discussed. Good communication, we were taught, fastidiously avoids ambiguity.
Be clear, they said.
What in the world does that mean?
No one bothered to explain. I suppose because they just didn’t need to.*
But I am not trying to communicate. I am here to take.** Each time this junk I post confuses you, it sends your brain into a fantastically rapid talespin, too rapid for you to even notice. Too many of these will make you dizzy and nauseous, mentally, and you’ll stop reading all together. But if I can spread them out, intersperse them with other things, I can wring out of you in 5 minutes probably more thinking than 5 hours television.*** And you won’t notice any of it go by.
And I’ll never get the benefit of it for myself maybe, as I’ve already said, but I truly believe that Angels recycle our discarded thoughts and put them to better uses. Wouldn’t they have had plenty of time to figure out how to do something like that by now?
—
See, I won’t stop, I won’t rest, and I won’t leave you alone until everything is the way that it should be. Every single God d*mned thing.
Anything that you are wasting, I want it for my own. Because I won’t waste it. I know where it can be put to use, in dark places you’ll never go to. So fork it over, Luke.
*There is a concept we will have difficulty teaching to machines, clarity.
** Which is perhaps why some of my school papers received the grade ‘I’, for ‘Inappropriate’.
*** Considering my rate of pay, that’s approximately an infinite number of thoughts per dollar. Snort.
(I played 65-point three-letter word ‘COG’. That’s a new record for me. This phone is great.)