I Prefer Monkeys

When you notice everything. Nothing no longer excists. You analyze. You see. Endlessly putting together loose ends. It’s insane. It’s hard enough to live life as it is. But it get’s even harder when nothing can be shallow. I hate it. I lack social skills because of this. To communicate with me is like talking to a monkey. Most of the time I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Not because I’m stupid, but because I read between the lines. So I hear stuff, the person talking, usually doesn’t even notice saying. Don’t get me wrong, I like being me. I just don’t like others. Talking has turned into something worthless. Which is strange, because usually nobody likes worthless crap. We want our music to be good. We like sophisticated lyrics. We don’t need no superficial poetry. We remember Shakespeare. Bob Dylan. Confucius. Still, when it comes to talking nowadays. We couldn’t care less. Everybody is just full of crap. They talk without knowing. Lie without caring. End up saying Sorry for the 12th time in one conversation.

But isn’t sorry just delayed common sence?

And tell me. What person would trust someone that has no idea once however what he or she is saying? Not because they choose to but because they don’t know better. We don’t use the term much often because we think it’s a mental illness. But in my opinion we’re all pathological liars. And I rather be a monkey that fails talking to peopleover and over again than be an understood pathological liar.

And besides, monkeys are cute……