Sit Down Comedy … May 1st, 2020

Jonathots Daily Blog

(4397)

Sit Down Comedy

Normal people work abnormally hard to appear normal.

Not for me.

It seems exhausting, if not humiliating.

I am peculiar, set apart—engaged in an uncommon consciousness, constantly and purposely dismantling the complexity into its simpler units.

I am peculiar.

How do I know? I respond to the information provided.

I get on the bus in front of me, noting that it’s been a while since any buses have passed by. For to remain normal, you must coincide with the majority.

A vote is always being taken.

It would be best if you voted with the masses, but acceptably good if you change your mind and disappear into the crowd.

I am peculiar.

I don’t think women will gain equality by acting their rendition of being men. Matter of fact, the whole concept of gender equality is foolish since we are all so much the same. It makes me giggle that we continue to try to compare the two, when oneness seems obvious.

The black man will never be able to tell his black sister that they are humans as long as they’re encouraged to rally without seeing improvement, struggle minus achievement and fail to guard their offspring from being cursed as inferior due to crime and sloth.

Religion is the wicked stepmother who refuses to let the children sit and dine with Father. Religion wants Father all to herself, so she can stumble from His presence to establish the rules and regulations which turn seekers into the distraught.

I am peculiar because I don’t think art is a paint by number set, with stipulations being made up by frustrated, discordant human trolls who have lost their lust for life and sit around finding ways to mock and condemn the human race.

I am peculiar because I hate politics.

Politics dresses up in a jim-dandy suit and marches off, teaspoon in hand, to fill the ocean of need while simultaneously carrying a thimble to empty the shit-hole.

Verily, verily, I say unto you, our common sense is not allowed to be common and is spurned for having too much practicality.

I am peculiar.

I’m not better than anyone.

I wear my flaws and virtues in equal glory.

I am not superior.

I am satisfied with my humanity, sporting its knowledge of good and evil.

What I see are beautiful people who smear mud, acid, poison and medications all over themselves in an attempt to emerge beautiful.

Why? Because it’s normally accepted that we possess an ugliness that needs disguised.

I can no longer condone a God who hates humans and wants them to become little gods so He can destroy them for their presumption.

What’s it like to be normal? How does it feel?

Do you ever have a moment’s rest?

Do you grow weary in well-doing?

Do you ever wish to do less, yet become so much more?

Do you want your vote to be honored instead of tallied by crooked counters bound to a party?

Do you wish that heaven was more real because you feel God on the Earth?

Are you sick to death of being normal when it really isn’t your choice, but rather, a fallback position of a generation of frightened dreamers?

How peculiar.

 

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