Coherence

A breeze comes along, blows some trees about, the air, changing pressure, or whatever is alluded to in science textbooks. People smoke a bunch outside of doors, though nobody ever enforces the rules. It’s okay with me, however. I find enforcing these rules myself to be rather much like what they call, “vigilante justice,” even though I’ve never experienced something like this. I just don’t think people care that much. The cord on my headphones is ridiculously long, as if I were a studio musician who needed the cord length in order to span the distance from the control room to the actual recording room. I look like a vigilante myself.

I am rather sick of the playlist that Spotify has prepared for me about the songs I loved for the year. Last year, that is. It would make sense why I’m sick of it. And so I switch it to the Smiths, an artist I guess I didn’t listen to enough last year to get ruined by the Spotify songs of the year playlist that was designed for me individually. Lucky me. I do like the Smiths. And so I guess these songs will be relegated to next year’s songs of the year playlist. And in due time, I suppose I’ll be sick of the Smiths, too. But that can never happen, I can hear you protesting. I guess you’re probably correct. I wrote some fiction here today, thus, completing a segment of novel material. Novel material. Yes, that’s worth repeating.

I used to have a passion for straight razors, I will tell you. I suppose I thought I was Sweeny Todd or something. No, that’s incorrect, I didn’t think I was him, as that would be screwed up. But I did think I was a renaissance man of sorts. And so I used straight razors for about a year for those motives. I stopped after some time, just because it was not a comfortable shave, we’ll leave it at that. I prefer Gillette Mach 3 (yes, I’ll give credit where it’s due, relax). Why do I like the Smiths so much, you ask? Because they’re good. Listen to them. I think they’re irreverent, too, and so that’s a good thing for my taste. Irreverence earns points in my corner of the fighting ring, I suppose. But the material I write isn’t irreverent, is it? I think some of my fiction may be, but I never share that with anyone. That’s because I’m convinced it’s garbage. I know it probably is not. But I don’t need convincing, obviously. I’m just too egregiously self-centered to release it to the public.

Oh, and I guess I should give credit where it’s due to the Smiths, too. Though I’m not making a works cited or anything for this piece. You’ll have to take my word for it. I give them credit. I can’t really tell them, either. So it’s an implicit works cited, I suppose. Just don’t repeat that in your papers for academia, because the teacher won’t like that (it’s certain).