The Napkin Series-Part I

Who apprehends my every frivolity and absurdity? Oh, that’s right: yours truly. Yours truly is the son-of-a-bitch evincing reflection, reasoned analysis. I, on the other hand, have to settle for what comes out extemporaneously.

I’m in the world, he knows the world. Yours truly has integrity. He doesn’t omit or distort.  He’s uncompromising: I tell him to pipe down, he carries on; I entreat him to be quiet, in vain; I beseech him to spare me from impending truth and then, without fail, I submit. I submit because I trust him. I trust him because he knows me. I submit because he knows me.

Yours truly is a force, ever approaching the surface. When conditions are ripe for his revelation, he gives me a peek of his wisdom–in some cases I can use it in real time; but, typically, he emerges a moment too late.

Always trying to distill me, to strip me down to the core. When I know myself perfectly well, I’ll be naked all the time. Bare naked, like when I used to sprint around the house after a bath as a tyke. Why did I do that? Because it unified me and the moment; I couldn’t have acted differently.

Yours truly isn’t a villain. He is an uncompromising son-of-a-bitch, though.

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