This Is a Paper

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wingless in the span of a month,” a thought after which he whined something plaintive like: “thereafter, ever mourning the wings [he] had never truly desired, but had nonetheless been forced to don…learn to use…fly so high…now grounded,” etc. etc. It was all very embarassing and poorly conceived.

My secondary pathology, for which I am at least peripherally despised, is that I am one of those people who alternately performs for, and ignores, many different people at different times. In an effort to be clear, I’d say I love to triangulate. I like to create triangles as concrete as constellations – stars resonating against each other with tension that sings and stings. Here’s how it goes: first, there must either be arrangements made to meet a group of people, or better yet, I must attend a party, or some other spontaneous social event. Then, I shower one lucky soul with my duly fascinated, and fascinating, attention, while completely ignoring another. However, and here’s the trick, all of that brilliant attention being exhausted on the First is meant truly for the Second’s benefit, or rather, for his/her demise, because, while directed at the first, such stellar attention, such focused glowing light, and the equally notable lack thereof, only emphasizes how unworthy the Second must be in comparison to the First. Yet, Stupid Second Soul, if he/she only knew that it is actually he/she that I adore! Well, then all would be well!