“You’re weird.”
“So weird.”
“Weirdo.”
In my memory I still hear the beastly little children call me names, spitting through their razor teeth, sharp like baby sharks, hurling words to knock me down, stun me dumb, and keep my fabulousness fully under-bushel. Back then, I was incapable of ignoring all their slander. I took on damage like a holey vessel takes on water in the rain, each word sinking me deeper down into the waves, until my metaphorical boat was uselessly submerged. And fancy me not knowing how to swim…
It seems that as a child, 7 was the sensitive type — if I may refer to myself in person number 3. Now, to be sure, I appreciate the way the new crowd of young exceptionals has re-appropriated every nastily-cast slur, made trophies of their taunts, and worn teeshirts covered in their mocking words — each more damaging than stick or stone could be. Truly, they’ve made an honor-badge of each affront and proudly owned it all. But my child-self was programmed to receive. I absorbed every rock-flung insult; I let them break my bones.
Marcy and I have this in common. All those little imbeciles called us weird in school, until paralyzed by negative self-image, we stood down, shut up, gave up, and in certain cases, (here, I’m speaking only of myself), found another way. They made us feel bad — these fucktards, If you will excuse my accurate and descriptive use of the vernacular. And for what? For being different, for being other, for being ourselves — our overcautious, overcryptic, crazy-smart and diamond-shining selves.
And why, why did they single us out for ridicule — not just as excessively base and average children, but as the base and average adults they grew to be?
Because we threatened their existence, Marcy and I. We were different. They were simpletons and we were not. It’s really as simple as that. We use words they don’t understand. We think thoughts they’re incapable of thinking. We imagine, we create, we express. We conceive things beyond their box-bound thinking and it scares them to the point of wildness.
Aw… poor stupid little babies…
Indeed, fellow weirdos, unfurl your deep vocabulary before them and watch their upper lips recoil in defense! They are frightened animals, snarling-scared of what they do not understand. They’re intimidated by words too big, concepts too vast, and presentations of the self not intended to pathetically fit IN.
Their fear triggers animal reactions as old as earth itself. We’re speaking of the instinct, here, people. Fight or flight, going back to — or should I say never having gotten beyond — they’re primitive survival instinct: protect the skin, perpetuate the species: fight, fuck, flee. Truly, this is human savagery 101, la humanite barbarique. It boggles the mind that even after 160,000 of homo sapiens sapiens walking upright o’er the world, there are still so many among us processing life through this archaic operating system. And yet here we are.
Only… (and now for some sword-steeling fun!) Only now, it occurs to me after years of observation, that when faced with this most basic binary choice between fight or flight, only the really stupid, burly humans chose to FIGHT. I mean, doesn’t that ring true? The smart ones flee, make tracks, fly; they trot their bunny tails sensibly away from danger. And the superior among our species (myself and Marcy present here,) camouflage themselves astutely, stifling their laughter as they (from safe advantage) observe the keystone-kop-like antics of the others. But lo, watch as the unevolved, those upon whom wisdom ne’er made an impact, the duh-whu bruisers of lowest intelligence misread the situation yet again, sense mortal, (read: uncomfortable) threats to their self-esteem, simplicity, or safety and choose to pick a FIGHT.
Their mission is to destroying that which THEY DO NOT/ CANNOT UNDERSTAND, making themselves feel more important in the process.
Yes, watch them backed into the corner of their cognitive limitations as Marcy and I intimidate them with our advanced ideas! Watch them to bristle with alarm, until they sanp-crackle, instinctively REACT to try and save their spot there on the lowest-rung. Teeth bared, they attack.
They attack!
They attack.
Best keep out of their way while plotting pure, unadulterated vengeance…
So think about that, genius: the next time you make a move to derisively bark some synonym of “weird,” you’re exposing yourself for the idiot you are. You are embarrassingly screaming, I don’t understand! I feel threatened! I don’t know! My ignorance has frightened me so I’m going to do my violence now!
I’m watching you, caveman. And I see you sitting low and scared.
But to my ken I’ll say before I go, know it live it love, weirdos. I’m on my way — a vigilante hero on the move. Just as soon as I stretch my way off this terribly comfortable bed. Yawn.
7