I like how John Wilder has no real identity.
I can relate to that.
A lot of people say, "I don't know what I want to be" or "I don't know who I am."
Those are really cliche things, but I don't think a lot of people know who they are.
Probably cause they aren't anything really.
Back in the day, people were what they were born.
You were born a and your dad was a cobbler, well, that's your destiny.
You were born a son of Duke, well, you were a son of duke.
You were born in a steel mill or cotton farming town, you grew up to work in the steel mill or to grow cotton.
But after World War 2, people could be what they wanted.
Which is very strange in terms of human history.
In 1800 a person would have a job that was needed in the community, you were a blacksmith, people needed a blacksmith. You were an intragal part of the community, people did not want you to die or move. The blacksmith didn't want his customers to die or move.
Now we have massotherapists. A job that is like ultra luxery. A massotherapist is like someone that no one needs, but people with good health care pretend they need. They are like the snickers bar of health care. I meet people all the time who want to be massotherapists. They say, "I will make like 80 Gs a year." They always say "Gs."
I think people know they are nothing at all, and that's Americans cling to such identities as redneck, hipster, emo chick, christian republican, etc.
You ever notice they all have a certain haircut.
I don't know what Americans would do without hair.
It is like the only thing they have to define themselves as some human with a identity.
"Thank god for hair" the emo kid says looking in the mirror.
America is a bunch of walking haircuts.
There shouldn't even be humans, there should be haircuts and types of hats.
All these haircuts though are dependent upon semi-truck drivers with really bad haircuts and stinky armpits with dingle berries dangling from their ass hair. And the construction workers that fix the roads.
And all the sad Mexicans working the fields.
Mexicans have an identity, they have Mexican jobs, Mexican radio, Mexican television, and Mexican gangs.
I don't even have a good haircut.
I'm so alone, and bored, and I don't know what to do, because I don't think I'm supposed to do anything.
I just washed the dishes, it was sad. The well water came out, and landed on the plates and washed away the speghetti sauce.
Sometimes I walk from the computer to the kitchen, on the way there I lay down, I know then I have my destiny, to lay down and be nothing on the floor.