All the holes you used to dig

In your mother and father's backyard

To see the perfect balance of the dirt you just removed

Right next to the hole it fits right into

Your parents never yelled

But they looked into your eyes

Like the dirt you dug was a shadow

You don't have to be so anxious anymore

Nobody's looking at you

Right now you're thinking to yourself,

"I hope this is even half as cathartic for Norm McDonald as it is for me,"

him watching with his arms crossed,
you crushing a fluorescent lightbulb onto a series of colorful rugs you pulled across the alter
their shards illuminating the air between yourself and just pew
after pew
after pew
of the most confused and confusing.

Somewhere within there, two men decide this was a bad idea, and you run, literally grasping at that same air in front of you; pulling at it with each step feeling a little slower, and a lot more silly. But if you could just get a grip- if you could get even so much as a handful, you would tug it like a rope, pull yourself forward - but instead you will swim toward nothing - instead, you are stuck, spinning slightly.

i could be the most american
and smell the fireworks from across town
and see you on the blanket
laying over on the lawn
and when the world doesn't need us around
i could be the most american
and feel our home together, breathing
and I could be the most american
silent through every sound

You couldn't figure out how to say it;
it would never come out naturally.
You knew you'd die eventually,
but your friends didn't seem to act like it.

So you went to work.

And it would bug you, from time to time..
Crawling out of your own skin, in the middle of the night.

Something other than being everyone else;
still incredibly confused as to why anyone would try.

Spinning slightly, between hyperbole north, and hyperbole south,
spitting things out:

One was the pharmacy
you promised the daughter of a daughter you could fashion a briefcase out of plastic bags
if she promised to help you;
then you explained,
this was pretty much it as far as you were concerned.

Not a whole lot more to look forward to, but at least you two could look professional in each other's ending eyes.


Work is incredibly important to me.
It's going to change me significantly.
For the better:
teach me to grow.
selling bullshit to bullshit people
is a good thing; you'll figure it out.
And you'll never know any better.
Know anything about them or them about you.

Because you are entirely full of shit, constantly.
You are entirely full of shit constantly.

You are entirely full of shit, constantly.

I hear a lot of people talking about the way people are tracked into certain positions, tracked into certain professions, tracked into certain blue collar kinds of skills and things like that. I guess you can be tracked into those kinds of positions if you ask somebody what they think you can do. But if you just decide for yourself what you want to do and just go do it, you don't have to ask anybody.

And you can't be stopped.