Sooner Or Later, The Government Will Find It, And See Fit To Exploit Its Natural (I Hear They Have A Lot Of Ore There) Resources.

I've been thinking, and we both know how dangerous that is, but, no-really-hold-on-hear-me-out, I've been thinking.
I've been thinking a lot about this other world.
Which isn't to say that I've been living in this other world, although we both know how easy it is to find yourself living in what you've been thinking about lately.
In fact, I can't live there.
Which isn't to say that I haven't tried.
I have tried. Really. And failed.
(Really.)
I suppose that it wouldn't be nearly as much fun to live there, I suppose, considering that we can never observe the worlds we inhabit from an objective outsider's view when we are, in fact, subjective insiders, I suppose.
Which isn't to say that it's fun to observe this other world, or rather to observe its inhabitants.
It isn't.
It's downright disturbing, and I'm hesitant to discuss it with anyone, because everyone already thinks I'm crazy (the good kind) and I'm not sure that I'd like it if they began to think that I'm crazy (the bad kind).
But hey, opinions and shit, man, right, man, shit, who cares, it's a big world, right?
Sure, sure, it's a big world (or a small one, depending on the worldview to which you subscribe), and everyone's different, everyone's unique, everyone's special, blah blah blah but NO, these people, these people from this other world have these auras from this other world that you don't even KNOW, man. You don't even know.
Yet.
But when you do know (because you will know, after you see your first one), you'll begin to see more of them.
One clutching a box of shredded wheat in Chelsea.
One buying a block of gouda (that you know he will be eating, in its entirety, alone at home tonight) at Trader Joe's.
One paying in exact coin change for two dozen cans of cat food and a single powdered donut hole.
One holding a bouquet of flowers behind his back.
You'll get better at understanding who lives in this other world and who doesn't.
Which isn't to say that you will learn to expect it.
Because you won't.
Which isn't to say that coming upon one of them will feel entirely unfamiliar.
Because it won't.
It's more, to take a page out of Freud's book (if we can find manage to find a page with notes that aren't obscured by drawings of penises), shall we say, uncanny.
Like finding those two dollars you always keep in the pocket of your jeans. (Just in case.)
Because each time that you find them, you can't remember what it feels like to forget that they're there - you can't believe that you forget that they're there. But you do. Forget. Which makes it even sweeter when you find those two dollars the next time, and the time after that, and the time after that.
But sadder, too.
Because you're beginning to realize that you never manage to remember.