Misfits & Chameleons [2]

Only 2 types of people can change the world. There is no in between. It's a slow death to never realize your Style. Van Gogh and Suicide.

“Because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth.” - Revelations 3:16

Continuing down 3rd street when The Beach Boys - Good Vibrations starts to play. The Watering Hole has live music but it’s too far to pick up on. Plus I have bad ears from constantly listening to music ‘too loud.’

I’ve been restrengthening them by listening to blades of grass rub each other, by focusing on the thunderous sound of a leaf landing on the concrete … I'm pickin' up good vibrations oom bop bop … Despite this, The Watering Hole is simply too far. Old cedar frame is authentic. Making it thick, impenetrable. I tested this one night by screaming into it while Easton stood directly outside. He didn’t hear a peep.

Still yet I hear it clear as day… she's giving me the excitations oom bop bop … bouncing down the street I look left and outside the coffee shop, notice a group of college students with their noses buried into books. Stacks of them.

The whole nine yards: Glasses, hydroflask likely full of cucumber water, 24oz coffees, chestnut colored and watered down, highlighters, one has a stapler attached to his Apple Watch. Maybe, I’m hoping, some Vyvanse in their pencil pouches. Pure chameleons.

… OOM BOP BOP … getting louder… I’m snapping my fingers and head nodding my way over to the teens skating. Pure misfits. Grunged out. Standing in a group but not looking connected. Metaphysically isolated, eyes at a perpetual 70degree angle.

Crossing the street I yell out, “LET ME SEE AN OLLIE.” I’m jumping to the music. ....Close my eyes, she's somehow closer now…

They’re stoic. Real cool type. Must not like to dance. The Cure over The Beach Boys. I understand. They slowly look up and I admire their lack of fear. The energy I’m attacking with is enough to make most skiddish, even frightened. Not the misfits.

The tallest one throws his board on the ground, effortlessly landing on it, takes off, pops the rear, lands smoothly.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” …Softly smile, I know she must be kind…

Further down 3rd now I look back and can see, split poetically by the street itself, the two different groups of people. I think of the misfits:

This isn’t a malleable characteristic. Not some quirky personality add-in that gets thrown on when desired. This is systematic. Deep in the nervous system, bones, spirit. The misfit can’t adjust to be ‘accepted’ because in doing that they lose more of themselves than is recoverable.

It’s suffocating to them. The truest sin.

Misfits live through a set of ‘rules’ created through a personal sense of what is right vs wrong. A moral code directed only by the quality of their sleep at night. …When I look in her eyes, she goes with me to a blossom world…

Logical vs illogical. Dictated by what clicks to them. They sit on the outside of society. This has the situational make up to be soul crushingly lonely. Being misunderstood, standing alone, never really feeling ‘connected’ is something that, to be successful, a misfit must realize at a young age. Many that fail to understand this will die on a hill of trying to be heard. The path to salvation for this type is…