I am not real. I am the dreams, nightmares, and fantasies that swirl in your brain late at night. I am the right wing whiteboard that helps you organize your thoughts. I am the thunder in the distance, the flash of a summer lightening bug. I am the warm blanket you pull up to your chin, the rich velvety hot fudge on your ice cream. I am the spark shooting into the summer sky from a pine log fire, the soft snowflake melting on your eyelash. I stretch like taffy, compress like rubber, and am strong as tempered steel. I am an exceptional man, an average Joe. I make up the top ten percent of the median. I am an enigma, a question mark, the guy next door. I am a Boy Scout, a reprobate, the penultimate environmentalist litterbug. I am a staunch meat eating vegan. Women want me, men want to be me. I am the shyest exhibitionist you have ever seen. I am legend in my mind, yet when you see me on the street you exclaim "I know that guy!". I coached your kids, mentored your kid brother and fed your Mom false information. I have been described as the north end of bi-polar disorder. I troll the interwebz from the non-existent basement of my two story ranch located deep in the heart of the inner-city suburbs. I am a progressive right-winger, dispensing political truth in measured doses. Your only required prescription is an open mind. Indeed, despite older claims to the contrary, I am the walrus.
From a post I wrote in 2012. I have no idea what it means even today.