Don't Listen to Slippy, aka Slope, "Yope" Isn't a Word

 

You are worried about the issues well Slippy that's me that's Slope I have the tissues for your issues if you want to let me hug you and lick your face I will love you and take care of you with my chicken noodle soup and things of that nature that are warm and soothing and make you feel so much.

Some people say that I'm not the one here for you that I shouldn't and therefore you shouldn't be voting on me they have a campaign I hate it it's called stupid NOPE ON SLOPE.

This is the stupid campaign picture if you look at it it probably hurts your head and makes your eyes tear with the sorrow of the unfairnesses in the world that crush our wholeheartedly loving souls that reach and reach for some kind of meaning and connection the kind I know is there shimmering there inside you like a pot of boiling water cooking delicious noodles for soon to be eating by me!

How could anyone not be voting for me I don't see it I just don't get it.

I dream of a world of bacon and of happiness where we embrace and when we do embrace it's each others essential natures we touch and hold and brush with our lips it's you I want to know and it's you.

I will work as hard as a Sloper to do my best to make this a better world by giving you the things you want like an ATM of candy and slippers made out of cheese for me to be eating.

If you vote for me I'll come over to your house and mow your lawn with my mouth by eating all of your meats and especially the pizza.

A vote for Slope is a vote for loving kindness and patience and all kinds of salted meats and also potato chips and vacations for everyone and health insurance and really long walks on the beach or otherwise and my heart and my heart and my heart and my heart.

Voting for me will also grow your world to a place with no boundaries like a limitless sea on the moon spiraling anti-gravity and free dinners on Tuesday nights for kids.

Vote YOPE on Slope which yope is a word it means yes and yes and yes and yes and vote yes to me and love me let me love you my heart is big and growing bigger I need you to let me know you so that I can have all that you are inside me.

If you can't read my poster it says I will eat bacon which is a true fact it has a picture of the POPE because POPE rhymes with SLOPE not for some religious reasons I don't even know what he's been believing and it says on my poster FREE tickets to Yourope which is I assure you a place you can go that you'll want to go to have fun there and Aaron helped me make my poster because he loves me and if he loves me just think you know you'll love me too I'm a little black dog and I'm tall too and skinny and I lick your face and I'll snuggle between your legs in the night and I'll give you everything that I have to share except maybe I'll keep some of the food if I get not that much of it but otherwise I'll be generous I promise.

Vote YOPE on SLOPE if you love.

Insta-Luco

Apparently I have an Instagram and that is where these pictures have come from. No one asked me if I wanted an Instagram, but there you have it - my life. My distinct lack of control in all-that-I-do. And so I feel I must explain, you see, as these pictures involve so much artifice.

Life is a construction, as are our personalities (I am an INTJ on the Meyers-Briggs test, "The Scientist," if you can believe the results), but we must show our hands when those constructions come to obscure the tiny vibrating strand of truth that is authenticity.

Authenticity? Really? I apologize. It is either that the photographic effects the prison guard has used have intoxicated me, or it is all the grading that has unraveled me like a spool of thread. Either way, I am not quite here in my head.

And the world has become a rather dizzy place.

I haven't posted, reader, in two weeks.

It is another semester and the prison guard needs my steady paw. My scrutiny. She needs any help I will give her, honestly, because at the moment it seems as though she could build a house of these papers-to-be-graded and move into it.

I really must be dizzy to believe her capable of building a house-not-a-prison.

What was it we were discussing?

Ah yes, authenticity. These photographs seem to me to move too far from the real-Luco. The actual-me. They cross some unclear boundary and become something-altogether-else.

Perhaps I myself become Hipster-Luco.

I do not even know what to say in this moment that crushes my heart like a mouse in its vice grip; I yearn for a long bike ride on a fixie-with-no-brakes to my local organic green market so that I can pick up some fresh made rutabaga pickles and house-smoked bacon; my body moves against my will toward the door, towards Outside; do I own argyle? Can I find a cardigan that would fit my damned feline form? And my body moves me and I am moved; let me play the ukulele and listen to Gangnam Style while maintaining my composure, but still making insightful, witty remarks.

And this picture? I know how the prison guard defaced me. It was MS Paint.

My blood is a wave flooding the shore.

Do not be confused, reader. I apologize for my lapse.

Do not fear, I am your Luco, only. Although I understand in a thunderous way the appeal of rockabilly, flannel shirts, wide-framed glasses, and tights.

I am Luco, hipster, embracing my identity; for if identity is a construction, then it may be built and shaped, torn down and rebuilt; I am be the Scientist today and the Philosopher tomorrow. Maybe one day the Romantic?

Who knows how we change in every moment we exist - how each thought, gesture, television program, Web site, and picture affect us; how every billboard and park bench, bumper sticker and Youtube comment alter us.

We are changed each time we interact. We change each time we move toward or away. Each time we reach or do not reach.

And this day too we have the ability to become someone new. Even if we are reborn to merely grapple again with our own pathos. Bathos? There is something encouraging in this, although it also seems strange to me, and frightening. We should take more care with all we do.

 

Before we die and there is no more chance for change.