the rest of us
so many lines about being yourself in a world that defines itself with superlatives and artificial preservatives--botox and daily detox for the hot shots and papparazzi pop rocks. they're not better, they're the best. they don't pass, they ace the test. but what about the rest? what about the suckiest or unluckiest? is their story kept silent because it's too violent and real for those who persevere in a sugar-coated, bullshit-bloated sphere of sunshine and bubbles without the troubles of malicious modernity and delicious, back-stabbing vanity. and what about us on the middle-class track, the mediocre half-glass, not empty or full, not presumptuous or resentful, not beatified or villianized, pretty much just tranquilized--don't aspire for higher or get mired in the desire of the superlative test. better's gooder than good though it's not quite the best. so what about the rest?