By Mike Johnson
Since retiring years ago, I exercise my mental health Medicarefully.
“Reality” is different than it's portrayed. This becomes more obvious when you're not under anyone's thumb.
Give me an inch and I think I’m my own ruler.
I entertain myself with perpetual research.
My reality is different than yours.
My favorite mental friends are Ann Archy and Hal Lucinate.
Born in the Stone Age, raised in the Stoned Age, I’ve graduated to the Jurassic Geriatric Age.
I used to keep my private shit private. Now I laugh manically as I sling handfuls into the fan.
You get more truth out of old guys. The crazier the thoughts, the more fun they are to share.
But they’re wasted on youth.
Buy us a beer and we’ll happily share the honest what-for.
It’s too much work to lie. We no longer have the memory for it.
We know we’re wiser than you. We see you have boatloads of mistakes to go before you figure it out.
But we don’t lord that over you. We just quietly smile as we size you up.
You can’t see our brain. You can’t see our clarity. You can’t see our inner invulnerable Superman.
We used to be you. We know everything you know plus all the stuff you haven’t yet learned.
We like you.
We want to save you grief and pain.
But you likely don’t want any help.
Most don’t.
So we standby, make banana dolphins, ready to leap into a deeper porpoise.
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