I am Vernon’s Isolated Persuasion

Vernon,
it's written all over your face,
no matter which environment you are in.

You wear it and they know it and they gaze into your eyes when they stand in front of you and never break away because...

...the connection of your baby blues with their tired prism'ed varieties...

...them feeling the same way but scared to express it as you do...

...the stillness of your stare from over twenty-seven inches away...

...the way you shake your head, visibly, if something does not go your way or is insane enough to make you have to go through that certain set of body language emjoi's...
..
.

Then,
the persuasion finally hits.

And you feel it.

Like all over - all over.

The smell of cologne fusing with perfume...
Cold hands and a warm body...
The whispers you whisper as you sneak behind someone, their back turned, sneaking closer and closer to that little right ear lobe, until they finally hear it...

light breathed words traveling from my lips to your body...
...

shh shh shh...

...
And the people know.
And they see you do this.
And it confuses the 'go with the flow'ers'.
And they wonder how you get away with it.
And they do not understand why you make it so visible.
And they do not understand what made you this way.
And they wish they could be as bold as that flaming hot Cheeto.
...

And then I take a deep breath through my nostrils and audibly blow it out of my mouth.

The world pauses.

Everything mutes in the moment.
...

Isolated Persuasion.

...
shh shh shh...
...

I chase the demons away.
I chase the angels away.
I focus on myself, for once, for a half of a half of a second.
I continue to shake my head but it decreases in intensity.
I look to the heavens.
I close my eyes.
...

Then, gravity returns me to this exhausting matrix.

I ask God how I got here.

I know the answer is 'sex' or 'fertilization' and through a biological woman's body only, yes, clearly,
but for my life to be this predictable, I sometimes wonder if I'm wearing VR in some isolated capsule somewhere or if the VR is wearing me.
...

Then, after I visibly shake my head in their presence, they say,
'if you cannot say anything nice, then do not say anything at all' or 'do unto others as you would have them do unto you', and my forced preservation saves me from having to break these ungolden rules because I know the true way to starve something is through...

...silence,
...

And,
truth be told,
silence from some people cuts harder than them actually cussing you out...

...
And now,
considering,
I think it's time for all of us to make things more obvious considering how dumb things are around us and the dumb people that choose to continue to carry their dumbness around.

And it has almost gotten to where you can instantly smell it.
See it.
Taste it.
Pick it out faster than Where's Waldo in a candy cane factory.

...
The brainwashed mediocrity.
The stupidest stupid.
The dry staleness.
The common idiocracy.
The melancholic mundaneness.
The same things on repeat.
...

Everyday is Groundhog Day, here, for me, at least.
...
But, something tells me I'm not the only one that feels like this.
...
And there is honestly nothing that surprises me anymore.

...
...

My face turns into a blank slate because all I want is something not of this world...

...something that the universe cannot explain.

...a connection that breaks all laws and boundaries of every plausible law of nature.

...with little to no isolated persuasion involved.
...
..
.

Out of the four strongest forces that guide our planet, I'll gladly take electromagnetism over gravity, just so something can pull me toward it, latch on, and not let go, no matter how much I try to escape, rather than something keeping me cemented to this tired earth floor, keeping me in place in a place where I did not choose to be in the first place, per se...
or,
maybe,
I'm already there, at my Event Horizon, and there is nothing to really run from anymore, things that I have already pre-programmed myself to escape from.
...

Maybe.
Maybe not.

...
All I need is salvation and sleep.
The rest will take care of itself.
...

And, the more I separate and take myself apart,
I never thought satire would become common speak.

I never thought rhetorical questions would always need an answer.

I never thought I would have to think so much - constantly - just to avoid other people's stupidity.

I never thought thinking would not make you want to think so much...
...

..but,
today's world,
unless you can dig in with your fingernails, find the beautiful, and make the marks for yourself and not depend on anyone else but yourself - you're pirating a sail'less ship in an empty sea, a dry lake, made completely out of sand and mayonnaise,

and guess what -

the only thing you can see on the horizon is fresh, beautiful, calm, blue water deliciousness, voided of mayonnaise...

...endless and as far as the eye can see.
...a naked world where nothing puts you off and, instead, puts you on...
...a land where persuasion is common speak and everything is a good idea and people can finally enjoy one another...

...

It doesn't hurt as much as long as you blend in,
and I'm already a non-conformist, so - 'full speed ahead',
shirts on,
bra optional nowadays - 'hello, you two!',
pants off,
socks on,
underwear optional,
one shoe unlaced,
facemasks on - even while riding in a car - idiots,
let's fight after work in the parking lot,
as long as it stays Winter and I do not have to live around idiots or other people's animals and I can hear the wind blow and have a mountainside campfire and be closer to the moon and stars and feel the sun penetrate the exposed parts of my body and just simply exist without being interrupted - unhindered - me not having to do six and a half people's job, unpaid, -

a me that's allowed to be me, even if that me offends you.
...
..
.

And to think - I was the sperm that made it to the front of the dance floor - battling other losers before I was even created - swimming around in eternal, mushy walled darkness -
something I still cannot find myself doing as an adult - wanting to swim around in a dark body of water late at night.

Paradox.

I was formed in the dark,
and this is, still, where most of everyone's masterpieces are made, mine included.

'Most' being the key word here.
...

And, now, through all of this, I have the sudden urge for a pack of orange peanut butter crackers, a Coca Cola with a screw lid, a Camel Light, a 10 mg Oxycoton, a couple of fishing poles, an empty beach, good company - if anybody, and a stilled ocean abyss.
..

As long as I do not shake my head and you catch me, right?
..

Shh, shh, shh...
..

Let the games begin.

Vernon,
how can we make them un-understand the understanding.

*clears throat, nears the listener's ear, and uses low level communication techniques*

'shh shh shh - they have to listen.'
'To the whisper.'
'To the persuasion of someone's words that actually carry weight, stranger or not.'
'Words worth keeping close to your heart as you drift into the unknown, played on shuffle.'
...

Think of it like this,
and I'm fine repeating this premise considering this is me and you
doing our little dance between reader and writer.

My journal.
Me exposed to you - the voyeur.
Slightly.
For a handful of minutes.
Like a incoincidental nip slip that the paparazzi did not catch on their camera but my wandering eyes did. And you catch me catching you. And I do not feel guilty. And, after we exchange bashful grins, I quietly nod my head in respect, you smile and nod back, and we continue on.

And we have been doing this dance for many years now,
SIX years to be exact,
and I am nowhere near needing a breather to regain my stamina and shields.

...
I'm good as long as you are.
...

You use me, yes, I understand that and I want you to because I can take the abuse and that is why I am here and have chosen this path, right, but the return - always always always remember there is always always always a return - the thing I get back from you, whether it is voiced or not - and most of the time you do not even have to speak it to me because I can feel it as soon as you walk up to me and say or text message my phone to say,

'well, I read your last post...'
...

My response, clean and simple like freshly shaved skin that you want to rub your cheek against,

'cool!'
...

Then, my follow up takes some off guard because they did not expect this reply but I ask it first because I want to know, I yearn to know, and I want to drag it out of you,
with persuasion only,

'what did you not like about it?'
...

Dumbfounded,
we feel like freshly fallen snow.

Too beautiful to touch yet too intriguing to look away.
...

...

...
Now, let's blow their mind, Vernon,
because,
after all,
who are we trying to impress anymore?
...

Ok!
Go!

...
You are reading this now - right?
In the present,
my little voyeurs.

Okay - proceed, Vernon.
...

I wrote this in my past for your future!

Okay - keep proceeding Vernon.
Time is short.
They are watching and listening and are almost onto you.
...

So my past future is your present and your present is my future past and our present, our RIGHT NOW, is our past future present.

...
'Whoa, whoa, whoa, what the hell was that, Vernon? You're no time traveler. You have no machine that slices through space. That makes no sense!'

My reply is short and simple - 'okay.'

*Exit right of stage*
...

Truth be told, I am a time traveler, a jumper the likes this world has never seen or ever will see.

With a skin graft on his left ankle.
Taken from his left thigh.
Patched together like your favorite thigh hugging jeans.

A man who courses his own private journey through the far reaches of what we all like to call 'the subconscious'.

A guy who loves red Starbursts and live concerts.

...
And I'd kill for some fresh cut fries, a double cheeseburger with bacon, lettuce, ketchup, and chili, an old, modified Toyota Landcruiser or Tacoma that you can drive on the beach or in the mountain hills, a light breeze, a cheap kite from the dollar store, and cold weather all year long.
...

Wait, Vernon - that makes no sense!

...
Welcome to my Every Day!
...

Make sure your Xanax bottle has at last one refill or we're in a tight spot, boys.
...

Goodnight beautiful!
...

Let me see where I can travel to tonight.
...

Or, even better - when.

Shh, shh, shh,
whisper and quit being so loud,
I don't want them to hear.
..

Quit being so difficult.
..

Persuade me like you have been persuaded by my persuasion.
..

Don't be a tease when I've already said please.
..

But no!

I continue to let my fingers do their little dance,
a little tap tap tap on that - button,
so you can listen to the persuasion of a scenario you have never probably considered until now.
..

I do not apologize in advance because,
after all,
these are just words.

Our 'adult conversation'.

The alphabet jumbled into a bunch of different ways.

Sticks and stones, right?

...
But listen,
shh shh shh shh shh shh,
I will whisper this in your ear because I'm your friend,
your confidant,
and there's nothing like a smoke if you miss your mom or a good friend,

'I will not tattle your secrets.'
'I promise.'
'I will not violate your vulnerability like you have mine.'
..
'Never!'
'Ever!'
'Never ever!'
'I might smile - but you'll have to just get over that.'
'It's called personal payment.'

...
Talking dirty with your eyes and not having to use a single word.

Undressing something even more,
something that is already standing naked to a harsh and cruel world.
...

How's that isolated persuasion working for you now?

...
I catch myself giggling because I never understood how much power there was in fiction.

It is enough internal torque to create eight seconds of euphoric ecstasy that could birth another planet in our solar system.
...

Complex but very, very simple in its complexity.

All of us, brutes, looking for something to mount instead of humping our own brains and dreams and self esteem - the desire for an eight second climax rather than the desire for pushing the nonsense aside and exchanging that for eight minutes, eight hours, eight days, eight weeks, eight months, eight years of putting yourself first and claiming your right to a clean and clear existence.
...

Then, the isolated persuasion hits.

...

We peel the exterior of it away like the skin of a slightly green banana.
Our hands grip it.
We finger what is soft.
Our mouths taste the sugar.
Our ears listen to the mastication.
...

Granted, all of this is 'imaginary imagery'.
Granted, all of this is 'fictional fantasy'.
...

And I just realized that writers have been to more 'places' and been in more 'situations' than all of you could ever dream of, combined.
...

And I still hate pickles, mayonnaise, and having to repeat myself.

I will always love red Starbursts.
...
...

Shh shh shhouldv'e started with that persuasion first.

Listen!
.
Wait!
.

Was that you,
shh shh shh'ing me?

I swear I just heard you heavy breathing on my ear,
and with good smelling breath at that.
...

Look around at the people - the boys and the girls and the its,
the failed generations that came after you, me, us,
and continue to do so,
and tell me where we are headed?
...

On the other hand,
I could really go for a doughnut right now.
A chocolate covered creme puff.

Just for a general distraction.

A little persuasion to help me forget how unpersuasive everything is in today's world.

Or some fresh churned vanilla bean ice cream with a splash of chocolate and caramel.
.

I am forever thankful for growing up the way I did,
this current lackluster generation not knowing how life was like before social media.

And there are some things I miss about 'back then' and the 'back then's' start rushing at me like waves,
and I wish I had my doughnut,
or at least three spoonfuls of my ice cream,
and I wish this generation was more aware than they are,
them forging more headway on their algorithms instead of the person they were always destined to be.
.

Me,
well,

I remember getting into innocent, sporadic trouble with my best friend who now lives in Idaho, me remembering the night we followed Interpol on back to back nights in Virginia - safely buzzed, the strangers we met that first night - PHEW, throwing caution to the wind and feeling free by just living life for a minute and it not living us. All the times we shot an arsenal of various guns, rocked out with 'the band', and grilled good food while listening to Silversun Pickups and Kings of Leon. Me picking him up from the airport after his deployment and embracing him as my brother. DCM for life, my friend, until Mr. Durden returns, but then, I think he's already here.

You are my Department of War.
...

Me,
well,

I miss spinning doughnuts on back country dirt roads in a five speed Ford Ranger with my best friend who now resides in South Carolina, cutting up in tobacco fields like it was nobody's business - the 'crocodile' lives on, baby! The hills we jumped. The road signs we knocked down with center blocks while hauling tobacco trailers. The girls we tried to flex in front of. The cigarettes we smoked. The trips to the beach in the Honda Accord that had two fifteens and a thousand watts pushing them. The 'long cool woman in a black dress - just a 5'9 beautiful n' tall'. My brother for life.

You are my Department of War.
...

Me,
well,

I miss playing disc golf with my one and only local confidant, going to disc golf parks all over the eastern part of our state - those couple of times we played glow golf at midnight with a full moon and actually played better than we did during the day - make it make sense - a guy who I've made incredible, original music with because he is a modern day prodigy and the best guitarist I have ever known and I understand him and he understands me and knowing, that if I need him, he will be there, and I the same for him. My family. My brother. A guy that has a coat for every occasion.

You are my Department of War.
...

I could go on and on and on and on,
but then it would start to feel like a Monday morning work day,
and I know your attention span is about the size of a megabyte,

but...

well...

when the whispers start hitting your own ear,
when your own persuasion doesn't sound too bad -
should I be concerned or not?
..

What do I do with this persuasion that tickles my persuasion?

..
Because I listen to this generation tell their stories,
and it takes a really good story to keep this tired ear entertained,
me knowing that I'm lucky I woke up after some my endeavors.
...

And the beauty of it all - no evidence.
...

Today - they want evidence.
...

And, now,
I'm almost at the point that I'd step on a stink bug for a creme puff doughnut.

Wouldn't you?

I mean,
not the stepping on the stink bug part,
but the doughnut part.
...

And even though I do not drink or smoke anymore, I could really go for a Grey Goose on the rocks with two limes and a fresh pack of Camel lights.

I could go for a younger me, a dry buzz, a hopping dance floor while Rufus du Sol or Glass Animals plays - LIVE, surrounded by people, pretty or not, who want to dance their frustrations off because it's about the moment.
...

Hey...

That creme puff is starting to sound better and better now, huh?

That gooey wad of white foamy sugar sticking to the corners of your mouth like a dry tongued public speaker already into a one hour speech.

That first dry swallow that pushes the palate absorbed bite down, further, further, until it shows back up in a day or two.
...

Your true friends and family - a small yet neat collective - a good group as compared to some of the groups that I see people hanging out with in today's world - my group continues, until this day, to be a circle that I'd trust myself to last an entire year on Naked and Afraid in the Amazon with,

and,

do not,
I repeat - do not,
turn your circle into a cage.

Not like the others who, willingly, put their own selves into one when it comes to their personal 'inner circle of friends and family'.
...

???

...
You're not listening to a single word I'm typing, are you?
You're still thinking about that moist doughnut.
You're still thinking about that puffy smooth deliciousness?
Like a gooey, sticky pillow that you can fit into your mouth.
.
Maybe?
.
No?
.
Oh, you little liar, you!

...
Better work on that isolated persuasion.
...

And when I look around me,
whether it's during the week or on the weekend,
wherever I go,
and I observe people,
the conclusion remains - the generations before us are struggling.

Some of them.

Most of them.
...

Disconnect.
Like a robot waking up for the first time and tripping over its own feet.

...
I guess I did decide to quit drinking too soon.

Smoking, definitely - over a decade gone and still feels like yesterday, and, yes, I still want one, to this very day.
...

But you know what sounds even better than those two things?
...
..
.
That's right.
.
..
...

A mother effin creme puff.
...

Let's go back to the nineties - television, music, clothes, and all.

...

Then my mind pokes me,
my personal persuasion,
my internal monologue that would make most of you blush or laugh,
the premise remains the same -
ignore the distractions and hopefully everyone will figure everything out in the long run.
...

Go time travel, you jumper you, and undo the undoing of the personal cast that currently surrounds your movie.
My movie.
Your story.
My story.

...
I kind of like the characters that are currently involved,
for the moment.
...

Oh!
Snap!
...

Wait!
...

That chocolate covered creme puff would have been banging.
...

Little girl...

Shh, shh, shh,
this whisper won't hurt.

I promise on the most persuasive persuasion.
...

Big boy...

listen,
I'm not whispering in your ear,
that's your 'whoever's' job,
but when that specific woman needs a specific man,
be unspecific. 

Because they have their game.
And so do you.
...

Listen and read the tap, tap, taps. 
Absorb the tap, tap, taps.
Feel those tap, tap, taps. 
Sleep on those tap, tap, taps.
Over analyze those tap, tap, taps.
Taste those tap, tap, taps.
Tap those tap, tap, taps.

Of me, touching that button.
Of you, reading that touch.
Of us, connected.
...

Touch those words.
Run your finger over them.
Close your eyes and let those sentences wander.
...

Then, I think,
How many times have I touched it?
That little button.
...

Soul open. 
My hands plugged in.
Fingertips caressing.
Keyboard clicking.
Mind relaxed.
Headphones on.
Coffee beside me.
Doughnut'less.
Starburst'less.
Blanket over my head and shoulders like a Sith Lord.
Sitting on a barstool. 
Listening to the music that you will never hear or choose to hear because my playlist isn't for everyone.
...

Shh, shh, shh.

My last little whisper,
falling on the right ear,
the ear with the little tiny fuzzies, 
the ear that feeds one side of your brain,
the ear that feeds the eyes that feeds the soul,

whispers,

isolated persuasion,

what catches us and refuses to let us go,

like an alligator on the end of a baited hook,
rolling,
rolling,
spinning,
making himself dizzy sick before death.
...
...

Yet, when the persuasion takes over,
when you feel like delivering your whisper -
watch out for those that get the assignment and whisper back to you.

Oh, 
my, my, my,
a work of art I could stare at all day. 

They are special people and need to be protected at all cost and deserve more credit when your improv intercourses theirs.
.. 

Study everything about them and make a memory worth keeping.
..

Look at their eyes. 
Look at their mouth.
Do their teeth show?
Do they smile?
Why did they whisper back?
Are they onto us?
Do they have any red Starbursts?
Or chocolate covered creme puffs?
...

When persuasion meets persuasion.

When a whisper finds its partner whisper.

When Vernon finally gets his doughnut.

When you finally get your doughnut.
...

Some people's eyes will lie.
Some, their mouths will lie. 
Their ears will lie. 
Their hands will lie. 
Your heart will lie. 
Your mind will lie. 
Our lie will lie.
...

But you know what will never lie?
...

That's right.
...

A mother effin chocolate covered creme puff full of isolated persuasion.
...

@----,------;---------