On Saturn's Days I do what is commonly referred to as "work." This is a very silly thing to call that which I do, because I have never done any work doing it, but all the same, it produces one of The Man's favorite things: income. I do not believe it pleases The Man; however, as I am vastly entertained by my "work," henceforth referred to as "play." This is an excellent choice of word for that which I do, for it is precisely my doing. I play. More aptly, children play, but not with me, mind you, but for me. Sometimes I play for them as well, thus subjugating them to my superiority and reminding them why they are learning from me, and not me from them. Otherwise I simply demonstrate that which I demand that they do. That which is played, of course, is the pianoforte.
There are at this point three students under my wise and sagacious pedagogy and pleonasms. I rather enjoy the company of the number three, as it is the number in the Holy Trinity.* Also, I quite enjoy the company of children, as they often put a smile on my face, especially when they are masquerading as the elderly. I rather enjoy the company of the elderly, as they often put a smile on my face, especially when they are masquerading as the young. Also, I rather enjoy the company of animals, particularly domestic animals and harmless wild animals, as they put a smile on my face, especially when they are masquerading as human, or perhaps not that last bit. I do not particularly enjoy the company of humans (or at least frightening ones with three rows of teeth), as they often reveal themselves to be savage beasts.
Thus I meet with three certain youths each week, one of which is a bit too large and aged to call "child" (He is taller than me, I think. I do not like that.), and I have come across a certain pedagogic virtue, largely based on the influence of certain persons around me whom I admire greatly. This is the virtue of teaching without shoes. (Perhaps this is what made that youth taller than me...he had shoes...) Now, it is a usual practice of mine not to wear shoes around the home, as I believe is the practice of most of my fellow human beings. I myself would not know... Granted that I engage in this pedagogy from within the confines of my home, I do not feel inclined to put on shoes for the occasion, and frequently I altogether neglect socks, as well. In fact, this has become my standard practice. I am altogether convinced that I am more effective for doing so. Also, it helps to upset The Man just a tiny bit more.
Next maybe I will stop shaving and getting my hairs cut and washing. I could be a Bohemian! I could buy a long frock coat, a damaged top hat, and dirty pants, which I would not wash either. Then I could spend my days making art** and disappointing my loved ones, who would continually give me small allowances of money so that I could eat and not find myself homeless, which I would quickly squander on the many useless possessions that I would run across in the shops of my Bohemian world. It would be great fun, don't you think?***
The muses be with you.****
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*There are some mystics who refer to the Blessed Virgin as the third person of the Holy Trinity. Beware of these, for they are followers of Isis.
**The shortest distance from Point A to Point B is Fish Heads and Rice.
***I do not think so, either.
****I do not believe in the muses. Neither should you.
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Not wearing shoes is most definitely part of sticking it to the man. Why do you think the hippies often neglect(ed) them? I started my anti-shoe (or more accurately for that time my anti-shoes-that-aren't-flip-flops) lifestyle specifically because it drove the Man mad, or rather the Woman. I didn't like her and she didn't like me. Or my flip-flops. It worked for both of us, even though it probably wasn't the nice thing to do.
But please, for the sake of yourself and the rest of us, don't go Bohemian.
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