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Like Minded

What do you like?  What does she like?  I like.  We like.  They like.  I don’t like.  She likes avocados, genuine people, vintage sweaters.  He likes black and white movies, things, stuff. I like.  I like.
Walt Whitman famously said that he contained multitudes.  He contained contradictions. We contain multitudes.  We are fucking human man!  We are complex in our feelings and emotions.  Our ideas and wants change with the speed of light.

This is exciting.  To discuss and to delve into the caverns of who we are and who we can be.  All that precedes allows us to carry on great conversations and write incredible stories, accounts and reviews.  We have a million years of discourse, religion, myth, science, technology, philosophy and literature behind us and the best we can do is “I like”.  Thumbs up.

Kill your Facebook.

I know you, you’re no caveman.  You’re no grunter.  You’re no monosyllabic funky frat fuck. You’re a human! You’ve got it all there inside of you.  A billion years in either direction of everything that ever was and ever will be right inside of you.  Let it rock and roll in a billion ways.  Let it come out in music and conversation and eye movements and hand gestures and laughter and sex and novels.
Who gives a fuck what you like?  Don’t let your likes define you, let them compliment you.

Likes are leading us to types:
Are you the spiritual type?  Do you like Chogyam Trungpa and Alan Watts?
Are you the intellectual type?  Do you like Sartre and Foucault and cigarettes?
Are you the artsy type?  Do you like Kandinsky and Egon Schiele?
Are you the sporty type?  Do you like football and winning?

Types don’t do anybody any good except for Macintosh and Microsoft and Comcast and Paramount and Sony and Fox.  There is a sick fat man who is a thousand years old on the thousandth floor who knows that you are the type who will see his movie.

There is one thing they’re not telling you: You can love it all!

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