Stupidity used to be obvious. The guy who stuck a fork in a light socket. The neighbor who invested his life savings in a "sure thing" because some guy at a bar told him about it. There was a clarity to it. A cause and effect. Now, stupidity is slippery. It wears a suit. It has a verified account. It speaks in the right buzzwords, retweets the right opinions, and knows just enough to be dangerous.

It’s not that people are getting dumber; it’s that the world makes it easier than ever to feel smart while knowing nothing. We have access to infinite information but no time to process it. We consume headlines, not articles. Hot takes, not analysis. We mistake speed for accuracy, volume for truth, confidence for competence. The guy who reads one Wikipedia page and suddenly has strong opinions on international policy isn’t an outlier—he’s the blueprint.

This isn’t entirely our fault. The system is built to keep us in a permanent state of mild ignorance. Every app, every platform, every news cycle is designed to keep us scrolling, clicking, reacting. Outrage is easier than understanding. Certainty is more marketable than doubt. And so we float through the world, forming half-baked opinions on things we barely understand, mistaking engagement for insight, collecting facts like trinkets rather than using them to build anything meaningful.

The worst part? It feels like thinking. It feels like participating. You read, you react, you post. You feel a brief rush of righteousness, of being on the right side of something. But real thinking is slow. It’s uncomfortable. It requires sitting with doubt, resisting the urge to immediately categorize everything as right or wrong, good or bad, my team or their team. It means accepting that most issues are complicated, that most people aren’t villains, and that sometimes, the correct answer is “I don’t know.”

But who has time for that? Modern life moves at the speed of distraction. If you’re not reacting, you’re falling behind. If you’re not constantly reaffirming your identity—political, moral, cultural—who even are you? The internet has turned beliefs into brands, and once you’ve invested in one, changing your mind feels like bad marketing.

So we stay where we are. We mistake familiarity for truth. We listen to the voices that make us feel smart, that confirm what we already believe. We build our little worlds out of opinions that were handed to us, convinced we arrived at them on our own. And maybe that’s the worst kind of stupidity—the kind that doesn’t know it’s stupid. The kind that would rather be wrong forever than admit it was ever fooled.

But there’s another option. You can slow down. You can resist the pull of easy outrage, easy certainty, easy tribalism. You can step outside your bubble and let your brain do what it was meant to do: think, question, wonder. Not for clout, not to win an argument, not to prove anything—just because it’s the only way to stay human in a world that would rather you weren’t.

my first Christmas with you

the big hopes and things I wanted to do with you…

the matching pjs the cuddles the cookies the excitement of giving you the gift I picked out back in October for you…

the screaming the yelling

the tears running down my face as each ornament fell from the tree

our tree…

the one we picked out together

for Christmas

our first Christmas

our last Christmas…

godspeed

goosebumps

glyphs and immortal sighs

everlasting goodbyes

...

.

we wrote to each other

through the stars

hoping their beauty would

show you how much

I loved you.

But all my words

fell

or were lost in the expanse of darkness

disappearing until

you couldn't see how bright my emotions bled for you.

But then again maybe you did see and just didn't like the shade of red that ran along my thin skin.

Distance was our enemy

and love was our war

but in the end, we lost.

I knew that falling out of love took months

but I suppose this time I was blindsided

clinging to past realities

I am content now but there lingers this pain

the pain that I don't feel the same

because you have changed.

my heart grows weak

unable to withstand all the pushes and the pulls

when you started to play the guitar on my heartstrings instead of your own.

You keep turning on me

and I no longer feel secured and loved by you

only your lingering judgment and your hesitancy.

That's not what growing old together should look like.

We do not grow weak

we grow stronger despite age

I am falling out of love because I can't hold on any longer when you give me nothing to hold on to.

Got stuck in a rut

Trying to be some form of perfect.

Couldn’t stick to that schedule

Couldn’t keep to those plans.

It became a prison;

Stuck in a cell, the walls erected by my own hands.

It took a blast into the past

A memory; well, a few.

No more cells; spontaneity can’t be caged

No more stringency; free spirits shouldn’t be tied up.

We have a Proser with a birthday today. April 1, 2003 (his time), the world didn’t know it then, but the world became a little bit of a better place to be.

In 2003, a gallon of milk was $2.95. College tuition: $14,500. The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini was the most popular novel. Top movies: Finding Nemo, Lost in Translation, Pirates of the Caribbean. The Tampa Bay Buccaneers won the Super Bowl, and oddly enough, 18 years later, they did it again. Also born on this day: Storm Reid – Greta Thunberg but along with these, came another living, breathing soul that I feel is destined to change the world—one written word, one spoken thought at a time.

The title is a bit misleading as I have come to think of him over the last several months as a young adult, not a boy.

If there were ever one such as he to have the biggest heart, the most honest and open way of expressing himself, his views, how he explains himself when he comments on someone else’s posts—well, I just don’t see too many purer souls other than Chacko_Stephen.

I have never told him this, but I have considered Chacko to be the son I never had, and one of the truly best friends I have come to love for him being who he is. No pretense. Just an honest and sincere guy you can’t help but like.

So please join me in wishing CS a Happy 18th Birthday!

(All virtual gifts for Chacko can be left in your comments to him.)

CS: This is for you -- https://voicespice.com/Player.aspx?c=p&h=F266B35C&j=25479E

Party Time -- https://youtu.be/JTVufaGeXms

A Little Something Extra: https://youtu.be/PGcu2XTusC4 and https://youtu.be/j5hVj1pfrE4

It's my month

my month

to have it all

No judgement, now

we'll drink

till we fall!

The radio plays

a ditty

a tune

Then the ads, now

they come

all opportune

"Get your Irish creme at Dunkin!"

"It's St. Patrick's finest dream!"

"The sweet vanilla flavor!"

"With hints of Irish creme!"

You're mad

you're daft

'Da fuck you on

you cad

you hack

Ain't it at all!

Not 'Irish'

creme

You moronic git

It's WHISKEY

spirits!

What is this bit...

"Get your Irish creme at Dunkin!"

"It's St. Patrick's finest dream!"

"The sweet vanilla flavor!"

"With hints of Irish creme!"

I sit

I slave

Day after day

love me

coffee

But not this way

No creme!

No ice!

Just black abyss!

My Irish

needs are

Stronger than this!

"Get your Irish creme at Dunkin!"

"It's St. Patrick's finest dream!"

"The sweet vanilla flavor!"

"With hints of Irish creme!"

Everything is not what it seems.

In my world mixed signals are the norm.

They roll in waves,

a fog,

thick with the scent of subterfuge.

Up is down, yes is no, green does not mean go.

Words dipped in sugar contradict bitter energy,

served on a platter, pretty little pastries best left untouched.

I try to hide from the knowing,

but it’s always there to be read as easily as a book.

Even after all these years of being right,

I still doubt my ability,

because everything is not what it seems.

Pretty little pictures on a screen,

rotting from the inside,

Salvador Dali was a prophet.

What I’m trying to say is,

even if I don’t let on,

I know.

I know what you’re really feeling.

I don’t always understand the message,

let's be fair, neither do you.

Not everyone speaks their feelings in a known language,

but energy is universal.

So please remember,

I may pretend I don’t know,

but I do.

Everything is not as it seems.

What is love?

Is it safety?

Chemistry?

A burning need to touch,

taste,

crawl

inside

and bask in the glow of hormones?

Remembering your favorite food?

Someone to care for you when you’re feeling ill?

Give you the last cupcake?

Protect you from a cruel world?

Tuck you in and hold you close?

Caress the small of your back and hold your hand in the dark as you slip on the icy walkway? If you go down, you go down together.

Is that love?

Does it last,

or evolve,

into something less frantic and more comfortable?

A favorite pair of Jeans molded to your curves,

stretched just enough in all the right places.

Is it a cosmic connection?

Astral projection...

of souls?

Do we delude ourselves into thinking we’ve found it because it’s a feeling wholly unidentifiable,

myth or holy grail?

Who among us can be certain?

Show yourself.