Unwilling, nay, unable to communicate in any way that is natural, freewheeling, or easygoing; all is stilted, for forethought precedes every utterance and so you stutter, sounding ridiculous, mostly to yourself. The guy across from you has none of these troubles, in fact he is a savant, manoeurving with ease as he flicks fringe for effect. Not that he’s a cunt, it’s just that he can do this stuff, and actually, if you’d stop criticising yourself for one moment and listen to what he’s saying, you’ll find that he’s actually trying to help you, going out of his way, in a very nice manner, taking you by the hand without demeaning, sort of showing you the craic, letting on you’re one of the bigboys, in this sector, good fella. So aye, ye hafta watch. If you’re not ably equipped like. Best leave it. Let the experts work away. See the stuff you’re good at? Go and do some more of that. And see that boy who was bein’ nice to you? Take a leaf out of his book, like he probably did somebody else’s, savvy operator that he is; and when a feller or fellette comes upon you a little stricken, ease them nicely, and don’t make a wank out of them goin’ on about the details, or insult with some mindless banter, ye eejit. Just. Just fuckin’ try and be a wee bit better. Improve. That’s all. I’m not sayin’ you’re shite like, there are certain things that you are very good at, of that there is no question. But also, there’s a few things that you’re shite at. So like leave it, play to your strengths, mostly. Here’s another bit of advice, see when you’re runnin’ round comparing yourself to every superior being that breathes, beatin’ the back of yourself with bracken and briar. I don’t know what the idea is, what are you, trying to improve upon every possible deficiency simultaneously? Just. Yeah. Stop. Sit back. You’re not a bad person. You. Are not. A bad person. Relax. Enjoy yourself a minute. You don’t have to be the greatest, at everything. It’s alright to be a schlub. We all are.

So yeah also you should be mindful that everybody else probably has some sort of deficiency so don’t go walkin’ around like you’re some sort of super-doofus. Everyday Idiot. There is a school of thought(Preston YoungBoys 1882-83) that eh proposes the fuckin’ craic that a certain degree of tension is equal to the equivalent release which may take place in half the time or less resulting in a life of humdrum drudgery relieved by the occasional ‘rip te fuck’, in which demons(metaphorical, psychological, phantasmagorical or likewise) will be slain through the ingestion of inebriants.

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There is an outwardly capable young man
Who shudders visibly under the gaze
Of coarsened shopgirls

And whilst not ruggedly handsome
(In the traditional sense that he would have hoped for…)
There is a certain glow about his lugs
That lures the eyes of partnered women

They scan his face
He doesn’t know

They probably think he’s stupid–

He’s thinking…–
Or more realistically, they intuit his true nature
Which equates to a sort of stupidity, I suppose

One day he will look up to meet the eyes
Of a harried thirty-something
And derive untold satisfaction
From her saturnine features,
An impermanent sense
Of peace and contentment