You Like You

You like people who are like you. You like people who reinforce your concept of yourself and help to do this by either expanding your concept of you or helping to curtail your sometimes galloping, even giddy concept of you; the latter of course must be done in a way that is not threatening...more like an ideological chuck under the chin than the rabbit punch any normal person would give you if they actually read you from the inside. You are aligned with a movement of people who seem to vaguely share similar aims in life with regard to aesthetics and very, very vaguely share similar aims in life with regard to ethics. Did I say very, very vaguely? Good. Of course, this all starts in kindergarten and I'm playing kindergarten cop by even mentioning what's so obvious here to everyone who is not you. But since you only really talk to people who are you, you miss this. Sometimes we pretend to be in love with your romance with you (we're bored; we're game) which does have just the slightest tinge of a puritanical side. That's where you pretend to rebuke yourself. By doing this you are also rebuking the multiple you of which you are composed. I don't need to add an "s" there. You like that part of you too. That's like The Lover You. In this, it proves that you are exactly like everyone else and this is why the ten thousand books of your closest intimates will not be read seventy-eight years from now. One or two of them will accidentally be read every few years. There will always be college theses that need tiny minotaurs. You might just do as a tiny minotaur. But there will be so many more of you worried about so many more of you. The proliferative you. It's a grammatical person that entered the language around the same time as capitalism. Don't worry. Even dead, you will still occupy the same socioeconomic niche (slightly privileged, with just a soupcon of delusional internationality) although of course it won't be you. You will be dead. So that you can be alive. I don't mean you. I mean you. You know what I mean. You in your numbers. You in the imaginary chairs by which you recognize one another. We have absolutely no idea who you are. Don't take that as a compliment. Although of course you will. Because what else could you do? But swarm all over yourself.