Snobs don't seem to like snobs. Ever notice? Oh, they hang out together. So do presbyterians and cross dressers. We all care what other folks think of us. I've always denied any such notion but I'm probably worse than most.
My idea of the "real Elvis" and the "real Jesus" ranks me as some kind of snob, I suppose. I can't hang around with similar snobs because I don't know where there might be others or if, in fact, there are others. I suppose that makes me eccentric. Eccentrics don't hang out together, as far as I can tell, and we don't much like each other, either.
At a certain point my loneliness begins to make sense.
Joy. That's what I want. I know it when I see it. I know that it's all about love. To try to grab it is kinda' like stopping a floater so that you can describe it. I'll wait. Not patiently, but I'll wait.
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