The truth is a bar of soap twice your size, lying in wait at the center of a six-mile oil slick.

The truth is, everything I said I'd never do, I've done and would do again.

The truth is a bloated, rotting blue whale carcass on the shore of East Asia.

The truth is a black ribbon of carpet rolled out to the horizon which must be walked in its entirety in order to keep the nose of understanding above the sewage line, which fluctuates without pattern or warning.

This writing is for you, appreciator of fine things.

Your respect for the fine thing, as far as I can tell, is born of its popularity as a fine thing and the understanding that to partake in the fine thing must in turn make you fine. You did not have fine things growing up, but now? Now you have only fine things, at least in the presence of others because that, of course, is where being fine matters most. As you age, what will happen? We don't know. Maybe your epicurean strivings will collapse under the weight of their own emptiness, which is of course very heavy. Or maybe you will ignore this emptiness and become something less human, your index finger barely hooked on the barely visible yarn that ties all living things to one another, your legs floating behind you as the other hand strokes your fine thing in the haze of your glassy-eyed stupor.

But wait, look over there! Another connoisseur. But this one seems different. There is a spring in its step. An unbearable lightness in its being. It’s so comfortable. You ask it its secret and this is what it tells you:

There can be an appreciation of time, care, years of experience, knowledge passed down, lessons learned, methods invented, developed, refined, pored over, perfected (no, pardon me, never perfected), which is an appreciation different from yours entirely. This appreciation is not anything to do with market value, or relative social value, it is to do with a value non-monetary, comprised of nothing measurable. I know. I know. It is, to reduce it: The awe of the building on past creations to achieve untold heights in craft. And in that study and that incorporation, a rare and new appreciation arises. You will love it.

A word of caution: What you'll find most difficult to discern is the intent through which the makers of the fine thing arrived at its fineness. To know this, appreciator, you must be a detective and the finest in your field.

Sometimes, it seems as though everything is on the internet but in reality, there is almost nothing at all there. 

Sometimes, it seems as though a lot of people want something but in reality, very few want it.

Sometimes, it seems as though I am doing something but in reality, I am doing very little.

Sometimes, it seems as though almost nothing is on the internet but in reality, there is quite a bit there.

Sometimes, it seems as though very few people something but in reality, many people want it.

Sometimes, it seems as though I am doing nothing, but in reality, I am doing quite a bit.

Everyday, when I walk home from school,
I see a school, a school that's painted blue.
And everyday, that school it has me fooled. 
And I say, "Man, that school looks like a pool."

Cuz man, that school looks like a pool. 
Man, that school looks like a pool.

Everyday, I think the same thing.
Every night, I'm left wondering
if the man that painted that school,
ever thought, "Man, this school looks like a pool."

One night, as I was walkin home,
I heard a band, they were playin in the street.
And I said man, two drums and saxophone,
Now there's a sound, a sound that can't be beat.

And I think, "Man, that band sounds like a band. 
Man, that band sounds like a band.
Damn man, that band sounds like a band.
But that school, it still looks like a pool."

One morning, I was rollin out to class,
I saw two dudes, they were pullin on a cart. 
The cart was full, and it looked really hard.
And I thought, "Man, it's hard to pull a cart."

Man, it's hard to pull a cart.
Man, it's so hard to pull a cart.

And everyday, I think the same thing,
And every night, I'm left wondering,
If the men, pullin on that cart,
Ever think "Man, pullin carts is hard."

And I think man, it's hard to pull a cart. 
Man, it's hard to pull a cart. 
God damn, it's hard to pull a cart. 
And that school, it still looks like a pool.