I am a Perfect Cube.
I am all of Uranus’ moons.
I am Cobalt. But I’m not Cobain.
I own no white lighter, there’s no club I’m in.
(RIP Brian, Jimi, Janis & Jim)

I am the Hebrew alphabet,
Written in the books of the New Testament.
I am Old too, but split and multiplied.
I fix the Constitution of America,
Light up the land-lines in South Africa.
I’m the great Canyon Expressway,
From Fort Wayne to Miami, Florida.

I am a cowboy cigarette.
I am a prisoner of Château d’If.
I am lawns for croquet.
A Cracker Jack peanut.
I am Salinger’s death, and his missing chapter.
I am Napoleon, as a Commander.
I am a hurricane’s pressure and temp.
I am a bat, and can comically detect.

I’m the Reagan of radio.
And the length of the LHC.
I am Crispus Attucks,
But during the revolution
I’m the escape from ASCII.
I am the rotation of the sun.

I am 27.

This might seem strange, but I don’t think I’ve ever had a grasp on the concept of my own age.
I understand age as an abstract idea, like what point people typically start thinking about certain things in life, at what point certain body functions begin to deteriorate.
But when it comes to understanding how old I am physically and how I think about the world, I don’t really get it. In one sense or another, I’ve always felt that I haven’t followed any of the prevailing attitudes of what other people my age have.

And it could be entirely cultural. It could be that I don’t feel my age simply because I can’t fully identify with anyone around me and say “oh, I am just like them”.
But there seems to be this expectation that I should relate to others based on how close we are in age.

I’ve always beleived that you’re only as old as you feel you are, and so I’ve tried to live that. I remember being little and learning the meaning behind Louis Armstrongs “Young at Heart”, and realizing that staying young was attainable if you could think that way.

Many of the grown-ups I knew as a kid were kinda boring. When I was little, I was pretty articulate, and would often talk to grown-ups and ask them about their lives. I remember asking a teacher at a dinner party why he didn’t smile more often. He told me he didn’t know.
I just know that I don’t want to be that.

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