Ok Y No Quotes

i was really into communal living and we were all / such free spirits, crossing the country we were / nomads and artists and no one ever stopped / to think about how the one working class housemate / was whoring to support a gang of upper middle class / deadheads with trust fund safety nets and connecticut / childhoods, everyone was too busy processing their isms / to deal with non-issues like class....and it’s just so cool / how none of them have hang-ups about / sex work they’re all real / open-minded real / revolutionary you know / the legal definition of pimp is / one who lives off the earnings of / a prostitute, one or five or / eight and i’d love to stay and / eat some of the stir fry i’ve been cooking / for y’all but i’ve got to go fuck / this guy so we can all get stoned and / go for smoothies tomorrow, save me / some rice, ok?

the transliterated name and address of the addresser of the 3 letters in reversed alphabetic boustrophedonic punctated quadrilinear cryptogram (vowels suppressed) N. IGS./WI. UU. OX/W. OKS. MH/Y. IM:

Oh, thank goodness!” Alexis let out a loud sigh. “I gotta be honest with ya, Big Daddy Dave. At first I was like, ‘Damn, this group looks like they jack off on crystals and kick puppies’ and then I saw y’all praying to a glowing puddle. That’s when I knew everything was gonna be OK.

El astronauta desde la luna dijo: -Todo va OK lo que apenas se puede aguantar es este silencio.

En el Caribe cuando alguien habla bien tiene el respeto de la gente y de pequeño yo veía eso y me encantaba. Supongo que como a nosotros nos impusieron ese idioma colonial [el español] la resistencia consistió en eso: “Ok, tengo que aprenderlo, pero lo voy a convertir en oportunidad”.

―En ese curso de Historia Aplicada que seguí cuando me preparaba para el Allá Lejos, decían que la esclavitud nunca dio resultado. Que era antieconómica. ―De acuerdo, pero esto no es esclavitud, mi querido Ok. Los esclavos son seres humanos. Cuando crían vacas, ¿llamas a eso esclavitud? No. Y da resultado.

Le temps file comme une flèche, dit-il, et la peur te donne des excuses pour ne pas faire les choses que tu sais que tu devrais faire. Ne doute pas de toi-même, ne tergiverse pas, ne laisse pas la peur te retenir, ne sois pas paresseuse et ne base pas tes décisions sur le plaisir qu’elles feront aux autres. Vas-y, ok ?

Tu n'y es pour rien, Hazel Grace.. Nous ne sommes que des effets secondaires, n'est-ce pas? Des berniques sur la porte-conteneurs de la conscience, ai-je dit, citant UIA. OK, a-t-il dit. Il faut que je dorme. Il est presque 1h. OK, ai-je acquiescé. OK, a-t-il renchéri. OK, ai-je répété en riant. Puis je n'ai plus rien entendu, mais il n'avait pas raccroché. J'avais l'impression qu'il était dans la chambre, avec moi, mais c'était encore mieux, comme si je n'étais pas dans la chambre et lui pas dans la sienne, mais qu'on était tous les deux ensemble dans un troisième espace, exigu et invisible, auquel on ne pouvait accéder que par le téléphone. OK, a-t-il dit après une éternité. Et si OK  était notre « toujours? OK, ai-je répondu. C'est lui qui a fini par raccrocher.

The Celebrated Ending-a-Sentence-with-a-Preposition Story Two women are seated side by side at a posh dinner party, one a matron of the sort played in the old Marx Brothers movies by Margaret Dumont, except frostier, the other an easygoing southern gal, let’s say, for the sake of the visuals, wearing a very pink and very ruffled evening gown. Southern Gal, amiably, to Frosty Matron: So where y’all from? Frosty Matron, no doubt giving Southern Gal a once-over through a lorgnette: I’m from a place where people don’t end their sentences with prepositions. Southern Gal, sweetly, after a moment’s consideration: OK. So where y’all from, bitch?

Si vous voulez vous refermer, il faut arrêter d’accepter de vous ouvrir à contre-cœur. *** Je veux rester là. Je veux être un château dans le sable. Je veux être le sable. Les mouettes. La mer. Les vagues. Je veux être une vague qui court sur la plage. Ou alors la plage, et attendre la délicatesse des vagues qui viennent me caresser doucement. *** - Tu es têtue ! - Pragmatique… - Fière ! - Réaliste… - Obstinée ! - Déterminée… - O.K. J’abandonne. *** Un proverbe arabe dit 'ne baisse pas les bras, tu risquerais de le faire deux secondes avant le miracle. *** On devient fou quand on regarde en face ce genre de vérité. Il vaut mieux occulter ce qui est trop dur, ne pas y penser, mettre le quotidien au premier plan, vivre les choses sans penser aux conséquences, se nourrir des souvenirs pour ne pas subir le présent, et encore moins ce qui risque d’avenir. *** Quand on vie un grand malheur dans sa vie, on a l’impression que le regard des autres ne nous autorise pas à être joyeux, alors que tout au fond de soi, on sent que c’est cela qui permet de se maintenir en vie. Un proverbe japonais dit « Le bonheur va vers ceux qui savent rire » *** On ne se trompe jamais quand on aime. *** Romain est une de ces rares personnes qui, après avoir dit bonjour, demandent comment ҫa va avec un réel intérêt pour la réponse. On sent dans son regard et dans son attente qu’il est sincèrement à l’écoute des autres.

they felt like they were informed. It was a fine line--too much information led to more interrogation and too little information leads to major snooping. Thrace believed that I had developed the rare ability to express something while revealing nothing. However, I couldn’t shake the feeling that a sorcerer with laughing hazel eyes might have the ability to see beyond all my fine lines. I smiled at that whimsical thought as I finished my pot roast and parental interrogation.   Chapter 2: Mortal Combat   I woke up groggy because I set my alarm for a half hour earlier than usual to get ready to work out. I don’t know why I did that. Ok. I might know why I did that, but 6:00am was too early for rational thought. I kept my outfit simple with black yoga pants and a retro Offspring tee. It was much more difficult to get my thick auburn hair to calm down after a night of restless sleep. Luckily, I didn’t get any zits overnight which would have been just my luck. After some leave-in conditioner and some shine spray, I hoped my hair no longer looked like a bird’s nest. I headed downstairs just in time to see my dad coming from the kitchen with his coffee, my Mt. Dew, and Zone bar. Hello, my name is Calliope, and I am an addict. My drug is caffeine. I like my caffeine cold usually in the fountain pop variety—Mt. Dew in the morning and Diet Dr. Pepper in the afternoon. I like the ice and carbonation, but in the morning on the way to work out, I’ll take what I can get. I thanked my dad for my version of breakfast as we walked to the car. He only grunted his reply. We slid into the white Taurus and headed to the YMCA. I actually started to get nervous, as we got closer. We were at the Y before I was mentally prepared. I sighed and lumbered out of the car. As we walked in and headed toward opposite locker rooms, dad announced, “Meet you back here in an hour, Calli.

AT: oKAYYYY, mY BROMO SAPIEN, AT: r U READY, AT: tO GET STRAIGHT IN, FLAT DOWN, BROAD SIDE, SCHOOL FED UP THE BONE BULGE, AT: bY A DOPE SMACKED, TRINKED OUT, SMOTHER FUDGING, AT: tROLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL, TG: dont care AT: oK, lET ME, AT: oRGANIZE MY NOTES HERE, AT: oKAYYY, AT: (tURN ON SOME STRICT BEATS MAYBE, iT WILL HELP TO LISTEN TO THEM WHILE i DESTROY YOU,) AT: wHEN THE POLICE MAN BUSTS ME, aND POPS THE TRUNK, AT: hE'S ALL SUPRISED TO FIND I'M TOTING SICK BILLY, AT: wHOSE, AT: gOAT IS THAT, hE ASKS, wHILE HE STOPS TO THUNK AT: aBOUT IT, aND i'S JUST SAY IT'S DAVE'S, yOU SILLY AT: gOOSE, AT: bUT THE MAN SAYS, gOOSE! wHERE, lET ME SEE YOUR HANDS, AT: aND i SAY SHIT SORRY, i DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS HONKTRABAND, AT: wOW, oK, AT: i AM GETTING OFF THE POINT, wHICH WAS, AT: aBOUT THIS HOT MESS DAVE, tHAT YOU GOT LANDED IN, AT: lIKE THE COP i MENTIONED, bUT INSTEAD OF YOUR BADGE, AT: aND YOUR GUN, IT'S YOUR ASS THAT YOU HANDED IN, AT: (aND THEN GOT HANDED BACK TO YOU,) AT: cAUSE THAT'S HOW HUMANS GET SERVED, AT: aND GUYS LIKE YOU DESERVE TO UNDERSTAND THAT iT'S, AT: a CIRCLE AND HORNS IN YOUR BUTT THAT GOT BRANDED IN, AT: (uMM, bEFORE i GAVE YOUR ASS BACK TO YOU, i DID THAT, iS WHAT i MEAN,) AT: bUT i MEAN, gETTING BACK TO THE POINT, oR MAYBE TWO ACTUALLY, AT: tHE FIRST IS YOU SUCK, aND THE SECOND IS HOW i SMACKEDYOUFULLY, AT: (oH YEAH, tHAT RHYME WAS SO ILLLLLLLLL,) AT: bUT NO, jUST JOKING, lET'S SEE, hOW CAN i PUT THIS TACTFULLULLY, AT: i MEAN THE POINTS ON THE HORNS ON MY HEAD, AT: cOMING AT YOU THROUGH TRAFFIC, AT: aIMED AT THE TARGET ON YOUR SHIRT THAT IS RED, AT: wE'RE ABOUT TO GET MAD HORNOGRAPHIC, AT: (i MEAN SORT OF LIKE A GRAPHIC CRIME SCENE, nOT LIKE,) AT: (aNYTHING SEXUAL,) AT: (eRR, wHOAAAAA,) AT: (nEVERMIND,) AT: oK, gETTING BACK TO THE ACTUAL, tACTICAL, vERNACULAR SMACKCICLE, AT: i'M FORCING YOU TO BE LICKING, (aND lIKING,) AT: gRAB MY HORNS AND START KICKING, lIKE YOU'RE RIDING A VIKING, AT: cAUSE i'M YOUR BULLY, aND YOU'RE NOT IN CHARGE, AT: yOU THINK YOU'RE IN CHARGE BUT YOU'RE NOT IN CHARGE, AT: i'M IN CHARGE, cAUSE i'M CHARGING IN, AT: yOUR CHINASHOP, AT: bREAKING, uH, yOUR PLATES AND STUFF, WHICH i DON'T REALLY KNOW, AT: wHAT THE PLATES ARE SUPPOSED TO REPRESENT, bUT, AT: (fUCK,) AT: iT'S JUST THAT YOU THINK YOU ARE THE COCK OF THE WALK'S HOT SHIT AT: bUT WHEN IN FACT YOU ARE NOT, mORE LIKE YOU ARE, AT: sOMETHING THAT RHYMES WITH THE COCK OF THE WALK'S HOT SHIT, AT: bUT IS SO MUCH WORSE THAN THE COCK'S SHIT, AT: sO, gIVEN THAT, lET ME BE THE FIRST, AT: tO SAY YOU ACT LIKE YOU'RE GOLD FROM PROSPIT, AT: wHEN YOU'RE REALLY COLD SHIT FLUSHED FROM DERSE,

La lutte politique, m’a un jour raconté un vieux syndicaliste, c’est pas une game de hockey. Y’a pas de moment où la sirène sonne pis tu peux t’dire : “Ok, c’est fini, on a gagné !” Non. C’est jamais clair, c’est toujours à refaire, mais c’est d’même qu’on avance. » Les luttes sociales, surtout les plus longues d’entre elles, se terminent en effet rarement par des triomphes, et notre grève n’aura pas fait exception à cette règle.

- Ecoute, Assad. Tu connais le topo. Vas-y doucement quand même. - OK, chef. Mais au fait c'est qui ce Topo? - Laisse tomber, Assad, c'est une expression.

Hey! Rip Van Tinkle!... Hey... Hey!" "What!, What do you want?" "I know my ABC"s, wanna here them?" "NO!" "Ok, A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, Q, R, S, T, U, V, W, X, Y, and Z." "HA!, you forgot the P[ee]!" " What!, I would never forget you!

rapide recherche sur l’ordinateur, après une vingtaine de secondes, il relâcha l’écran des yeux et esquissa un léger sourire à l’adresse du commissaire, Carlo Ricci avait acquit une Fiat Punto grise trois ans auparavant. L’agent Venditti ne réussit pas à se contenir : « Allons prendre ce fils de pute et flanquons-le en prison ! -  Du calme du calme », intervint immédiatement Germano, puis continua plus posément : « Pour l’instant, nous avons seulement des suppositions, nous ne pouvons pas demander une analyse ADN sans quelque chose de plus, Angelo ? -  Oui. -  Occupe-toi du pistage électronique du portable de Ricci, compare-le avec celui de Chiara, nous verrons s’il y a des similitudes. -  Ok. »

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You hurt me. It’s OK. I just want you to be happy.

AM: My father had arrived in New York all alone, from the middle of Poland, before his seventh birthday… He arrived in New York, his parents were too busy to pick him up at Castle Garden and sent his next eldest brother Abe, going on 10, to find him, get him through immigration and bring him home to Stanton Street and the tenement where in two rooms the eight of them lived and worked, sewing the great long, many-buttoned cloaks that were the fashion then. They sent him to school for about six months, figuring he had enough. He never learned how to spell, he never learned how to figure. Then he went right back into the shop. By the time he was 12 he was employing two other boys to sew sleeves on coats alongside him in some basement workshop. KM: He went on the road when he was about 16 I think… selling clothes at a wholesale level. AM: He ended up being the support of the entire family because he started the business in 1921 or something. The Miltex Coat Company, which turned out to be one of the largest manufacturers in this country. See we lived in Manhattan then, on 110th Street facing the Park. It was beautiful apartment up on the sixth floor. KM: We had a chauffeur driven car. The family was wealthy. AM: It was the twenties and I remember our mother and father going to a show every weekend. And coming back Sunday morning and she would be playing the sheet music of the musicals. JM: It was an arranged marriage. But a woman of her ability to be married off to a man who couldn’t read or write… I think Gussie taught him how to read and to sign his name. AM: She knew she was being wasted, I think. But she respected him a lot. And that made up for a little. Until he really crashed, economically. And then she got angry with him. First the chauffeur was let go, then the summer bungalow was discarded, the last of her jewellery had to be pawned or sold. And then another step down - the move to Brooklyn. Not just in the case of my father but every boy I knew. I used to pal around with half a dozen guys and all their fathers were simply blown out of the water. I could not avoid awareness of my mother’s anger at this waning of his powers. A certain sneering contempt for him that filtered through her voice. RM: So how did the way you saw your father change when he lost his money? AM: Terrible… pity for him. Because so much of his authority sprang from the fact that he was a very successful businessman. And he always knew what he as doing. And suddenly: nothin’. He didn’t know where he was. It was absolutely not his fault, it was the Great Crash of the ‘29, ‘30, ‘31 period. So from that I always, I think, contracted the idea that we’re very deeply immersed in political and economic life of the country, of the world. And that these forces end up in the bedroom and they end up in the father and son and father and daughter arrangements. In Death of a Salesman what I was interested in there was what his world and what his life had left him with. What that had done to him? Y’know a guy can’t make a living, he loses his dignity. He loses his male force. And so you tend to make up for it by telling him he's OK anyway. Or else you turn your back on him and leave. All of which helps create integrated plays, incidentally. Where you begin to look: well, its a personality here but what part is being played by impersonal forces?

Nous entrons dans le bâtiment et nous dirigeons vers les ascenseurs. J'appuie sur le bouton pour en appeler un, les portes s'ouvrent immédiatement. - C'est à quel étage ? - Troisième. Nous commençons notre ascension jusqu'à son étage, nos mains toujours enlacées. Alors qu'elle a le visage baissé, je l'observe tranquillement. Je m'avance un peu vers elle, j'ai envie de lui redresser le menton pour qu'elle me regarde, mais j'ai peur de sa réaction si je la touche, alors je lui chuchote : - Regarde-moi, mon ange. Elle lève doucement son visage vers le mien, ses magnifiques yeux bleus me dévisagent. - Je ne te ferai pas de mal. On va y aller à ton rythme. C'est toi qui mènes la danse, ok ? - Ok. - Bien, alors détends-toi.

There's something I think about a lot, ok; and it's- a-a Dave Grohl story. But, when he talks about becoming a musician, and he talks about his mom who is a music teacher; his dad was a politician, and he knew right away he wanted to play music. So he's like thirteen, fourteen years old, fifteen I think... and he went to his mom and he said, "Mom, I'm gonna, y'know, jump in a van with these guys and we're gonna tour around and we're gonna play music and I'm not gonna go to school anymore... because this is what I have to do." And y'know what she said? "Go for it." And I just wonder, I mean, why all parents aren't like that. I mean if he had fallen on his face, they would still be there to pick him up because that's their responsibility. But for them to even say, "Go for it- Yeah, leave school" And he always jokes about it; it's like, "This is what happens when you drop out of school" and I love that line; it's hilarious because it's like theres so many rules that everyone brings you up thinking that that's the way things are. No matter what happens in this world, you can never deny what you feel inside. You can never... doubt yourself because those are true feelings and nobody can take that away from you. People can tell you you're wrong, but you know deep down inside what's right. You love what you love and that's just the way it is, and you have to go with that.

It's one thing to give back out of decency, kindness or genuine gratitude - and another to be spread out too thin over family obligations thrust upon you: unquestioning/unconditional financial support for elders - sharing their financial responsibilities, covering the educational needs of siblings, sometimes even shouldering splurges like on a car or a house.

Who is to say which generation is correct? Each person is a product of his or her own religious lens, which in turn is shaped by so many factors, among them personal experience, familial upbringing, local culture, and rapidly evolving technology.

At least I got an OK gag out of the incident with the door—for years I’d complain that since losing half a finger I could tell people only to “Fuck y—”)

English French Pronunciation Hi Salut SAH-loo What’s up? Ça va? SAH-vah? Yes Oui We No Non Noh OK D’accord DA-core Let’s go On y va OHN-e-vah Wait Attends AH-tahn I’m hungry J’ai faim JAY-fah What Quoi Kwah I don’t understand Je n’ai pas compris Jeh-NAY-paw-COHM-pree Sorry Pardon PAHR-don Repeat Répétez REH-peh-tay

When, in Being and Time,Heidegger insists that death is the onlyevent which cannot be taken over by another subject for me—an-other cannot die for me, in my place—the obvious counterexampleis Christ himself: did he not, in the extreme gesture of interpassiv-ity, take over for us the ultimate passive experience of dying? Christdies so that we are given a chance to live forever....The problemhere is not only that, obviously, we don’tlive forever (the answer tothis is that it is the Holy Spirit, the community of believers, whichlives forever), but the subjective status of Christ: when he was dyingon the Cross, did he know about his Resurrection-to-come? If he didthen it was all a game, the supreme divine comedy, since Christ knewhis suffering was just a spectacle with a guaranteed good outcome—in short, Christ was faking despair in his “Father, why hast thou for-saken me?” If he didn’t, then in what precise sense was Christ (also)divine? Did God the Father limit the scope of knowledge of Christ’smind to that of a common human consciousness, so that Christ ac-tually thought he was dying abandoned by his father? Was Christ, ineffect, occupying the position of the son in the wonderful joke aboutthe rabbi who turns in despair to God, asking Him what he shoulddo with his bad son, who has deeply disappointed him; God calmlyanswers: “Do the same as I did: write a new testament!”What is crucial here is the radical ambiguity of the term “the faithof Jesus Christ,” which can be read as subjective or objectivegenitive: it can be either “the faith ofChrist” or “the faith / of us, be-lievers / inChrist.” Either we are redeemed because of Christ’s purefaith, or we are redeemed by our faith in Christ, if and insofar as webelieve in him. Perhaps there is a way to read the two meanings to-gether: what we are called to believe in is not Christ’s divinity as suchbut, rather, his faith, his sinless purity. What Christianity proposes isthe figure of Christ as our subject supposed to believe:in our ordinary lives,we never truly believe, but we can at least have the consolation thatthere is One who truly believes (the function of what Lacan, in hisseminar Encore,called y’a de l’un).The final twist here, however, is thaton the Cross, Christ himself has to suspend his belief momentarily.So maybe, at a deeper level, Christ is, rather, our (believers’) subject supposed NOTto believe: it is not our belief we transpose onto others, but,rather, our disbelief itself. Instead of doubting, mocking, and ques-tioning things while believing through the Other, we can also trans-pose onto the Other the nagging doubt, thus regaining the abilityto believe. (And is there not, in exactly the same way, also the func-tion of the subject supposed not to know? Ta ke little children who are sup-posed not to know the “facts of life,” and whose blessed ignorancewe, knowing adults, are supposed to protect by shielding them frombrutal reality; or the wife who is supposed not to know about herhusband’s secret affair, and willingly plays this role even if she re-ally knows all about it, like the young wife in The Age of Innocence;or, inacademia, the role we assume when we ask someone: “OK, I’ll pre-tend I don’t know anything about this topic—try to explain it to mefrom scratch!”) And, perhaps, the true communion with Christ, thetrue imitatio Christi,is to participate in Christ’s doubt and disbelief.There are two main interpretations of how Christ’s death dealswith sin: sacrificial and participatory.4In the first one, we humansare guilty of sin, the consequence of which is death; however, Godpresented Christ, the sinless one, as a sacrifice to die in our place—through the shedding of his blood, we may be forgiven and freedfrom condemnation. In the second one, human beings lived “inAdam,” in the sphere of sinful humanity, under the reign of sin anddeath. Christ became a human being, sharing the fate of those “inAdam” to the end (dying on the Cross), but...

... aferrarse a un sistema económico que obstaculiza la innovación y la automatización, con el fin de preservar empleos repetitivos y sin sentido, demuestra la profunda pérdida de perspectiva y capacidad...

Helo fren. Set yorself down now an’ do me an ear, or lend me an ear if you can do yorself without. U thought I wos doggo with no tail, but helno fren, I will now do ur mind a blown and share with u all my inteligent expereeunce. I earned my black collar in doge-fu, and I have done many a Sit ‘n Stay, but my hooman hardly understands y I bork this way ‘n act so tuff. OK, so Flashbac.

pantalla de Inicio, pulsa la opción Biblioteca, situada en la parte superior izquierda de la pantalla. En la página de la biblioteca, pulsa el icono Menú. Selecciona Crear nueva colección. Utiliza el teclado para introducir un nombre para la colección y, a continuación, pulsa OK. Aparecerá una lista con el contenido del Kindle que puedes añadir

Y'know what happened in the Soviet Union, was that it actually became illegal to suffer. And I'm really serious about that, because, y'know, if the system is working, then everything's ok with you... and if everything is not okay with you.. well, is that your fault, or the systems fault? Well it's not the goddamn systems fault. Then it's your fault. Then you don't get to suffer. And that's what happened in the Soviet Union.

Alboroto en la calle. Carcajadas que llenan este sofocante aire estival. Imagino los ojos de los chicos de mi edad antes de salir de casa: encendidos, vivos y ansiosos ante la perspectiva de una noche divertida. Pasarán la velada en la playa entonando canciones acompañados por una guitarra; unos se apartarán del grupo, allí donde la oscuridad lo cubra todo, y se susurrarán palabras infinitas al oído. Otros, mañana, nadarán en el mar calentado por el sol matutino, misterioso, guardián de una vida marina desconocida. Vivirán y sabrán cómo administrar su vida. OK, de acuerdo, también yo respiro, biológicamente todo está en orden... Pero tengo miedo. Tengo miedo de salir de casa y encontrarme con miradas desconocidas. Lo sé, estoy en perenne conflicto conmigo misma: hay días en que estar con los demás me ayuda, lo necesito de manera imperiosa. Otros días lo único que puede satisfacerme es estar sola, completamente sola. Entonces echo desganadamente a mi gato de la cama, me tiendo boca arriba y pienso... Quizá hago sonar algún CD, casi siempre música clásica. Y me siento bien con la complicidad de la música y no necesito nada. Pero este alboroto me está destrozando, sé que esta noche alguien vivirá más que yo. Mientras, yo permaneceré en este cuarto escuchando el sonido de la vida; lo escucharé hasta que me abrace el sueño.

Ok, ahkay,” I snickered a second time. “Where you staying? How long will y’all be here?” “Saries said we can stay here,” she cheesed coyly.

The cult leader smiled and cast her a pitying glance. “I assure you, your sacrifices will not be in vain. All my children and I are trying to do is make the world a better place for all mankind.” “Oh, thank goodness!” Alexis let out a loud sigh. “I gotta be honest with ya, Big Daddy Dave. At first I was like, ‘Damn, this group looks like they jack off on crystals and kick puppies’ and then I saw y’all praying to a glowing puddle. That’s when I knew everything was gonna be OK.

Chin tries to explain me the gesture and numbers game that I saw some nights ago in the nightclub. Example: he says 2, that means, "let's go together"; she answers 1, that means, "by myself". He insists many times and she, suddenly, says 3 (you, me and a friend). He says 1 (no) and then 3 (you, a female friend and me), she says 4 (OK, but for four seasons, the whole year), etc. The gestures are funny, lots of malice and diligence.

My talent can take me anywhere I want to go. I’m not conceited or cocky. I’m just convinced. Trust me, you have to fight to get to that point. I would continue to get tested. It happens all the time. Take the live tweeting of the Olympics as a perfect example. I’m just sitting and watching TV and tweeting my love for those incredible athletes for y’all, and for free. No one helps me with that. I do everything myself. But then NBC started to give me a hard time about rights to the clips I was referencing. Again, it’s people thinking my talent is a fluke, or it’s impossible for me to be that funny or they think that they can copy what I do, but what they don’t understand is what they’re seeing is real passion. I am incredibly passionate about the skills of Olympians—those athletes are incredible, and it brings me so much joy to watch them and that’s what comes across when I tweet. You can’t fake that, or own it! It means so much to me still because it’s something that me and my dad used to share—we’d watch every single minute of every Olympics together. (How many of y’all watched the Olympics with your loved ones?) But OK, you think you can get other people to do the same thing I do? No, you can’t, because when I do it, I come from an innocent, passionate place that goes all the way back to my childhood.

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I’m so tired to talking to Boomers or Gen X and they’ll say “y’know growing up was as hard for us as it was for you guys. We had Watergate, the Vietnam War and the oil crisis.” I had to mandatorially read 5 books on the Vietnam war in the school system and none on any other wars. If I have to hear about how Watergate was generationally traumatic I’ll die. Sure. That stuff happened. You didn’t have mass labor discrimination against your race so you couldn’t get hired at any good work, especially not promoted. 95% of new job positions at major corporations go to ethnic minorities. 80% of men in their young 20s weren’t single. 1/3 of men under 30 weren’t virgins or sexless. You couldn’t have your entire life destroyed for looking at a girl in the gym or hitting on your coworker or in a coffeeshop. Rent wasn’t 70% of your income and affording a home was possible. Boomers in their 20s literally had 90% more spending power than Gen Z. You didn’t have to deal with ritual humiliation as a white man in the education, work and entertainment space. Your entire identity wasn’t discriminated against in every cultural form. You didn’t have to say you’re evil for your skin tone to be accepted socially. You weren’t allowed to not play outside alone as a kid due to helicopter parenting. Schools weren’t ideological indoctrination. People went outside and weren’t glued to their screens. Mental health issues weren’t rippling across the population where most young people have at least one psychological issue. 80% of people your age didn’t suffer chronic loneliness or anxiety. Your governments weren’t openly stating cultural suicide as their dominant goal. The elites hadn’t decided that you would live in a pod, eat bugs and own nothing. The major political parties hadn’t questioned the last two elections. Half the states in the country hadn’t questioned the central authority militarily. Most countries in the Western world still had freedom of speech and weren’t jailing thousands of political dissidents. Making an edgy joke wouldn’t send you to jail. There wasn’t a question of what a man or woman was. The government didn’t fund people’s desires to change people’s sex. Political pundits didn’t say violence was the only logical solution. You used to be able to be friends with people of different political views. The reason I state all of this is that things aren’t normal. We pretend they are but things are not ok now. It happened slow enough that people cope they are. We’re not in the same America as the Simpsons or John Hughes. We’re in a cyberpunk dystopia combined with the 17th century.