Today I have a potential client who wants discuss my services. We had arranged a meeting place and time a few days ago. Most of my clients like meetings. It's what they do for a living. Plus they get to size me up. You know, use their vaunted managerial ability to measure a fellow human being and determine their suitability for the task on hand. Assholes.
Sometimes I get someone who only wants to deal with me electronically. I don't roll that way homie. I want to be able to see them, sniff them, read their eyes and body language. Plus it helps keep them honest. It makes it more personal, especially if they decide not to pay.
One of the ways "They" have been able to get away with what they have done is denying accountability by buffering their evil with machines, their virtual walls, and telephone trees that sent you spinning over the line to people who can't understand you if you deviate from the script.
Our leaders who talked social engineering jargon to us and thought they were sharing the love. Their fiends feed us bullshit illusions over the wire in HD. Assholes all. Smug fuckers who had more in common with the desk jockeys of the German killing machine of the previous century. Number crunchers and planet destroyers.
I took a deep breath. This was not where I wanted to go mentally. At least not right now. I relaxed my hands from the fists they had curled into and mentally stood down. I sat in my chair and practiced smiling. Happy smile on. Happy smile off. Happy smile on. Happy smile off. The others who were my first "They" had taught me that.
After five minutes of practicing Happy Face I was in a better place. I was hungry and decided to eat before the meet. I liked how that rhymed and said it over an over to myself as I got ready to go out into the world beyond my apartment door. I lived in a couple places. Actually I stayed in them. I didn't live in them. I didn't live anywhere because I didn't have a life. I didn't want one. If asked, which I never had been, I could of come up with some romantic, lone wolf of suburbia story that would sound good and maybe even tug at the targets heart and panty strings.
The truth was owning anything of value scared the hell out of me. Having a non portable home scared me. You owned to much stuff and you couldn't move. If you couldn't move then "They" could get to you. That wasn't going to happen.Not while I was alive.