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People talk about permissiveness like it’s the worst thing.

I know.

Like it’s the worst fucking thing. Everyone has permission now so now we’re all gonna die, like, this instant.

Right.

But look at it. Really look at how it works. Look at how dumb people can be. They hate it, they hate having permission to do anything.

Sure, yeah.

They love things they can’t have, right?

True.

Anything they can’t have, they want. This is true. This is a fact.

Totally.

I mean it. I’m not rationalizing.

Of course.

Put that thing that everyone wishes they had, but can’t, right in front of them. Like, seat them in front of a table. There’s this box on the table. Some masked man or something comes in and lifts up the box and voila: that coveted object is sitting there to be grabbed. Could be anything: jewelry, car keys, cocaine. Suddenly it’s there and it’s free and they’re all, “I don’t want it.”

Ha ha.

“I changed my mind, sorry. I don’t want it.”

Imagine if someone wanted … not really a person but … only part of the person.

So, you mean, a sex organ?

Sure.

That’s creepy; that’s so creepy.

Or it doesn’t need to be that, it could be, you know, eyes. Like someone’s eyes.

And they’re in the box?

They’re in a jar that’s under the box.

Just floating around?

Sure.

That’s somehow creepier.

It doesn’t have to be, like, literal eyeballs. It could be a replica of them.

Like … marbles?

I don’t think marbles float like eyes do, so some lighter glassy material. Because eyes are made mostly of water, right?

I don’t know. I’ll check.

Just take my word for it. So they dissolve away soon. But if someone loved someone’s eyes so much they wanted to stare at them all day, they could get these fake ones.

Except I’m saying they wouldn’t want it if it was given to them.

They would because you can’t take someone’s eyes for your own personal use without first asking permission.

That’s gonna be what saves permissiveness.

Asking permission?

Like getting permission slips.

Oh.

I hate permission slips, but everyone else would love them, I think.

They love that little extra bit of process.

Yeah.

Who would they bring it to? Like, who would sign their permission slip to go to a strip club or to have someone offed?

I don’t know. Maybe a notary?

I would be a notary just for that.

We should do a notary business.

Absolutely. Can we do that?

Of course, why not? Permissiveness!

I think we solved society.

This should be our calling: solving society.

For money?

Sure, but, you know, not for working moms or old people who are lonely.

Sure, right.

This reminds me of this girl who was really determined to cure anxiety.

Cure anxiety?

Note cure really but … help people who had anxiety. I can’t remember what her deal was, whether she had an experience or was just really into psychology or getting extracurriculars …

Uh huh.

But no one wanted to come to her. I don’t think she knew anything. So what she did was go hunting for anxious people.

Ha ha.

So she’d find someone she thought was anxious and go “You’ve got so much anxiety” and, like, lit a candle.

Ha ha, a candle?

Not really, but you know what I mean?

What happened to her?

Not sure exactly. You ever just see people all the time in a certain pretext and then once that pretext is through you just never see them again and it’s like, did they ever exist?

I know what you mean.

That seems bad, and wrong.

No, I think it’s normal. She probably thinks the same thing of you.

I don’t exist?

Sure. You disappeared. You’re in another dimension.

Oh wow.

You ever have that feeling, like, of just wanting the day to end?

Uh huh.

You just want it to be over, you just want it to be dark.

Sure.

But when you say “the day” you don’t really mean the day. Like it’s not this day.

Okay.

This day, the one right now, is fine. It’s good, even. There’s nothing wrong with this day. It’d be pretty rude for me to spend this day with you or anyone and be just “This day sucked.”

I don’t know that it’s rude. You can enjoy a thing and also think it sucks. That’s life.

But I guess what I really mean is that I’m not saying what I’m saying. But saying it in that way, in that certain special way, makes me feel better.

So it’s like a code?

Exactly. It’s my very own personal code.

Gotcha.

I do that a lot now. I speak in code. I speak in code without ever thinking that I’m speaking in code.

How do you make it, or keep track of it?

I don’t know. That’s the thing. It’s so unconscious now. But that’s how you keep it from being broken, right? You can’t know the key so no one else can know the key. I’m sure there are so many books about “breaking” someone’s code, like a bunch of people just think the same way. All the time. They think that’s really how things go.

Totally.

But I haven’t read those books.

Maybe you should, as a countermeasure.

I bet that’s exactly what they expect. Like it’s probably in the forward. “WARNING: Your child is reading this book, too!”.

But, yeah, I want the day to end soon, too.

Feel better, right?

A little.

You want this last onion ring?

You’re not gonna eat it?

No. It’s kind of oily at the bottom. And also it looks a little burnt. It’s a runt ring.

A runion ring.

Ha ha. It’s yours. You can have it.

No thanks, I don’t want it.

“What? Who cares?” –Me

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