While I might flatter myself that I can recognize an asshole when I see one, the truth is that stealth assholes are real.
PROMPT: Judge of Character
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While I might flatter myself that I can recognize an asshole when I see one, the truth is that stealth assholes are real.

The Information Age
bloomed & died
from wave after wave
of information inflation
and counterfeit information -
cheap knockoffs flooded
the market!
We live in a
post-information world:
an information junkyard,
to be precise.
Rusting, useless detritus
poses as treasure.
We catch glints
and think it value,
But even turds can glitter
in the Sun.
Sure, I just saw a bird fly past my window, and I’m fairly certain that it wasn’t domesticated.
I’m passionate about being passionate about anything worth doing (and half-ass everything else.)
Right mind, healthy body, and good company.
in a flat, wide river:
something juts up
from the water --
far in the distance
for an instant,
i startle:
seeing it as an
extended arm...
like that Stevie Smith
poem, but i discover
it's neither waving,
nor drowning, but
merely protruding...
a dead limb
stuck in the river,
drag & pull balanced,
waiting to be
carried away.
I love thy music, mellow bell,
I love thine iron chime,
To life or death, to heaven or hell,
Which calls the sons of Time.
Thy voice upon the deep
The home-bound sea-boy hails,
It charms his cares to sleep,
It cheers him as he sails.
To house of God and heavenly joys
Thy summons called our sires,
And good men thought thy sacred voice
Disarmed the thunder's fires.
And soon thy music, sad death-bell,
Shall lift its notes once more,
And mix my requiem with the wind
That sweeps my native shore.
Trudging into lapping waves
On a dim and dusky eve.
Chest deep
One pops up, pressing one's chest
Onto the water,
And swims toward a distant
Silhouetted rock outcrop.
But it doesn't stay silhouetted.
Soon, one is heading into
A grand, black abyss,
There is no shape in this world,
Only the feel of limbs -- pulling & kicking.
Sounds grow ever more feeble --
And ever more rare --
Until the smell of seawater becomes
A bright and vivid sensory experience --
Layered & textured.
Rolling onto one's back, one can see
Patches of sparkling stars
In the cloud gaps.
One lays upon the waves --
Feeling as though one conforms to them
As one floats like a piece of driftwood --
And sees the twinkle of distant stars,
In a world too vast to understand.