Funfiltered Episode #053 - "Farcical Decadence"

Sam “speaking”. Allow me to unlatch the portal to my mind. But before I do, let's evaluate why that sentence has uncentred you somewhat. Firstly, the image of a portal on a latch lacks form. You don't quite know what to picture. Secondly, it's not "a" portal. The "the" has necessarily transcended it beyond the figurative. It's "the" portal. It, like, exists. Finally, I'll be the first to admit that commencing a "communication" with a forthright invitation into one's mind, perhaps especially mine, can be distressing. I know. I wish I too could live in blissful ignorance. Woe is me. In a culture of omni-pathologising and self-diagnosis, my Sam-assigned disorder is obsessive-compulsiveness. I'm sooo OCD. Most who would utter as much typically do so because they maintain a to-do list. These people are charlatans. To-do lists? Pfft. I alphabetise essentially everything I own, I feel a pressure to delete (potentially) inutile files as soon as humanly possible, I tap out syllables with my feet and when I clean, I clean EVERYTHING. I am also someone that yearns for a freedom from constraints. In speech, in expression, in time. It's a wacky brew. I tell you this because this puff needs content and a simple "Hi, please listen, thank you" is, alas, simple not. For me, anyway. I know it would be more than adequate for you. But I also tell you for some behind-the-scenes... sure, insight. These blurbs/descriptions/desperations are tailored to the character count of Instagram. YouTube, Facebook, iTunes and Spotify have wider boundaries. So I COULD respond accordingly and adapt to the vagaries. I say I could. But I can't. Because there must be CONSISTENCY. And so the ongoing challenge I face in fingering these tracts is the ongoing challenge I face in life. How can I be as free as possible whilst abiding my very specific limitations? It's a dolorous habitat, perching me permanently mid-seesaw, sweating to balance the balance. Well, that was a unique form of therapy. The kind where the therapist is asleep. Or just not there. They were never there. To whom am I talking? Is anybody out there? Can somebody relieve me of my burden? Help.