The Prophet of Middletown Road
I was someone else once. No, I’m not Shirley MacLaine. It has nothing to do with reincarnation or metamorphosing or anything like it. I don’t think differently than I have previously, at least I don’t think I do. But I was different then. I blended in, like a moth on a snowball flower. You didn’t notice me. That is how I wanted it when I was someone else.
I’m not so different looking. In fact, I could be my twin. But I am different from him that was me. I’m not so different sounding, but the words have gone upscale to meet the challenge of the higher language league. The voice sounds deeper and louder as it gathers momentum from the weight of the message. The words … the words. There is a secret brotherhood whose members know the dark art of language. It is not an art. It is a weapon. I’m not so different now than then, except for that knowledge.
I was someone else once. I am glad that he is behind me. He knew the truth, but he did not know all of the truths. I still do not know all of them, but I know they exist and that makes me the wiser. I can step into a hard-boiled world and not crack a shell that didn’t need cracking. I can talk to you and make you listen. I cannot make you hear. I know, because I was you once.