I hated Mr. Rogers. He failed me. He was a lying sack of shit and he was just as fake as a G. I. Joe doll commercial that showed him running. I remember telling my Mother so. She seemed shocked like how could I say something about such a genuine and gentle man. I wasn’t looking for her reaction. I was pissed. Every gentle and sweet thing was poison to me. Those things promoted covering up the real ugliness of humanity and life. The charm of animals wasn’t within their young. It was in the truth of the viciousness of nature. Human nature won through the forged and forced lightness of societies’ ideal images.
It’s important to dream. It’s not necessary to believe that the dream is reality.