Nobody is Beyoncé. Everybody Is Gasoline.

Nobody is Beyoncé. Everybody Is Gasoline.

By Peter Kremidas

Admit it.

Do it.

You thought you were special, didn’t you?

You did. Really. Really deep down, underneath all your carefully considered status updates.

On the other side of all the handshakes that you think constitute friendships.

Yes I realize this sounds like goth poetry.

Stay with me.


And It’s okay. Me too. By the way.

I’m not judging.

For example, I'm a leaky bucket that periodically needs to be filled up with laughs and facebook likes.

It makes no sense that I should be like that.

But I do it anyway.

Can't help it.

Old habits die...well, almost never.

And yeah, I really really thought I was going to grow up and everybody was going to see how special I was.

And they would love me.

Because I was so uniquely unique.

Hell, my grandma thought the shit shined right off of out of my ass and lit the moon.

She was also, at other times, a very reasonable person.

I see no reason why I shouldn’t have believed her.

Or, you know. TV.

Wait a minute… I doing poetry right now?


I honesty l just thought the stuff with the spacing would set a sort of timing for the reader, and communicate the pauses and inflections that I can’t make because I’m not talking right now.

You know what the most important part of comedy is timing?

Anyways, TV.

And superheroes, especially. For me.

Here were these guys, the good guys. And they just make things right.

They're so cool.

And strong.

A superhero is the best thing you could ever possibly hope to be aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand…

You can be anything you want to be.

So admit it.


I can’t be the only one.

And it’s not because we’re stupid.

They were all very convincing.


...and, look…

It hurts me to say this.








A fall.

From expectation.

From comforting, ego petting, illusion.




Sorrysorrysorry...sorry in advance.


Okay I’ll just say it you’re just another dumb fucking human.


I said it.

You’re just another dumb fucking human.

Just like me.

We are just a bunch of dumb fucking humans.

With a full ninety-eight percent of our thoughts done unconsciously.

Driven by our...that’s a true fact, by the way, what I said before. The ninety-eight percent thing.

Driven almost entirely by our most animalistic knee jerk impulses.

Which, really, is fine. I’m not judging.

My cat is the same way.

I love my cat.

And I love you, too.

But we’re human.

And we’re dumb.

We humans always want three things.

What we says we want,

What we think we want,

And what we really want..

And we’re not special.

And I know a lot of you still really think you are.


One of the chosen few.

Maybe you even think you have a destiny.

Or you actually believe that what I’m saying is depressing

Or negative.

Honeybear, it’s no more negative or depressing than gravity.

It just is.

There's just so many of us.

And we're more alike than we are different.

In another universe, every hero and celebrity is replaced with someone else.

Instead of Beyoncé you have...I don’t know...


You get Steve.

And he can do everything Beyoncé can do. But Steve.

Point is, even if they might be born in the wrong time to do it,  a lot of people can do what they do.

I mean, not me. I can’t.

It's extremely difficult.

But a lot of people can.

And what you can do, too.

And it’s not even a deal.

Even moreso not a big one.

Getting older helps you accept it.

Due to the ‘higher the age, lower the fucks’ quotient.

So look,

History is an amalgam of an almost infinite number choices and consequences pulled out from amongst infinity, barreling blindly and relentlessly all the way from nothing to here, tunneling straight through solid rock made of all other choices and consequences never realized. And it leads all the way up to a Donald Trump presidency.

And also, thankfully, past it.

And history feeds itself almost exclusively on the graves of the nameless.

I know, it’s a long fall from what seemed so true.

That you were so extraordinary.

After so much sense was made from it.

And all the choices based on it.

But you aren’t.

And as soon as your name is said for the last time,

You’ll be one of those nameless graves too.

And, yeah. That might hurt to hear right now.

But you’ll get over it.

You got over Santa Claus too.

Yes I realize this isn’t a unique observation.

But that kind of proves my point.

And you know what?

I actually think it's pretty cool.

We are the fuel of history.

Your choices matter.

So choose wisely.

I said you weren’t special.

I didn’t say you weren’t important.

Holiday Season

Holiday Season

The Transactional Life (and How to Get Around It)

The Transactional Life (and How to Get Around It)