The Polls #2

Scene: McWatty9 at the podium, standing before many reporters, all with cameramen beside. I am wearing a fine, expensive suit, standing properly, and addressing the nation.

McWatty9 – ‘This press conference has been called, as I’m sure many of you have already heard, to discuss the recent atrophy in my viewership. Now, I can’t emphasize enough, to all of you, that the amount of followers has only gone up in the recent days, and more specifically, my dabbling in the field of poetry has brought new readers in. I know my handful of loyal followers prefer my idiocy, as do I, but sometimes you gotta venture.

Now then, in days previous, we received views from Canada, Spain, United Kingdom, and that one guy from India who thought I was a hamburger. Ladies and gentlemen, I regret to inform you, we have received visits from none of these countries today.

(Chatter breaks out, pens scribbles, audience in the far back gasps and whispers frivolously)

McWatty9 – Yes, yes, I’m sorry to say this is all true. All my visitors today have been strictly American. Not even Princess Fairy Zooboo cared to look. Upsetting? Yes. Devastating? Yes. The end of me? I’m not sure.

It is true this blog started about a week ago, and I still have no idea how anything on this website work. But I promise you, ladies and gentlemen, that I have every intention of working out the kinks, and bringing you all solid material once more. That is all.

(Loud shuffling, the reporters all jump from their seats, waving pens and papers at me, a gun shot fired – suicide. I ignore everyone, walk away calm and astutely, like a fantastic leader in a crisis situation)

End of Press Conference.

Paintball Go Carts

Yes. That’s right. Just did it. Here is how it went.

Long, spiraling track. Go-carts traveling at a steady 15 miles an hour. Mine was a lambo-cart, and so I got to go a hundred and twenty. Yeah, that’s right, a fuckin’ lambo.

Over my right shoulder I carry an assault paintball shooter, over my left a bazooka paint bucket blaster. Blowin’ kids up, left and right. Mom and dads whining, little kids crying, employees hollering.

Oh yeah, that’s right. It wasn’t actually called paintball go-carts. I just brought my own.

Anyways, I’m splattering these shit heads left and right, just absolutely demolishing everything in sight. The pavement track, the rubber tires, and that idiot who bought a house right next to an amusement park! What an idiot!

So there I am, fuckin’ crushing shit. Just wrecking everything, parents, clowns in the distance. Bam Bam Bam!

Cars in the parking lot, helicopters in the air, parachuting special operatives, until, finally, this kid comes out of nowhere!

And, can you believe this, he fuckin’ fish-tails me! “Are you kidding me?” I shout, before calling for an employee and pointing aggressively at him. Then, turning to the kid, “Didn’t you read the rules? No bumping other carts, dude.’

And that was when the cops arrived, and placed me under arrest. They didn’t even bother with that lousy punk. Makes me wonder if anybody cares about the rules anymore, it really makes me wonder…

Did you know? If you actually try this you are a fucking idiot and deserve to go to jail and get your ass kicked.

Why Won’t the Words Stop Rhyming

Why won’t the words stop rhyming, it’s what they always do. Why won’t the words stop rhyming and why don’t you hear them too.

This is not hard, not hard you see, when you walk around and think like me. It is not a challenge, an obstacle not, it is a product of constant thought. It never leaves and never strays, why won’t these rhymes just go away.

You think it’s hard, you see me through? Do I still have more to prove? What’s this skill, this work of art, what is a poet but two words short. What is left to say today, when will all these words won’t go away.

I could talk like this forever, I could think like this much better. It is a challenge, a cross to bare, the fact that none see through my stare. Always thinking always known, always quiet on my own.

This brain works right, quite right I think, it works alright for poet’s drink. But to live, to speak in time, I must somehow learn how to stop this rhyme.

– Thomas M. Watt

The Woes of Infidelity

John came home late one night, stumbling in, and woke his wife, Julia, after knocking over the lamp to a crash on the floor.

Julia opened her eyes, slowly at first, but after noticing his scent and reaching for the room light, she crossed her arms and spoke in a harsh tone.

“John you must be kidding. Say it isn’t true. There is red lipstick on your collar and it was not me who gave it to you.”

John chuckled, peered at his collar, then laughed some more. “Julia my dear, don’t be such a fool. This patch of red isn’t from lips at all it’s a smear from candle residue.”

Julia stood up, out of bed, peach nightie swaying over her feet. “Candle residue you say you must really suck at lies. That is far fetched and lazy and a stupid alibi.”

Setting a finger to her lips, John whispered softly. “Hush hush my dear, hush hush my sweet, you’re emotions run you over. This isn’t from some girl tonight or a sign of my devotion. You know I love you, you know I do, it’s this that matters much. What good is it to get in fits about some other woman’s touch.”

Julia shoved him away, speaking in a sad sort of anger. “John c’mon, that isn’t good. John you sound like a buffoon. What kind of man comes home at night and issues such foul ruse? Please give me a break dear, please do me justice please. When you come home and tell me such it only ruins my dreams.”

John stepped forward, pressing a hand to her cheek, and smirked as he said, “Julia I love you, Julia you’re mine. The dreams that are running through your head only serve to pass the time. Do not worry my dear, do not long for me. You know that after every night it’s you who sleep with me.”

Julia swatted his wrist away. “John shut up, don’t say such words. John do not be rude. It is not right to tell your wife she is lucky to sleep with you. God forbid, my precious dear, God forbid it’s true. I swear I worry that one day this ego is the real you.”

John tossed his arms up in the air, walked over to the dresser cabinet, set both hands to the sides, and stood at a hunch. “Julia I can’t take this. Julia please see. The ego i keep within me is the reason you’re married to me. I am a man you know that, I am the man you see. I’m going to lose my mind sometime if this is your greeting.”

Julia came behind him, and met eyes with him by way of the mirror glass. “I think I’m getting sick dear, I think I hate your thoughts. I think you’ve thought to small of me to think that you’re my boss. I’m starting to so hate you, I’m starting to dislike. This speak of egoism, it is avarice to a wife. Don’t play me so mean dear, don’t play me so nice. Just give me the all your truths dear, it’s the reason I’m your wife.”

John swung around, pressed both hands to her cheeks, then spoke with a directness to his voice. “Oh please cut me some slack dear, oh please let this be. I’m trying to be fair to you but you must be fair to me. I’m not like other men dear, I’m not a well-tamed mule. I am the wild man you loved and now I’ve settled for you.”

Julia slapped him across the face. “John that’s so terrible. You are terrifying me. You’re thought of you surpasses all that you could ever think of we. I married you for love dear, I married you for you. I like the wild in you, but the wildness can be for two. Let me have a say dear, in this life of yours. Let me be your dear, dear, and forgo all these other whores.”

John took Julia by both shoulders, then shoved her away and onto the foot of the bed. “Woman please relax a bit, please just try to see. I am not the type of man who looks for all the pleasant things. Not just a charm to you dear, I am doll to all. The struggle with my mind is that I’m a lover of the alcohol.”

Julia slouched forward, burying her eyes into her hands as she wept. “Then give it up John please. Give it up for me. This love of toxic poison has now made our marriage into three. Give up your alcohol dear, give up the tonic too. Give up all these women who are constantly seducing you.”

John sat beside her, rubbing her lower back with his hand. “I can try to do this, I can quit it yes. The problem with me here is, I hate myself the best. For it is not ego, it is not what I do, it is my problem with myself I do these things all through. There is no love within me, no cherished space for rest, I have a head on fire, my veins are so distressed. I can never come to quiet, I cannot stop the noise. The voices in my head all say I must be the best of all the boys.”

Julia finally raised her head, swiping a lock of hair away as she met with his eyes. “You know this is a problem, an issue that you see. You know the first step to solving this was to confess it all to me. I am still your wife dear, you know I’m always true. But if you so hate yourself, it must be from what I do. For when we love each other, and when we love the most, it seems to be the voices dear that flee with all the ghosts.”

John stood up, raised Julia’s head, then kissed her on the forehead. “I need to leave right now dear, I need to get out soon. I’m afraid my fight is mine dear, and has now affected you. I did not want to hurt you, I didn’t want you to pay. The demons in my head are mine but now they’ve gone astray. The day that I infect you, the day they are yours too, is the very day I regret, the fact that I so tricked you. I am not a good man here, I am not the one for you. I think it is a problem, when my problems overrule.”

Julia stood up, hurrying over to him, clutching John’s shoulder as he passed through the bedroom door. “John you cannot leave dear! Don’t be so hasty too! We can work it all out dear, that’s why I married you!”

John sighed, turned around, took Julia by the hands, then kissed her on the lips. “Julia I love you. Julia I do. I simply cannot decieve you, that this will not be hurting you. But I know that I must go now, I know I must depart. Oh how I hate the day I met you, because I was a liar from the start.”

John left the room, then the house and shut both doors behind.

– Thomas M. Watt

The Storm and the Sea

White winds blow softly,

Black storms rustle too,

But the true trouble at sea always seems to be the gloom.

The ships always sail, through happy tides through,

But come to dismay when hurricanes brew.

Row on I say, turn that steering wheel brute,

A sailor at sea is a man who is true.

There can be no lie, no false flag that flies,

There can be no wave who real men still despise.

Realize and see, take some good care,

There are still no currents who are truly unfair.

Ride on through it, battle and cruise,

Beat that damn current with your paddles and booze.

I never once saw, not once did I see, any sizable wave who was bigger than me.

Oh how I have scared, oh how I have lost, oh how many times in the sea I’ve been tossed.

You think I am finished? In sinking despair? You’ve think I’m all gone because the winds did not care?

No no no no, no no no na he-he-he, I am still McWatty, please do not doubt me.

I will find the strength, I will conquer these.

The currents of waves are no match for me.

How can I say? How can I fare? How can I believe when my boat’s no loner there?

I will tell you now, the secret you see, the great key to winning is to think just like me.

There is no storm as great as eyes see, there is no wave who can conquer these;

Principals I know, thoughts are aglow, knowledge of knowing a faith hardly known.

The way to the win, the way past the sea, the way to defeating the beasts of your dreams.

It is all so simple, it is idiocy you see, it’s having belief in the childish things. For on one side is temptation, the physical snares, on one side is sin who hides you from what is still there.

On the other side of worry, of knowledge and doubt, well beyond fearing is a faith that’s devout. The way to this level, above what is bare, the way to reaching a God who few others know cares.

The pathway of light, the windmill of plight, is to keep on going when there is no end in sight. If you can set foot, toes to the sand, soon you will see the waves break and then disappear.

So go be an idiot, a fool just like me, go on believing that faith will conquer these. It is the true secret, hidden from shouts, it is the big hidden in a world full of clout. Go look and see, wake up and you’ll find, the best way of winning is to believe what’s divine.

– Thomas M. Watt

Dexter the Dweeb and Rock the Jock

Dexter’s mind was ablaze with numbers, as the computation was moving along faster in his head than a calculator could do justice to. His pencil was moving so quickly, several around him took notice, until finally Rock punched him in the arm. Dexter instantly lost his concentration, and looked and listened as Rock, wearing a Letterman’s jacket, addressed him with a smirk.

“Dexter what is wrong with you, this is not the time to think. Dexter you are the weirdest nerd I think I’ve ever seen. Now is the time in class to state, the plans for our weekend. You use that pencil in your hand like math is at your end.”

Dexter scratched his head, coughed, then returned weakly. “Rock you know I know you’re cool. Rock I know I seem a fool. I don’t know why, but I swear I try, being cool is not for me. I like to think, these numbers please, I like to think of what they mean to me. They are much more then teacher’s swords, they seem to build, an answer soon is born. It is amazing, for what I think, is that the numbers talk to me.”

Rock smacked his buddy in the chest, laughed loudly, then returned once more. “The numbers talk? They speak to you? Are you really that much uncool? You’ve got to be joking, you’re kidding me, the numbers are just scribbles to me. So what you add? So what you think? Math is a pussy blocker for me.”

Dexter set his pencil down, leaned back in his seat, and spoke with more confidence. “Math may be, it may be so, but still it is the subject that I know. I see these numbers, I know how they work, it is the symbols to whom I flirt. I don’t care that much for whores you see, I’m pretty certain that math’s for me.”

Rock stood up, smacked the papers off of Rocks desk, then lightly slapped him by the cheek. “Listen here, you stupid dweeb, fucking whores is what I dream. It isn’t much to you I see, but that’s cause you’re lame and seek to be, something that don’t matter much, something that is fucking rough. You want to be a mathematician? You want learn some science too? Well fuck my friend, I promise you, there are know chicks who will bang you.”

Dexter stood up from his desk, stepped forward, and raised his eyes until they were level with Rock’s. “Chicks to bang? That is your dream? You are a most pathetic thing. So many have come, so many have gone, and all with thoughts of selfish plots. You are a dumbass, that is what I think. You the lamest, for you can’t speak. Your thoughts of fame, and glory from peers, they will all wash to timeless tears. Of you one day, in the bar you will, regret the day I spoke to you. Because I know, I know what I see, and numbers stay but glory fades.”

Rock shook his head. “Oh hahaha, hahaha-hohoho, you are a dork, and that’s what I know. You stand up to me? Can you not fucking see? I could crush you with both fists for free. Don’t try to be braver than me, don’t ever pretend you could combat me. I am known as Rock, I am known to score, I am the one now who fucks all the whores.”

Dexter moved still closer, surprising Rock, and bringing him to back up a foot. “Fuck all the whores, fuck all them you thief, do whatever you want because it’s you and not me. You think that I care? Of high school’s big cares? You think that I want to be wasting my brain ’till it rots? Listen up Rock, here me out please. The numbers that last will last longer than me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I will now tell you. The fact is that numbers matter more than what’s new. You know what I think? About you and the whores? I’m pretty damn certain that all scores do not score. Many are negative, losing more points than a few. Many are bad thoughts that will undo you. You’re legacy is great, image held high, but I’m pretty sure there has been other guys.”

Rock chuckled nervously. “What the fuck are you saying? You are losing me. The fact is that math is a subject for dweebs.”

Dexter stepped forward yet again. “And so you’ve said, yet you say it again. You only know how to blend with all your cool friends. I don’t really care, it isn’t unfair, I’ve chosen the numbers to help me avenge, my image that’s lost, my coolness erased, that is how it goes for those who are paced.”

“Paced what the fuck? What did that kid say?”

“He said it to you but nice ignorant play. I’ve chosen my road. It’s the path rarely trode, the way of true genius is on unknown roads. Do you think that I care? Is this truth or dare? I’m not going to let you change me through your scare. You are so arrogant, an arrogant tool. I’ve read many history books and none written about you.”

Rock laughed, moving backwards and smearing his face with his hand to his forehead. “Whatever kid. All you say is weird too. You have some odd thought that humanity cares what you do. Go do your math, go say what dweebs say. Just always remember that I’m the one getting laid.”

Dexter smiled, grabbed his papers from the floor, and set them back on his desk. He returned to scribbling out his math equation even as he spoke. “That is your big claim, you’ve already said. You’ve bragged more than once of the pussy you sleigh. The joke is on you, I wish you could see. The joke is that more humans actually prefer rooting for me.”

– Thomas M. Watt

The Black Sea

The sad man, whose name was lightning, withdrew himself from the crowd at the funeral. He was simply overwhelmed by the loss of his friend, Greggory, and was battling with the bleakness of reality, and acceptance of what was lost, was lost. As he stepped away, he bumped into a cloaked woman named Sapphire, who smirked when he did.

“You are looking pretty sad. I’m sorry that he’s dead. He was the one who was friends with you and always made you glad.”

Lightning gulped. “Yes this is a loss. Yes what you say is true. Yet I shall go on somehow it is what I always do.”

After a chuckle, Sapphire responded. “Go on you say, you think it’s true? You think you can find happiness after losing one who’s close to you? I’m sorry I’m afraid, but this isn’t true. I lost an important friend one time and now worry’s all I do.”

Lightning shook his head. “No that isn’t good. Worry is not for me. I will continue to ride this wave until clear skies set me free. It is a time for sadness yes, a true loss yes indeed. A time for solace and contemplation, and pondering all unseen things. Greggory was my friend, you see, the best he was indeed. But sadness does not fill my soul with anything but more grief.”

Sapphire frowned. “Grief you say is bad? You think unseen things are true? Look around dear Lightning, don’t you see, this sadness it is true? The gloom we feel when friends are lost, when tragedy is seen. That is the time for true depression and realizing what is seen. Open your eyes, you hopeful fool, look around instead. You’re friend Greggory was hopeful too, and now that man is dead.”

Lightning groaned, smeared his face with his hand, then returned. “Oh Sapphire you so hate me, Oh Sapphire it’s true. You are the black of blackest coals, for what you say is drool. My friend Greggory is lost I see, he is gone and lost for truth. He is dead to this world but heaven opens too.”

“Heaven you believe? Eternity you fool? Don’t you see with your own eyes that faith is just a tool? A way to make bad things feel nice, a way of strength for realists vice. A fight of truth, a pledge of greed, a form for thinking those things in which peasants feel good things. Greggory was your friend I see, he was mine too. Greggory was a man who died and now he’s gone for good.”

Lightning laughed. “So you say, you know all truth. So you claim to know what rules. So you think in sadness that silence heals all wounds. Hope for children, faith for sheep, all things called holy for the meek. You are too smart, too smart to see, that Greggory still believed in these.”

“Yes he did! And now he’s dead. Off to ruin in the ground instead. Look around you, lightning see, the thought of faith is not for me. Your friend is dead, the soil he treads, his body withered and lost and dead.”

Lightning shook. “His body gone, yes I see, but you know the soul is free. It is a cage, this flesh of age, a container for what God has made. The body gone, spirit freed, a life yet lived for Greggory.”

Sapphire laughed boastfully. “Oh you poor, pathetic thing. Oh you fool, filled with fool’s dream. It is so sad, so sad I see, faith of old ruins all dreams. Don’t spend your life with this dumbly thought, don’t spend your years in pointless plot. Listen to me, let it be understood, your friend is dead and gone for good.”

Lightning turned to face Sapphire directly, held her by both shoulders, and addressed her. “I know you think all thought is good. I know you think you stand for what you should. I know sadness has comforting ways, I know depression for me soon must play. But I know, I’ve seen and found, a faith in a God who is much more profound. For what I know, is more than just seen, what I know is not just false dreams. The fact is this, and will always be, the God of mine defeats misery. There is no color, nor spot of black, there is no mistake in his own road’s paved track. There is a reason, just let it be, the God of mine paints the sunsets and seas. And well he does, while the ocean floats blue, the common mistake is to quicken your view. For if you look close, squint and you’ll see, the color of blackness is in beautiful things.

– Thomas M. Watt

True Source of Art

A noun, a verb, a consolate of things,

an addage of a sentence is the poison of all things.

No it doesn’t matter, no it isn’t you, the moment you jot down the thing someone else said for you to do.

Writing is an art, a word is just the start, the maker of good writing is more understood than taught.

For it is a wrong, a wrong is it to me, the second you instruct someone to write submissive things.

Along with misconceptions, along with wrong directions, exist the man who tells us such things that breed discretion.

The key to it is here, the key to is you see, is never to expect to show the intelligence of me. You want to be good, you want to be the best, you must exist underneath the texts of what you send.

For the object belongs to you, the art is displayed to me, the only job I have for prose is to bring the sight to see. For before it is born, before all art is made, it exist somewhere in the ethosphere for humble souls to take.

It is our job to see it, our job to make it known. It is a gift from up above whose origin is un-shown. He is the giver of words, the gifter of all things, He is the one who shows us to the truthfulness of needs.

A word is not a word, a rhyme is not a rhyme, the secret to all art may be the opposite of what you find. For the teachers they are dull, the rhymers do not speak, the secret to the task at hand is to show what you can see.

Anything more is foolish, anything more is dull, anything less is atrophy of the bringer of the gold. Do not be misled, do not be fooled by me, the greatest of the art at hand belongs to those who see.

– Thomas M. Watt

Go Around Cheers

Went to an elegant dinner establishment tonight with lots of family. We had an excelent time, but most importantly, an unforgettable moment of cheers-ing. Here is how it went.

We all had brews. Some dark, some light. The mood was festive. The setting was light hearted. Then came the cheers. The cheers from Hell.

It started with Grandpa, the foundation of the bunch. He cheerzed me. It was a friendly, simple cheers. But it quickly escalated.

I soon found myself bumping glasses with my uncle at my left. Then my aunt across the way. Then everybody at the dinner table. But that’s when the strangeness begun to begin.

A short ways across from us, sat all the kids. We noticed their sad, glum faces, so I took the initiative to bump one of their water cups with my beer mug. And then, just as I started walking away, another forcibly bumped my glass. And then I turned around, and before I had another thought, I was clanking my mug with the rest of them.

The adults from the other table took notice, and decided it was the right thing to do, so they to got up and clanked their glasses with the children as well. We all had a good laugh about it, and started back to our table, when madness found me.

It was one guy, one weathered, grey bearded animal, who approached me and offered me cheers as a joke. It was funny at first, but then another from his table sought to keep up the chuckles, and bumped mugs with me as well.

Within a matter of seconds, my entire table followed behind me, and we were all clanking beers with this table full of weirdoes we didn’t even know.

And then another table approached us. And then another. And just like that, the entire restaurant started going around bumping beer mugs and offering one another cheers, out of goodwill.

It should have ended there. But it didn’t.

The workers felt obliged to join in the cordiality. They brought out their own, empty glasses, and shared in the festive glass clanking. First the waiters/waitresses, then the cooks, then the busboys, then the hostess.

After the hostess, outside onlookers happened to notice, and came in to bump fist-to-glasses.

We found ourselves outside, a place we didn’t belong, and everybody who was anybody approached to join us.

Oh, how it should of ended there. It didn’t.

Cars pulled over. It started as a joke, but then the drivers were fist-bumping one another. That should have been enough, but some jerk-off felt compellled to exit his minivan, and then he started hugging all the drivers. And then we who were dumbly standing outside with un-drunken beer mugs, we all started hugging one another, because it seemed like the right thing to do, and each man is bound to demonstrate common courtesy, whatever that may be. We hugged, and fake-laughed, and all of everybody pretended to like each other.

Shortly thereafter, news crews arrives, helicopters and all. The reporters approached me, and asked me what started the wild display of love. I answered them simply –

“Beer did. Beer is the reason we all decided to act jovial.”

“Oh wow, what a great thing!” She responded.

“No,” I said. “This isn’t great. This is the opposite of great. This is why prohibition came into play.”

“What?” She said. “Whatever do you mean? Clearly alchohol consumption is good when it is the bringer of these things.”

“No,” I insisted, “No you are wrong. Beer is the reason people sing along to songs. Beer is the maker of the happy times before, beer is the reason some have an endless repertoire; of things to be said, of stories to be dread, of longings and wantings and cravings for more bread. Beer can be good, beer can be a vice, but once it becomes an excuse for the people to be nice, it no longer has an effect, it no longer can be drinken, for the killer of all fun is the death of all free thinkin’.”

A Study in the False State of Niceness

This is a complex subject of which I have put much thought in too, and in which brings about many other outstanding understandings of the human spirit. For now, I would like to keep it short and simple, however, one day, I would like to write a book or more on the topic. But this is the seed, and I wish to give the seed for now, because I have been drinking and because the seed is one in which develops into quite an amazing tree. But that tree is mine, and only I can see it, and it is going to take much more than five minutes in order to show it to you in its entirety. But here is the seed.

There are two types of happiness. One is genuine, one is forced. In the forced happiness category, we can decisively attribute DisneyLand workers, corny jokes, and kindly dressed persons. For, all these forms of ‘niceness’ are done specifically for the personification of appearing as something that is not actually there – a friendly smile to someone you do not know, a laugh to something that is not funny, a kindness to a stranger who you do not care for. These are examples of false niceness which are done on the foundation of human courtesy.

I am not trying to discredit kindness, please understand that. I am trying to reach a point that is very complex.

So, on the one hand, we have many occasions where we are nice because it is the courteous thing to do. On the other hand, we have those who we genuinely enjoy engaging with, and there is nothing false between us.

Ugh… I kind of wish I wasn’t somewhat tipsy right now… this is a hard point to arrive to.

Okay, so there we have it – two forms of niceness. One is real, one is fake. I believe it is equally accurate to say one is of God, one is purely human.

So then, if we were to look at this ‘false state of niceness’ as something which is arbitrary and meaningless to God, what are we to make of it? Are we to be mean to those we don’t like? Are we to be grumpy when we feel like being grumpy?

“From the heart, the mouth speaks.”

What we can then deduce from these words of Jesus, that what exits the mouth is directly sent from the heart. What is of the heart, is of the truth. Therefore, there is more to words than we realize, and we can honestly say that this ‘false state of niceness’ fools nobody. How can we say it fools nobody? Because the mouth speaks from the heart.

Do you understand? The words are meaningless. All human contact is made through an invisible means. Ridiculous? Logic may say so, but did you not know exactly what I meant when I said some forms of niceness are counterfeit whereas others are genuine?

So I may smile and say something that prompts you to laugh, but it is really not funny and neither one of us gives a shit about each other. Why? Because neither one of us gives a shit about each other.

So how do you change that? What is the Christian thing to do if some forms of kindness are arbitrary?

It is to change the heart. It is to reach inside and see the ‘being’ you are talking to, rather than the face set before you. To hear the motive behind the words, rather than the words themselves.

This is the seed of a spectacular tree. I wish to tell you more, but the time is not now.