Engineers, Actors, Optometrists (The Next Train to Susan)

There are some professions, which are mysterious. This, is how they work.

If you want to raise, a real life engineer, you need to get a job in the Langley sub-basement, where you are a super spy, under lock and key at all hours, designing special spy gear for the United States government. Like little horseys, action figures, but not Major Boothroyd’s giant sandwich, that’s just for him. The little engineer can visit the father, while being raised by Dick Tracy, a kindly corrections officer, and maybe get their own spy gadget, like the Psychiatric Union License, for their child or neighbors (don’t let North Korea know that ours psychiatrists are priests, too, just like their doctors).

If you want to raise, a big time actor, you need to get a job as a special field operative, in a sanitarium, where you work on big time psychiatric studies, and send post cards to your child, the actor, challenging them to know just where you are. Perhaps a book about therapy, or a pamphlet for his future political causes you just really need to support to get it all out there, or asking where the food is, at your son’s girlfriend’s house, because he might be making a visit. That was in a Stabbing Westward video one time, where the actor’s father got to be a cop, so Bruce Willis could figure out how to marry Kathy Genero; some little play thespian, was thinking of being a doctor or big time banker, but that’s for George Clooney.

If you want to raise an optometrist, you have to master eyes, not just the kind you see, but the kind you can’t see. Aliens, peering lights, little cracks and holes in the walls, your father will train you and teach you how to suspect all suspicion, of his real affairs. Maybe you found his traveling trousers in the basement with the rubber hose, or discovered that aliens weren’t real and put it on the internet for yourself to read about, or however more often, you just couldn’t resist reading that cool comic book you heard your father get real long sighted at. That’s how you know, what evil looks like. And it’s an eyeball.

Published by cheater120

Consider me an expert in information munitions. I practice Zazen meditation, Yakuza Trappist form (a Yakuza, games cheat, and Trappist, a counter-agent), as a Bonafuda, a mercantile salesmen of information through philosophy, literature, fiction, and academics, distributed as munitions technique deployed for the purpose apparent to you, unless of course you have violated the ethics of my piece, in which case you will be trapped inside a theft of the piece and an action within the boundaries of the violation you have committed in Benedictine culture, the Jewish affiliate within Catholic culture. Buyer beware, and these poems, are free.

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