Here’s what I think.

When it comes down to it, we don’t get to choose very much. From birth, thousands of decisions are instantaneously made for us.
Age, sex, location.
Name, address, SSN.
Size, weight, color.
Income level, insurance company, citizenship.
DNA map, eventually.
Seemingly unimportant, mostly indisputable, these are the tiny clear rods that Doozers use to build our fragile identities.

After that is just years of abiding by the choices of your literal guardian.  Can’t choose your parents, can’t choose your siblings.  Stuck with whatever blood you have in your veins.  A ticket in the mandatory lottery of existence.  By the time you’re old enough to have dreams most of them are out of reach. Cultivating a culture devoid of artists, minds numbed by aptitude tests and network television.  Remake everything until you can’t remember whose idea is was in the first place.

The medium doesn’t change the message, just how powerfully you get to ram things down throats.  Choking on tropes stuck in the back of my throat.  Holding high standards is relative to your idea of rock bottom.  I giggle at funerals but didn’t murder anyone.

Finished always looking over my shoulder.  God gets to judge His children and I hope not to be here when that happens.  Nothing personal.