My current state of varying sobriety gave me a glimpse into the pipe dreaming I was taking part in. Number one, most artistic and creative endeavors do not pay shit and you are working for free, as a lot of us are, in hopes gaining notice to have the ability to EEK out a living doing something we “kinda” like doing. My thoughts raced, and instead of panicking, I thought to myself, who fucking cares? Why do I put people on a pedestal, when we are all trying to act as if nothing is wrong in the antiquated, old rusty world we live in. EVERYTHING IS WRONG. Who has the most! Who is the happiest! Who knows the secret to life! No one, and if you did, it would kill all of the exciting skin crawling bullshit we get to do in between trying to keep a roof on our heads, navigating relationships, and just hoping for a day to breathe and not have to worry about some bullshit obligation to keep someone else from being uncomfortable.
I am uncomfortable with the simple fact I have to censor myself in the public realms where everyone is more concerned about having the most “likes” and “views” than having a real purpose, whether that is rescuing animals or subverting the financial institutions of the world. Ted Kaczynski had it right, when he declared in his 1990’s masterpiece that technology was robbing the human race of its own unique thought processes and destroying creativity and human dignity all in the name of “progress”. What fucking “progress”? Life has turned into one giant world of sadistic “make believe” and the kids are all drinking the Kool-Aid with just enough not to kill.
The latest decade of the 2000’s is about the evaporation of the individual. It is a tragedy that we require so much virtual validation instead of validating ourselves, because no one wants to admit that life right now is hard, it’s really fucking hard. If we can openly discuss these things, the beauty of conversation appears and real human connections happen. At this point, I realize, fuck that Facebook shit, IT’S NOT REAL. I am guilty of all charges and all I seek is an honest indictment of myself. A thought for the day that always keeps me going from the author of the 1990’s masterpiece mentioned earlier is “they were going to die anyway”.
I am going to die anyway, so I need to get moving and energy flowing and I can’t do that stuck behind a computer screen trying to fill an imagined hole of the necessity to have an explanation for everything I do. I do not have any explanations that I care to share, it doesn’t fucking matter. What does matter is that every day has personal meaning… through the lenses of fear and uncertainty of the world that surrounds, I did the best I fucking could… if speaking your mind means getting thrown down a flight of stairs, funny looks from people, and ostracized by “well balanced” individuals…in my book… my life had purpose, only known to me…… we’ll see what’s next and thank you. On another note, I love Brigitte Bardot and Bill Joel’s “The Stranger” is a great album, sorry I’m all out of punk :)
MY BULLSHIT MAGAZINE IS HERE! ENJOY THE NOTHINGNESS
