(alternate title : "All the reality that is fit to print.")
There is no doubt that we are living in an extraordinarily fucked up world. We have global warming, corrupt governments, a culture growing out of reality television and Splenda seems like a good idea to a lot of people.
Religion is the opiate of the masses.
Television is the opiate of the masses.
Opium is the opiate of the masses.
The three previous statements can all be proven as true through logical argument, but what is it really that is impacting our world into a false sense of happiness?
I have no idea.
Something I have always wanted was a child. As I meet children, as I get opportunities to teach them something about the world I have a strong urge to make one of my own. I am jealous of members of my family that have children, I am envious of their opportunity to shape a mind... to clone a lasting copy of themselves to live on in this world. Then reality settles in.
Is this the world that an innocent child deserves?
People smoke despite a clear label on the package that the product will kill them.
Priests diddle children.
Amid a clear global change, we don''t change our ways.
Any idiot can have a child when it takes months if not years for someone to adopt someone in need.
I was fortunate enough to have amazing parents. Two people that allowed me to develop into the person I am today, they were and are considered by their peers as a strange anomaly, they are also envied by these same people for the friendship they have with their three sons. When they could have molded us into anything they wanted, champion golfers ( in the way of Earl Woods ) or subjected us to fame on television ( we were gorgeous children ), they instead offered us everything that this world had to offer. Exposed to every religion, every bit of knowledge in the world available ... they let us grow into the men we are today.
I am a colossal fuck up... when compared to my brothers. I'm the explorer, never content. While my younger brothers take on more noble roles in the world I sit around and write hoping to eventually reach a reasonable conclusion that will convince you the reader to not have children.
Why?
In a world beyond repair... do you feel capable of teaching someone enough that they can fix your mistakes?
I am self involved.
However, I took this picture to drive home a point.
I am on this weird sleep every other night pattern lately. I am writing a lot, and while involved in my chore I have been losing track of time. It is hard work trashing myself on paper, the only other format I have had for that was women that I have dated... they do it well.
Anyway, I think this photo... the one above where I have been awake for twenty something hours... the way I look... that is why I am single, not my less than polished personality.
or maybe I am an asshole... or you are.
I think I am going to start rolling my own cigarettes. I'm not doing it because it is cheaper or because I feel cool rolling one up. I do this so that I am not a liar.
Very often walking down the street some stranger asks me for a cigarette. It might be a bum, homeless guy, street urchin, vagrant, or just someone too lazy to walk to the store. Now walking with a pouch of tobacco and rolling papers when someone asks me if I have a cigarette, I can honestly say no.
If they happen to ask me if I have the necessary ingredients and the skill set to produce a cigarette I will have to say yes, but I just don't' see that happening.
Here in my apartment, during my latest grounding for being so foolish falling off of my bicycle and breaking my collar bone, I have actually spent time thinking about what I have done. Happy Mom ?
I have been piecing together the last several months, starting of course in Florida, cruising through my few months in Tucson and everything to date here in Oregon.
I am accepting of my lost opportunities in Arizona.
I am now prideful of my escape from total misery in Florida.
I am comfortable with my situation in Oregon.
I took all of these things and finally started writing again. This here is me taking a break from the story. It's really moving at an alarming pace.
I started it a few days ago after watching The Last Kiss, when I realized that I only really started to enjoy the movie after Zach Braff's character started making horrible decisions. This got me to thinking about one of my favorite books The Fuck Up, by Arthur Nersesian which again involves someone making a lot of bad decisions. I thought to myself "I CAN DO THAT... I HAVE DONE THAT... I MAKE BAD DECISIONS EVERYDAY... AND I CAN MAKE THEM ENTERTAINING."
... and I started writing again... just like that.
I was suddenly free from the stifiling rule of my miserable ex-girlfriend, I was free of being a drunken women chasing maniac, I was just free... am free.
... and now I type to solidify my freedom.
I'm psyched.
"Somebody told me how frightening it was how much topsoil we are losing
each year, but I told that story around the campfire and nobody got scared."
"If you're a cowboy, and you're dragging a guy behind your horse, I bet
it would really make you mad if you looked back and the guy was reading a
magazine."
"The other day I got out my can opener and was opening a can of worms
when I thought, "What am I doing?"
I was going to do a couple of pieces tonight....
one of them being a breakdown of the "hipster family", the young and wealthy breeding dressing like hipsters and putting their children in ironic t-shirts, but I did'nt get a chance to work that one out verbally with my friend today, and voice mail isn't the place to work out the kinks on that kind of subject.
so.....
I figured I would offer an explanation to folks that don't know this about me, and a reminder to those that do know me that may have have let it slip from their memory.
I RUN RESTAURANTS.
I RUN MY SELF INTO THE GROUND.
I TEND TO FORGET ABOUT THE REST OF THE WORLD.
I WANTED TO CALL YOU BACK... I REALLY DID... BUT I GOT A CALL FROM THE RESTAURANT.
I WANT TO GO OUT WITH YOU TO TALK ABOUT YOUR BAD BREAKUP, BUT I CAN BARELY MOVE.
I CAN NOT STOP THINKING "DO WE HAVE ENOUGH SALMON?"
I RUSH HOME FOR A SHOWER... NOT TO GO OUT, BUT TO NOT SLEEP IN MY OWN FILTH.
I LOVE MY JOB.
I LOVE YOU TOO.
I HAVE LOST TEN POUNDS.
I THINK THAT THE PEOPLE IN MY 54 CHAIRS EATING IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN ME EATING.
I HAVE SEEN YOUR FACEBOOK COMMENTS, YOUR MYSPACE MESSAGES ETC... I DON'T KNOW HOW TO TELL YOU I AM IN A UNIVERSE THAT OFFERS SO LITTLE SLEEP THAT I AM STARTING TO THINK ABOUT THREAD COUNT.
I MISS YOU.
I MISS ME.
I HAVE TO DO THIS.
I AM SORRY.
