Sunday Morning Thoughts 7.31.11

So comes the final week. So comes the impending progression as time. There’s no such thing as progress, but who am I to tell you what god to believe? Who am I to be daring? Who am I to be anything at all? Who am I to ask anything?

I am an unbelievably small collection of atoms, that make up this unbelievably small collection of cells, sitting upon this tremendously small collection of rock, spinning around in this rather small collection of stars all encompassed inside of everything, which is all part of something far grander than anything that anyone I’ve ever known to exist has ever been capable of even composing a fraction of the idea that makes up existence.

I’ve been here, on Earth, long enough for it to go around good ol’ Sol twenty times. I have never left this hunk of dried magma called North America. I’ve only left the ground for more than a few seconds a few times. I am small. Everything I have ever known and loved is small. The majority of anything that exists will never know that I did. I don’t know about them either. Isn’t that sad?

Or is it beautiful? There is more out there that is new and exciting than there is the boring old stuff I know by numbers that I could even begin to guess. I would have become an astronaut, if I was better at math. Either way, my hopes would be under constant grouching pressure from today’s world. We’ll most likely blow ourselves up before we ever get close to understanding any of it. This species seems to like destruction and chaos and hatred more than anything else. We kill off most of the beautiful people, or just ignore them. For my entire life I have lived everyday under the threat of some sort of destruction. I was born at the end of the Cold War and have spent half of my life thus far fearing terror attacks on the empire.

I could be drafted if there is more war. People always think there won’t be, but the always can be. The last one just happened, neither reason nor any need for alarm. Just go back home and turn on your television sets. Listen up, very closely now because if you aren’t watching all of the time, you will never know. You will never understand, you will wilt and never grown. Since you’re here, would you like to buy this? I think you need it. No, I’m pretty sure you do, don’t be an idiot. Just buy the fucking thing and throw it out when there’s a new one.

For fuck’s sake, how hard is it to grasp? You live to buy things. You work to live, because you live to buy things. Without things you are nothing. Things are all that makes up your life, nothing more. Life isn’t about sunsets and good books and good music. It’s not about self-fulfillment and enlightenment. Life is not about growth and expansion. And it is most certainly, not about love.

I’m dying for interaction with the opposite sex. The only part of my teenage mind that still works, but then again it doesn’t have all too much to do with the mind. I want warmth, I guess. Sure sex would be swell, but there’s other things. Just holding someone is nice and I can probably do that for longer.

Rimshot.

Get it?

Ok. Here’s the promise. Next time I get laid, I will go to an open mic within two days. Three, if two just isn’t possible. I may be busy, but I would need to do it at the first possible moment…

This is another stupid promise to myself. Who in their right mind is going to fuck me?

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