Exit | pursued by a bear
I am going to rail against the mantra of “dreaming and believing,” that youthful crutch of hope and optimism. To dream, you require a certain adornment of imagination, and to believe, you require a good stuffing of faith. My body does not have the capacity for those luxuries, it is too full of McDonald’s. I am a salad container filled with poker chips that taste a little salty and a little like Chipotle; too bad you can’t cash in french fries.
I say it is equally as glamourous to be unhopeful, and tired, and disaffected. It’s nouveau-neurotique , it’s fashionable to not give a damn. It’s so New York, so Woody Allen and the general consensus on statutory rape performed by Hollywood directors, it’s so 2016(TM) – fuck La La Land. Exist somewhere in between on the geographical plane of pretentiousness, grow a beard, and build a cabin in Portland. And then realize you are not even American.
Imagination is overrated. There are eight billion people in the world; anyone can have an LSD trip. A large mind is more pompous than it is impressive.
Everyone is trying to be special. Don’t be special, because everyone is.
I am not about dreams, or beliefs, or anything special, really. There is no need to be. All there is need of, is the air that I breathe and to love you.
To be human is to simply exist in the disgusting underbelly of reality. No belief, no dream could ever soften the imminent splat of bone and (worryingly limited) muscle and (worryingly abundant) fat on the ground.
Life is the conundrum that your neighbour is a smoker but it is you who has cancer. My thoughts are puffed out like cancerous second-hand smoke, my mind sputters to a coughing halt from the carcinogen of thinking. Maybe try vaping. It’s cancer without the illness.
Oakley makes the shades to transform a tool. Crocs makes the shoes to establish one. Who made those rules?
Always satirize yourself. Always be a parody of reality. If life gives you lemons, smell them. You can tell their freshness from the soft hint of citric vitality lingering on the pockmarked skin, much like teenagers.
When in doubt, always act in expense of yourself.