Chronicles

We chronicle life based on experiences, emotions, senses, and external conversations. However, is it so hard to believe that none of these are first person accounts of what really is happening around us? If you are limited (being a finite being after all), what makes you consider yourself rational for following a flawed being (the human element)? 

My guess would be that we do the best we can. Some people follow parents, teachers, religion, sports, well not really sports as a lifestyle, but then again I have seen some people that would sacrifice an ear to play like Kobe (shitty Van Gogh reference optional). Other people follow themselves, whether through logic, reason, or "gut feelings". I propose we do none of the above. What if we just led life, instead of following after it. It's hypocritical of me to say because I work 55 hour weeks, but still, we should just be. Or to put it in other words, "just do it" (dear Nike, please send a self-addressed return envelope to my house and I will pay royalties on the term). 

Psychonaut

Here's the thing. Some people do drugs to run away, others do it because they're bored, still others hopes it will get them laid, or they'll be so toasted they won't even notice the difference. Kudos to all of you. You have all ruined a beautiful thing, and turned it into a black market for processed goods. As any psychonaut will tell you, there is much more to this world than a few moments of existential euphoria.

Consider the difference between eating an apple: simply put, just biting into it chomping away; and admiring the apple from all sides, realizing it's potential for being eaten and then slowly processing it through your taste buds noticing each bite. Might seem like a shitty observation. Well then, my friend, you might be a shitty explorer. That's the thing, if you do everything with a normal state of mind, you will be a normal person, noticing nothing, experiencing the bare minimum, and uncovering absolutely nothing of value. My suggestion... find yourself a quite spot, put on some classical music, bite into some "Soma", and see where your soul will take you.

Live to Work

At this point, I could have taken this one of two ways, I could have been responsible and reasonable, so that I could use this medium for more worthwhile causes and endeavors, or I can bitch and complain. Tough shit, I'm taking the latter.

Now onto the point... work is a bitch. Why? Because it a mind-numbing experiment to see how well you can do some repetitive task for a certain amount of years. If you do, they will give you a less repetitive, but still equally mind-numbing task. 50 years later you realize you're retiring to a 401(k) and absolutely no hobbies, interests, or passions other than work, which is now over. So I ask you, do we work to live, or do we live to work?

You Ever Get That Feeling

It's late, you're tired and a fucking Fourth Meal commercial comes on. And you wonder to yourself, dog-meat with lettuce in a crispy taco, hell yes! Well, not so much you as the alcohol secretly whispering that there's nothing more tantalizing than Taco Bell before dawn. So you go, you buy, you come home. You consume something that probably overall has maybe 2% natural vitamins. Then you wake up in the morning, hungover, wondering if you are part of bad Alien movie remake, or if that's just your stomach telling you it's leaving you, and taking the liner with it. I don't really know, all I know is, I haven't seen that chihuahua around... just saying.

Desperation

Often times we find ourselves wondering what went wrong? How could that idea have possibly turned into such a poor judgement? After all, we are creatures of nature more than reason, so shouldn't our very essence drive us to our purpose? I guess not. At least that's what she felt when she was moving up and down on a stranger, slowly trying to earn her three minute $20 "stimulus". I mean she used to wait tables at a local Applebee's, and found out really quickly that if you're part of the neighborhood, you're making a cool $7 an hour before taxes. So it doesn't take an MIT grad to calculate that you can't afford a McDonald's Big and Tasty meal in two hours worth of work. She considered moving back home, but her dad already called her a dirty disgrace of a whore, and her mother broke her good China against the door when she first left. G-d, it seemed like such hell when she left, the constant fights, the arguing over remedial matters, but now, it all seemed fine. She would even take back her older brother who was always a little too friendly to be family, but still anything would be better than this. Most people don't understand that Los Angeles is not any different of a city than anywhere else in the world. The rules don't magically change here, and you are no more at home here, than if you were anywhere else. If anything, at the end of the day, this city has a way of reminding you of your net worth when you're on top, and your gross worth when you're on the bottom. She didn't know all that in the beginning. She just knew that this was where Hollywood was, where Pam Anderson came from, and now protects the poor, defenseless minxes that get slaughtered every year for soft coats. She was even a little jealous, at least the minxes got to remain soft when they were skinned, whereas she was depleted. She was rough on all edges, having taken that Catholic high school education and followed in the path of countless priests in, namely, finding a way to whore out her innocence. It used to work, at least she would pull in wealthy Japanese business men, and retired connoisseurs who had no better place to spend their social security. But now, what was she to do. She stank of Los Angeles. There was no way out. She had decided to move back home, no matter how much shame she would have to endure. That was it, the final straw being when she realized she couldn't make her next months rent because there wasn't enough desperate horny men to pay for her to dance on them. Certainly leaving before she paid off her lease would affect her credit, but to be honest did it really matter? Did any of this really matter? "Sorry gentlemen, the two-for-one is over, but make sure to catch your next dance with one of these foxy young ladies". That was her cue, and she played it accordingly, "How about it cutie, how about one more?" Seems he was broke, "I guess they all are" she thought to herself. Hell, when they go for the topless only, they really can't afford much, can they? "Here you go sweetheart", the cashier said handing her 20 singles. They danced against the neon light flashing over them, as if disappearing and reappearing again, much like a David Copperfield performance, with just as much charisma and flash, and an equal amount of lies. "See you next week, Benny" she told the bouncer. She wasn't coming back, she just didn't want to make it apparent to everyone. "See you sweetheart", he yelled above the music. She took one last look at everyone as she threw on her coat and wondered, "Maybe dad would be more willing to take me back if I can buy him a big-screen before football season". Come to think about, it would only take her one more month of performing...