Note to Reader – This is the amalgam of the writers’ own hatred for card companies and forced falsities; projected thus unto the page and therefore the reader.
Christmas, Birthdays, New Year and the multitude of religious festivities/holidays are the only ones of note in the calendar.
Mother’s day, Father’s Day, Valentine’s, Easter, Shrove Tuesday, Bonfire night, Halloween etc.; These all, are cancers on society; for people like me anyway, which is people who know all to well the original message of the holiday has been lost in card companies, high expectations and pointless, false, forced fun.
It was recently Mother’s day, it ranks high in the blight of pointless holidays because of the enormous pressure applied by women on to children and men to readily and eagerly (desperately) deliver some disposable cards, breakfast in bed and some sort of gesture to ensure that woman in question doesn’t break down in tears, feel undervalued and go insane with disappointment.
It’s not the recipients’ fault that they act so righteously, they have spent a lot of time being told just how important mothers are, how it is the hardest job in the world and about how special it is.
Well, there is nothing special about being a mother, much more than it is special to be a father.
For generation, eons, men have been ejaculating in to women, producing sprogs and then providing, protecting and raising them.
Much like women, who for generations have been ejaculated in to, then to inevitably carry the child, push it out, feed it, keep it clean and raise the little sprog alongside their father (A growing rarity these days…)
Well done all of you, you did exactly what every other successful species has done, you took part in procreation, a phenomenal achievement, outstanding! Well done!
But now, we need to devote our time, energy and money in to a holiday that forces you to show ‘appreciation’, patronisingly, almost as if you never really did or do.
If it mattered so much, we wouldn’t need a month worth of adverts or the incessant lists of ‘top ten mother’s day gifts’. Or a reminder of the ‘Greatest Mother’s this century’; this shit is pathetic, which applies to father’s day and the aforementioned other cancerous dates. It really needs to stop; all this self-congratulatory, pat-self-on-back business.
It, is, nothing, special.
The only thing that these mass-marketed, over-advertised, money saturated twenty-four-hour periods have ever achieved is create expectancy, entitlement and standards of which the minimum must be met or, be prepared to suffer the consequences.
Things like this should not have a day set aside for them, if you love your mother love her every day, treat her whenever you can, no?
Much like if you love your romantic partner, love them every single day and when YOU decide to do something special, go ahead and do it. Because making your own date in the calendar is surely, far more admirable than joining the queue with the rest of the lot, stampeding in to the Card Factory and then Waitrose for some chocolates with a bow around them.
There is nothing less thoughtful than using a national holiday as an excuse to get the romance for your partner, or admiration for a parent out of the way so it can be done with for the rest of the year.
Was it really special to take her out and sit in a restaurant with a hundred other families and their mothers?
Was it really?
Or was it a lacklustre attempt to smooth over an already cobbled family union, prevent tears or rid oneself of guilt?
Well, whatever you did. It most likely was not special. It was what was expected of you to do, just to keep the peace, just to fit in.
We may find that in the current day, we circle a maelstrom, aboard our little computer rafts as the swell of the ‘mainstream’ media vortex swirls and grows as it infinitely consumes and distributes of information . It’s an odd fact that despite our ‘woke’ minds; our conspiracy laden tin hat wearing brains, we still believe in the mainstream media enough for it to manipulate the truth and thus our perceptions of the truth.
Even stranger, we live in a post-truth world.
Who would have thought? After 9/11, there was a surge of memorable, believable and outright crude conspiracy theories. Most notably ‘LOOSE CHANGE’ and ‘ZEITGEIST’. Regardless of whether you or I think it was an inside job or not, we can thank the internet and the mainstream media’s considerably long and eventful history of deceptions, foul play and out right lying for catalysing a means for greater awareness.
Now everything is viewed under the powerful magnascope that is the World Wide Web. Any reported, captured or hypothesised eventuality can come under the critical scrutiny of anyone with a computer. And so everyone conspired, to unravel the conspiracies. And once all the truths had been examined and processed, a wash of strange stances and conclusions appear from truths bound not in logic, and reason. But Alternative facts, truths, clad in emotion and feeling. The post-truth reaction; is perhaps the most divisive of all sources for those who seek truth in conspiracy.
Conspiracies are very addictive and powerful. Not only do they dissect and surgically, construct a mathematical formula eventually leading to their equations conclusion using logic and ‘facts’ shall we say. But they also appeal to emotion.
If you completely disagree to a conspiracy you’re most likely in a frustrated, angry, ‘how could anyone believe this?’ mentality.
If you agree then you’re also likely to be in a frustrated, angry, ’how could anyone do this?’ mentality.
There are of course varying degrees for either response. But if you are like me, you find yourself taking every minutiae of information, with fists full of salt; even those that provide you with that gooey feeling of superiority when confirmation bias reassures you that you are indeed right.
Yes, ‘confirmation bias’.
A term I learned recently from Scott Adams, creator of the syndicated comic strip Dilbert who also happens to be a professional speaker, trained hypnotist amongst other brilliantly stacked traits. ‘Confirmation bias’ is the compulsion or tendency to search out and recall information that supports, defends and backs up our pre-existing beliefs.
Which news channel do you tune in to, which do you watch the most? And which channel do you not tune in to? When you hear a breaking story on your go to channel, head to the one you hate the most. What you’ll see is a stark difference in reporting of the truth and the flow of the debate.
One says everything you think you already know and it confirms your bias.
“Well of course Obama didn’t found ISIS, he’s been bombing them and leading the war against them, that wouldn’t make any sense. It’s just radical propagandist people who spout such beliefs”.
For another person it can go differently.
“Of course Obama founded ISIS, he’s a Kenyan born Muslim who is seeking to destroy America from the inside. It’s just radical brainwashed idiots who can’t see the truth”.
For myself and others, it’s more a complicated inconclusive mess like this.
“Well Obama is fighting them and is acting against them as they are considered a threat, on the other hand there are his questionable drone strikes and aggressive military action that he and his predecessor, George Bush, conducted and successfully continued to screw the Middle East into dust. The problem is we’ll probably never know the truth and by the time we do, it won’t matter”.
The above statements are just examples so try not to take it personally if any of these sound like you or whatever; try to remember not to engage emotion as much as possible when digesting information, it get completely in the way of rational thought, a key to making up your own mind.
So you’ll watch those channels that contribute positively to your confirmation bias and pursue the narrative they provide as your own. Well it’s time to stop as clearly, supposedly, there are no truths left to be found in the world.
And that is not meant as in, there is no truth. It’s that the truth is next to impossible to find and even if it were found, and shown to every single person on this planet, there would still be the naysayers and deniers, who will actively seek a counter argument, usually based off of something they’ve already seen or heard.
It’s an odd condition of the present era. With so much information available, so many sources and such touchy matters being at the forefront of social and political discourse; it’s no wonder everyone feels so tense, or they are too afraid to just speak their mind honestly. Since 9/11 there has been an undeniable build in social awareness; political deviance and the monstrous evolution of how information is used, abused and convulsed through its dissemination has created a society that even questions the truth.
We have all bore witness to the truth, we have all seen how much it can hurt, but it’s also a means to progress and lift ourselves upward.
Honesty, as things stand, is now such a highly sought trait, that men like Trump (love him or hate him) have been able to go so far off script and speak from the heart in order to achieve the highest available seat in the Western world. And now after his off the cuff and raw campaign, he can create and mould his own truths.
Alternative-facts, the perfect supplement for the post truth world.
He isn’t the first or last man to do it, but it’s evidence enough that things are going a little further sideways then they should be no?
There may be a solution to this all. To stop the infighting amongst us mere civilians and stop those at the top of the social food chain from taking advantage.
Those at the top would be:
- Hollywood, the most self-righteous, pat-self-on-back community of all.
- The 24 hour news networks, the lazy, lying, bias ridden streams of fear.
- The politicians, who, whilst in it for themselves, have to ruin societies before they can achieve their goals.
- And the internet / social media. The loudest, most obnoxious and arrogant source of them all, where the conversation is taken too seriously, too lightly and never ends.
There are enemies to truth, whether they have reported the truth or not. They are all responsible for lying and twisting some truth somewhere to provoke your emotions. That emotional response is the ultimate fuel for their fire. All they need to do is enrage enough people in to protest, in to saying something crazy online and breed a new scandal or story, regurgitating narratives and talking points in order to keep that cycle of doom and gloom revolving.
See if for yourselves, look at this all through the cynical lenses of scrutiny and disbelief, rely on your logic not your emotions to look for the truth.
It’s not your fault that the honest voice has been buried so deep beneath hateful and emotional agendas. If you find yourself unable to make any sense of it, and the truth is nowhere to be found, unless it is your job or worth it, then leave it alone. You’ll only anger yourself and perhaps even distort the truth yourself just to make sense of this ridiculous world.
Anger, is often powerful. It is internalised, rising lava. We’re all prone to our eruptions in one way or another.
Some breakdown under the weight of it all, some focus that energy, and channel it through means of their own.
Anger, at its best. Is the purest rawest emotion next to grief and potentially, love. Anger goes deep in to psychotic realms when things have finally gotten too much; you know when you punch through multiple doors, break knuckles, break everything? Those classic days eh?
Smash smash smash smash! And almost as if you had just had a horrific orgasm, you land back in reality, with damaged goods all over the place, regret running rampant in your brain, the physical pain, the exhaustion all feeding back in to that vicious cycle.
What a wild mechanism we have, a radical means to survive that is sure enough to set you in to a berserker trance. Nowadays anger is caused often by things less life threatening than another tribe attempting to trample yours. Anger is dangerous, extraordinarily so, like the nuclear bomb! But hey, from it we gained a valuable energy source. (Not so win-win but just go along with me here).
So to all you stress heads and those who fret, there must be a way to shift the balance, and we should attempt to swing the paradigm in our favour, take the bull by the horn and wrestle it into submission until we can ride it away in to our mushroom cloud sunset.
Let it be known I’m no expert on anger, I’m just an expert at being angry from time to time.
So let’s consider this, that anger is power. Anger is power, it is equally chaos(I love that word). Born in Jealousy, sadness, confusion, disorientation. You name it, it stems from something if not everything. It grows gradually, it is justified as much as a sneeze is and there is a place for it in the
It must happen, anger must be. There are many people with whom it may never fully flourish, the pure souls and the strange ones. Or those who have seen the extent of what their anger can do try in earnest to tame the beast. I am talking in a general sense here; Some become violently angry and assault people, some violently and destroy property. Some spend their life weaving the anger through racism, anarchy or general anti-social, self-destructive behaviours cultivated over years and dispensed in one way or another. To which the said person/beast has at some point justified their actions, which is natural, we have to in order to survive, to be able to cope with what we did and
how we move forward from these points.
But nonetheless, it doesn’t matter what made you angry, it just matters what you do with it.
We have to, anger is fierce and out of control. We see new angles on ourselves when really pushed forth into that desperate unknown; that little piece of us that is incredibly powerful and is snapped in to action by a host of chemical, psychological, personal and often social factors. It takes a lot out of you to get THAT mad. When you really fucking lose it. And for many I think some justification is a thin streak of gold to cling to. If it were unjustified then yes, it’s a little crazy at first. I’ve had many questionable outbursts of destructive behaviour that I am still trying to justify to myself to this day. Mounds and heaps of regret. At university I broke eight (or more) doors and other belongings all because I lost all my marbles multiple times over things I understand more now. And for me that was it, I wasn’t coping with a lot of change going happening. Life was a speedboat thundering its way down a thin canal in a beautiful ball of hellfire. It was easy to forget all those things that kept the demons at bay or expelled them.
Anger is instinctive in many ways; like the sneeze it can only be held back for so long. But we are good at doing that, we deal with our angers – most of us – with fine outlets. Sports are a number one. Numero Uno. Anger generates a mad energy, a scratch that can’t be itched, it is futile trying to reason with it.
So let us put it somewhere. This revved up motor needs a speedway to blaze across, where is your speed way?
Where is the physical scream your body yearns for?
Do you ride a bike? Gym? Run? Paint? Play video games? Where does it all go when things get too much?
It’s important to remember these outlets in your moments of blind red rage. It’s not easy to go ahead and get them off the ground, it is also extremely easy to forget that you have passions and you have places to put it.
Anger is adversity and adversity has only ever done one thing, separate the weak from the strong. A lot of people won’t have to face adversity because when confronted with illness, personal challenges or discomfort. They seek the distractions. The booze, women, men, The X Factor or a new purchase, new pill from the doctor; temporary fixes with long term consequences.
The anger is still there you know, that usual distracting crap that only takes away time from you and brings you back in to blind comfort.
In comfort we never grow, adversity is a cause for change and thus makes room for an evolution of the self, which is a terrifically difficult journey to embark on. When things start feeling particularly rough, don’t go for those easy comforts that are so accessible, don’t even consider sitting on that sofa one second longer, don’t get in to bed, don’t turn on the TV. Get up, get out and look around at all your options, and realise you have many.
If you see a storm on the horizon, and the road is long, and there is no light at the end of the tunnel. Get up get up get up and go and finish whatever it is you started a year ago, today.
Finish that project, START that project. Go and run until your legs can carry you no more and your eyes sting from the tears.
Go write it out, go punch a bag, count to ten and then count again and funnel all the madness in to something other than self-destruction and the destruction of all that is around you.
And then you’ll realise that anger, as recurring as it may be, is transient, a passing storm and nothing permanent. Only when you go ape shit do you truly prolong the anger, objects and memories of your warpath, the trail you blazed and all for what? Anger? Come on, we are all better than that.
When you’re out there, crunching down the great big doom and gloom in whatever way you deemed appropriate, remember those things that got you angry enough to go out and crush it all with productivity. Keep replaying those moments that drove you so insane, visualise them and blast them apart with every inch and fibre of being you have to spare.
Do it again and again and again.
No one is saying it’s a cure, no one says this will fix the problems.
But if the problem has converted itself in to anger, and anger manifests itself in ferocity and energy, then take all that energy and convert it further, you’ll be surprised with what you can do.
Each morning, to the sound of my alarm, I wake up with the same thought in my head. Stop biting your nails. It’s a thought that’s been ever present since the age of eleven, after my first and only relapse.
I had been rather successfully bribed into kicking the habit for a few years up until that point. My parents bought me a rather special Subbuteo set, complete with miniature versions of starlets like Michael Owen and David Beckham. There was a little scoreboard, with interchangeable names, that you could position at the edge of the grass-green mat upon which the game was played. The allure of it all was far too strong. When presented with the ultimatum, the nails or the game, I jumped readily at the game and flicked those little players around the pitch for months.
And so passed a few years of pleasant, clean nails. It’s no coincidence that this coincided with the halcyon years of junior school. Those shimmering days, stripped bare of strong colour in my minds eye, like peering out into the ocean through a telescope, watching the water reflect back a blurred scene of calm serenity. There was no latent anxiety then, as I played the Mayor of Hamelyn in a fluorescent pink leotard. There was no humming fear as we won the local junior’s league and lifted the trophy at a local school hall. There was no need to chew my nails into oblivion, really, until I was shipped off to secondary school.
Was it the whirlwind of change? Or the presence of the larger, older ghouls that floated through the hall and punched you in the arm? I can’t quite be sure. The relapse came just a few days into Year 7. In an English lesson, I found my eyes wondering to a point at the bed of my fingernail where earlier that morning I had picked away a piece of tomato ketchup that was still there from last night’s sausage and mash dinner. The sauce fell away with ease, but in the process, took with it a somewhat large chunk of cuticle, leaving the behind a mess of spaghetti and unconnected flesh.
I stared at this warzone with interest. Surely, it wouldn’t be so hard just to clean it up with a click nibble? It’ll be easy. Just take that tiny bit off, tear the bit to the right in half, grab at the middle and then it’ll all be gone, ready to regrow.
Sure enough I was a master, and bringing my finger up to my eye, I could see that I had indeed ironed out the mess left by the ketchup. Like all good habits, I didn’t immediately kick off again, going at each and every finger without thought. In fact, the next day, I didn’t bite my nails at all. Towards the end of the week, I took a hangnail off with my teeth, but it didn’t hurt and drew no blood, plus I’d seen other people do that, so what was the harm?
The next week, after a particularly bad telling off for a reason I seem to have misplaced, I chewed my little finger nail half way down, leaving the nail-bed exposed to the sunlight, and soon after caught an infection there too. The finger throbbed for days beneath a plaster I changed each-day. At night, I would wake up to find it seeping salty green juice across my pillow and I vowed never to raise my fingers to my mouth anymore, such was the pain and embarrassment of a ruined, misshapen finger.
Thirteen years later, I stare now at my digits, with their torn faces, and curved, shallow shields. The nails are crooked, jagged, scattered. They are sick, weak like starving children, begging for sustenance, for a chance not to be suffocated in their growth. I am an active bringer of sadness and misery to the family of fingers that live on my hands. Like a cruel headmaster, I bring meaningless punishment unto these creatures that help me each day, to text, to eat, to type, to write. I wake up each day with the same thought, though it is, now I think of it, more a regret. I can’t help myself. As soon as I think quit, I cast down my eyes and see there, before me, my fingers in my mouth. You know what? Fuck it, just take them from me. Give them to someone who deserves them, who won’t bloody eat them.
That’s all I am these days. A quivering muncher of fingers.
Not having a smart phone, or even device. Could prove itself to be a controversial topic.
‘Who the hell doesn’t have a smart phone other than dealers and cheap edgy ironic hipsters?’.
Well, you smart phone wielding tit. This guy right here, this guy.
I’ve dabbled – a cheap old Samsung moon-rising-experia or whatever. Pardon the pun, but I may be coming across as out of touch. Oh yeah, lick that joke off my boot – It blows peoples mind when I need to let them know upon Instagram requests and the like that I indeed have an under ten pound option, modern build, that has three primary functions (for me).
It has a great torch on it that switches on when you press and hold the #5 button. Yes….buttons…remember those?
These functions are enough for me and really should be enough. But sometimes I sit and wish I could be playing Pokémon Go; you all look like you’re having a great deal of fun. Good for you.
I’d like to be able to email more on the go – much more work would get done. Perhaps I’d be able to keep an eye on my blog, the news, the weather, bus times and shit all day.
But screw it, no one needs to do that in order to do well.
I say this without being all high and mighty – in my brief time with a smart device, it was revealed to me that these things are more all consuming than they appear to be. Take photos, upload photos on to Facebook, browse Facebook, browse the web, swipe, swipe, swipe, swipe. Notifications, bleep bleep bleep!
“Turn them off!” I hear you call, ah yes of course and render the point of instant contact/instant response useless, and forget about those other things and be distracted by another stupid thing. It was difficult to moderate such a BLAM of information to my pocket.
I even set up a twitter, that up until recently was completely redundant. The only action my ‘blog’ Twitter gets is when I decide to release something I’ve written. The only REAL things I would want a smart phone for are their Cameras and internet banking. Because money often vanishes fast and hard from my bank account. Got a new job but more on that another time maybe.
I had an Amazon Kindle Fire HD 7 SUPER HOT FIRE tablet bought for me as a birthday present. I didn’t know how to take it, until I started using it for banking and emails – then it was love.
But then how can you resist all those time killing thumb swiping apps, oh god what about the free Zynga Poker App? Poker is fantastic fun, and when it’s free, it’s endless, hours of fun. It was a game a played whilst drinking and smoking alone for hours and hours and hours winning and losing. The addiction was so raw that I had to play until the point of losing all my virtual currency so that I could sleep, and that time didn’t come much before 4am. You can get addicted to almost anything, but games really mess me up. Especially incremental value games, for example another game called Tap Titans, which is a simple Kill things > Get Money > Invest Money > Kill things faster > Make more money > Repeat model. Played it for 40 hours or so; no crazy story, no decent soundtrack no amazing game play and ground breaking mechanics. But I had fun, too much wasted fun; it is what it is. – I also spent about a five real pounds on more chips when I went bust a few times…I could easily fall into THAT trap.
There are benefits to such technologies, but surely people must see that something is going very wrong here, whilst there are tons of cases for them being productive tools, there is also the case against them for being very time consuming little boxes, where you can socialise by numbers, play games. How many people do you know who can’t have one moment to themselves without wanting to share it around the world for validation.
I’m also happy to not be one of those people on public transport, head down swiping away.
Also very happy not be another person at the dinner table or out at a restaurant sitting there ignoring everyone in the present moment. Not another twat in a car texting and driving obsessed with a COMPUTER, and consequent window to the ‘modern world’.
Perhaps I will change my mind, but until smart phones are no longer a plague against society then I probably won’t. I don’t want to end up like that. Living in a world where it is perfectly OK to sit in a room with other people, not say a word to each other but speak to everyone and everything else. Because I wouldn’t be able to control myself, I consider going phoneless but it’s just me wanting to get rid of my Facebook in all honesty.
It’s funny how I can’t ‘yet’.
Another thing to consider another time.
Where has the motivation buried itself?
I’ve got to say, laziness is mighty deadly; but more so, as is written in Frank Herbert’s super classic Dune:
‘Fear is the mind killer…’
It was an odd place to find relatable notions of ethics, morals and personal philosophies.
But upon finishing it a week or so ago I’ve had opportunity to think over this gargantuan space opera of sci-fi delights wrapped within mythology, theology and prophecy; and I must say, it casts a flirts in a romance of oh so very deep philosophical and existential pursuits, cause and effect.
Fear is crazy. It’s a senseless rebellion against you.
It’s natural, but that doesn’t stop it from being rather crazy, frantic like a cat trapped in a room with a hundred Henry hoover’s switched on high. (The Henry hoover is an English domestic staple).
It’s one of our prominent survival instincts, fear, not Henry...It keeps us alive. Or perhaps, (I use this word ‘perhaps’ far too much)…or at least that what it was previously for, you know In times of matters of daily life and death. (I use brackets and italics too much too)
Those times of constant violent fight or flight situations have been on the steady decrease for a while, with the occasional hiccup or nuclear hiccup; contrary to popular belief or perception, we are moving toward more peaceful times, it will be a while before we are ‘truly’ there though. What we face now is fear or shattering the ‘self’ the ego, which is a perilous
Now it prevents us from such basic things as approaching that desired man or woman or both or a combination of the genders, it prevents us from applying for that job or taking that chance. Whatever the fuck it is!
It sounds cheesy and corny but it does, we all fear doing something. THAT very something, most of the time.
You know, THAT PLAN…
Fear declares our dreams dead on arrival often at the first consideration of failure; so we convince ourselves in our infinite pride and fragile ego, don’t change. Don’t even attempt it.
Don’t you dare motherfucker!
True motivation is sapped efficiently by fear; I for one am terrified of not only trying but to really put 100% of me in to something and put up for everyone to see, especially something as intimate as writing. Fuck me.
What will people think of me? There are twisted things that make the page but only that far.
And that’s a big one for me – massive pussy, yes.
It’s definitely a cliché, everything is, even saying that. And that probably etc. etc.
How do you put yourself out there?
(Start a semi-anonymous blog for a start)
Walk in to the hellfire rain of bullets that is the 21st century system, the information age, the weirdest fucking time of all time ever. 2016 is testimony to how strange things really are getting. Almost contradicting previous point.
But walk on, and be liquified and born again, and again, and again, and again.
People are mean, everyone is mean, you’re a fucking mean cunt. We all are! Let’s be mean and not be sensitive just fucking take the shit you get thrown at you, bag it up for later. Then get your own shit and throw it back if it makes you happy.
Shit slinging IS the internet so you’ll have all sparring partners you could possibly want 24/7. Or you could just think about it, in this context. It is a person, behind a keyboard. That’s it.
Fuck the crowd right?
So to all the twenty-something year olds stepping out into the world, maybe fresh graduates: There is no shame in not knowing what to do in life.
Who is to blame you?
Holy fuck, you know are there too many choices, industries, companies – and maybe not quite enough stock of those dream opportunities; for every day we sit back not shooting for our stars, someone else somewhere has their sites trained on your dream. It’s theirs too.
What do you want?
What do you need?
Health? Wealth? Youtube fame? Insta-model? Nice cup of coffee and oral sex? Fat bags of green and a Playstation 4?
Have you got a start up that is ready to take on the modern market?
You know what I’m talking about.
Yes, let us talk about it.
No, no. I insist, its better this way.
We need to talk about that plan honey. Let us place hands on each others’ knees and share adoring glances for security comfort. Kiss me.
For me, writing is heavily tied to THAT PLAN. But does this effort right here right now contribute to that? Probably not. Most likely not at all. It’s not enough to me; I should be recording daily, scripting daily, reading and writing thousands of words every week.
Produce copy, send everywhere. Produce copy, send everywhere.
I often have a hard time keeping the attention span or keeping the faith in the ‘PLAN’ to want to write or keep up with these long ones. Especially on a given topic; the ones that don’t get finished are the ones I consider real work, and typically have evaded for a while. Sometimes, occasionally paying them attention and cowering upon realising there is much ticker-tackering to be doing on the old QWERTY keyboard there; thus convincing myself there was no point in the first place.
I should be spending every other hour I have spare away from the day job chasing
THAT PLAN. Giving it the attention it needs, dive the fuck in headfirst.
That’s what needs to happen. But by Christ I don’t have the power! Excuses, not true, sometimes true.
What a tough cookie.
An ever changing double-what-the-fuck chip cookie. Cluster crumble fuck of a cookie.
Or a cluster fuck crumble. Either.
THAT PLAN is so hard to execute, the discipline and patience are the only real key and well, if you have it, i.e you can make it, and if you don’t you keep doing what you’re doing, but never lose faith and never stop doing it just because it didn’t make you rich and famous. Not being bitchy, but this is just how we are becoming in this day and age. We are so used to overnight successes, even the losers of big game shows eventually win. We are a society obsessed with personality, the west especially.
We ‘see’ or perceive the rapid rise and fall of so many celebrities that it almost feels like a lottery, some may think that is just how it is. That is how it goes. You either get to be in the club or you don’t.
I’m not quite sure that is the case – there are more lanes opening up all over the place in this information age. Sometimes it feels like there is no point to even trying, the world is saturated with dreamers, but fuck it! You just have to go and do it. It’s never easy its fucking shit and it hurts but it needs to be done. You can tell I’ve hit a positive frequency today, it’s almost disgusting.
Even those fifteen-minutes-of-fame fuckers took a chance, did it and got ALL the hate available. So why don’t you go get yours and go beyond that ceiling of imagination, take it up a notch.
Everyone is trying to get THERE and you and I are stuck HERE.
Where we can get the ticket to catch that ride is anyone’s guess; so start walking and hopefully, make it there regardless of how we do it.