There comes a point in life. Certain realizations come with it. Maybe you feel small. Maybe you start trading something called "Gravity Rocks" over the internet. (For those of you left in want by the concept of Gravity Rocks, they are a type of rock that levitates upon striking a rock of similar composition. The mere idea might make your heart go a pitter and a patter but I'm afraid they do not exist.) At this point, one might deign to grow up. Firmly ensconced on the cusp of supposedly "growing up" I have taken great care to understand what the aging process entails whilst fighting it with every fiber of my mortal coil. This is not an effort put forth on my behalf, just something that happens in the pursuit of dumb mindless fun a la spinning around in circles until falling over and/or vomiting.
Though I've succeeded in not getting car insurance, worries, and sexually transmitted diseases (note to self: YES!), I have grown up after all, at least according to one of my professors. He is pear shap[ed, rude, but a bastion of wisdom nonetheless. Preaching on about Modernism he implores us to realize the meaninglessness of it all. He does so quite effectively.
So effectively, I can't say I disagree.
In the grandest grand scheme of planets and things I am meaningless, you are meaningless, even Marvin Gaye is meaningless. (Though I'll argue about his transcendence any time) Accepting your meaninglessness, your utter lack of efficacy on the world, takes a good deal of pride swallowing. Many of your ambitions, if not compromised, will exist in the accompaniment of a winking grain of salt that advises "even if you do it all, reach the pantheon, and capture the stars, all will be forgotten in time". These words sting, but only because they're so inarguably true.
Words of this nature, like a tragic scary event, will send most folks scurrying to either ambition or chaos. Make the best of your time or disregard it. We can see this manifested in the attitudes of the buttoned up attitude of the business world and the depraved dismissal of bottom of the barrel drug dealers and users. (On a tangent: I will put users above dealers any day. They just want to feel really good. The world is a hard place. If you fail to find your place, why not feel as good as you possibly can?)
Thought: I could die anytime between now and the year 2100
It is such a fleeting parade. As soon as a day passes we fail to remember the events, joy, and difficulties that made up the twenty-four hour span. If I desire to make the most of it I might as well lash out and do as much as I can. What can I do?
A) Set a cop car on fire and wag my wiener at inner city kids.
B) Tutor inner city kids and attempt to write the Great American Novel.
There isn't much of a safety net for us. Do you realize how many people are insane in America? Disregarding our own tendencies and going by sole statistics, any of us could fly of the handle at any moment. Also, given the tendencies (especially at the Violence Capital that is the University of Southern California) any of us could die at any moment, perishing without notice, clutching to vestiges while imploring the heavens for just one more fucking day to eat, sleep, and be human.
Fuck yeah, it's meaningless. I could be dead by the time you read this. As it stands, the world is getting scarier and scarier. I did a noble deed earlier this week. A woman was getting beaten in the street and after thirty seconds of watching and soul searching I managed to say something... Given recent events... I wouldn't say shit. If I get in that situation again, I hope I'll jump in and do something, but fear is quite a thing to contend with...
You hope to be a good man.
You hope to do great things.
Then you grow up and realize how hard it is to be a good man and do great things.
We can't be scared. If I get in that situation again, I don't care if I get killed, I'll stand up and at least try to do something. I probably won't fight, jump in, or scream, but at the very least I'll say something. Getting pushed towards the chaos spectrum of things is all too tempting, but it's the easy way out. We can't compromise who we are... not for what we want, not for what we know, not for what we've seen. In the meaningless of things we owe it to ourself to stay stridently true to the essence of our persons.
I woke up late today. I've been keeping quite busy so a little rest was quite the relaxant. I swore before bed last night that I'd never been as fucked up as I was then, and I hadn't even had a drink in forty-eight hours.
It was 11:30. I drove cross town from my home on 25th street to 125th street to get a package my Mom sent me. She's always had an extremely odd taste in packages, gifts, and other items left up to creativity.
The package was sent to a retirement home. One of the patrons, a lovely woman named "Gina" called Thursday to tell me I had a package. It sat inside the door, emblazoned with the message "Jack will pick up Saturday morning."
After explaining my name was Joel and that my name matched the shipping address I was given the package. I took it outside, the environment reminder me of Lake Huron back in Michigan. Feeling as free as I did in my youth spent at a cottage I opened the package on the hood of Nick's car...
It was a Panini Maker. I'd never eaten a Panini in my life. I wasn't about to start now.
Lon story short, I ate three Panini's today. My life, and the construction of these sandwiches, was a more joyful experience thanks to the Panini maker. Gourmet Italian food in my own home made me glad to be alive. I suppose that's all we can hope for from any one day. I also suppose that's why we want to fall in love: to get the experience of fresh Panini daily in human form.
Thanks Mom!
Fuck Chaos. It's Joy I chase.
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