Chris (imrield) wrote,


OR some form. We charge through the path, ignoring thorns and barnacles. Can barnacles exist above water? Of course, because such natural defenses must be co-opted by the land when faced with such awesomeness. What awesomeness? The abandon, the sort of "Well, this could go badly, but fuck it let's roll", or as the wussies say, the "Je ne sais qua"(sp?). It's not some sort of immortal pursuit, never world changing, but always interesting in that car crash sort of way. That gruesome, very primal and yet private, that event that incites a longing, albeit often a vague one (for such things are foolish), but a longing, an envy, a sort of "Well, if I'd wanted to fuck up my life, that would have been a pretty cool thing to do."

Wow. I don't know. Dave and I discussed the death of the middle class. I do not have the commitment or the will to be like the wealthy or powerful. I cannot drive that direction. Which leaves poverty I guess? It doesn't bother me, it's just a strange acknowledgement. What does it mean that I'd rather write absurd fiction than chase a position worth more in yearly salary? Is this just an absurd decision of youth that will end in tears? What if it is? I don't know. It looks to me like what most people do to "opt out" of the "Oh Shit What Am I Doing With My Life Crisis" is to not think about it and roll with whatever mediocre job pays best? It's like you're either one of those hyper-motivated climb-the-rung-types, or you're a half-assed sorta-chased-my-dream-then-did this type. Such a dichotomy is oversimplifying of course, but still. Isn't it sort of that? What the shit?

I wanted to end this babbling in some sort of profound note, but shit damn I ain't got nothin' son. It's just a weird place right now, and there's all sort of rationalizing going on that makes me want to punch someone in the face and blow something up, which I guess explains a lot?

Well not really, but it would have been a good sort of ambiguous is-Chris-siding-with-anarchists/crazies/terrorists/whatever? No, not really, it's all contrived. When did anyone born after 1980 ever feel somethinge genuine anyways?
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