Friday, March 25, 2005

 

03.24.05

I guess it's just that I do so much day in and day out.

Little things. Things that not everyone notices or is considerate of.

But I'm over that.

Or the fact that I have infrangible patience.

Say I'm lazy.

I'll just say you're over-booked.

Tell me I have no motivation.

I'll tell you that you don't know what you're working for.

Tell me that you're working so that you'll be rich and famous.

I'll tell you that I'm striving for personal nirvana.

You say, "Do something with your life."

I am. I'm just not rushing to sell mine off like the bulk of you.

Because I'm not Russian.

Yeah, I'm doing it backwards.

I always have.

Either that or it was different or early.

I was premature.

I was born with an ear-infection.

I didn't start talking until age 2.

I started doing arithematic at age 4. I was reading and writing short stories and poems by then too.

I'd memorize nursery rhymes after I'd memorize what 50 divided by 2 was.

I knew Santa was, in actuality, my parents with a name tag.

The stork didn't exist. Babies came out of bloody vaginas.

Then what happened?

Let's ask Bobby Valentino.

Sloooow down. I just want to get to know you.

That's what happened.

Sure, take your anger out on me.

Just don't let it get to the point where you can't control or deal with your own personal battles.

But I can deal with that.

Maybe, deep down, I really don't care.

Don't care about what happens to me or my future.

Or I care too much about what others around me need.

Let me tell you, I'm no politician.

Nor do I possess strong bravado.

But I know I can do this.

Its the only thing I'm good at.

There's just too much trust in the world.

Hate me.

I won't hate you.

Yeah, its one-sided like that.

Its like taking a test and getting the easy answers right, but forgetting the big trick questions.

Big trick questions like, "Where are you from?" and you answer your hometown when, in essence, all they wanted to hear was "earth".

I'm a smart-ass at times, but I'm not a smart ass.

Maybe I'll check into a mental asylum and get catered to for life.

I heard they're easy to get in to.

I could be diagnosed with harsh deprecation and maybe some foolish ideaology.

The world doesn't need prophets.

The world needs motivated and ambitious people who, for the most part, care more about doing something with their own lives than making a difference in the world.

People with big egos and narcissitic mentalities who strive for power over people rather than power over themselves.

I can't survive in this world of prestige and high honors.

I just don't care enough about those things.

But without this criteria, I'm a weak person in this society.

On top of that, I'm a weak soldier with old school weaponry.

Sure, life is short.

But its also long.

Scientists ask the artists, "What are you doing with your life? You're not curing cancer. You're not thinking of ways to expand life on earth or onto other planets?"

Yes, but they're expressing the beauties and intricacies of life with the sacred and wonderful tools of nature and the human mind, the human spirit.

They're extending life in other ways, within the soul of a person.

In they're hearts.

Through emotions, people do things that many still cannot explain.

And they're doing something that no scientist will ever create or concoct in the lab.

They're creating immortality.

Immortality in the way of everlasting prints of human vigor and memories.

While the methodical minded may be looking to improve the future, the sporadic are helping to maintain the balance of the now, reminding that modernity and antiquity were and still are mind-blowing facets of history.

Find the flaws. Its okay. There are flaws everywhere.

Its how you deal with them that's the real test.

You know what most of your problems are?

You guys dwell too much.

You dwell like its a fashion statement.

You dwell so much that you hurt yourselves and then hurt others around you.

If dwelling had to be a tangible thing, I'd say it'd be Oprah.

Because, oh, how you all love Oprah. You all wish you were Steadman.

America would go to war if thought Oprah commanded them to.

If the Bible was her favorite book of the month, you'd all read it.

If, on her "Favorite Things", she talked about adopting a little Indonesian boy from Guam that played the slide-whistle, you'd all adopt a little Indonesian boy from Guam that played the slide-whistle despite the fact that it doesn't make sense.

Oh, what's that? You have all that and you're still angry?

Wait, you didn't get your wha-? You need a wha-? Its not fair that blah-blah has a gah-gah?

Oh, I'm sorry, you deprived child. What a bastard you are.

And treat her with respect.

I've worked at this plant for so long... I'm a plant.

But I've grown an axe.

Guess what I'm going to do with it?

Not bust a Dahmer, I assure you.

Tell me, what'd you hope to learn about here?

Tip.

Care or don't care.

Holla.

Docking out...
-Ryan : wookie wookie lah, you conformed product of society

Ryan posted this at 12:36 AM.