Never Very Good At Being Human

Every time I try to indulge fully in amorality, hedonism, and temptation I end up paying the price of a full worldview assessment marked notably with revision, reorganization, and general reconstruction. Is it so much to ask to be able to be the lounge lizard Devil every so often without being subjected to new depths of introspection and forced into wide-spectrum analysis? If every time I try to enjoy myself on a transient, superficial level the temptation to pursue some contributing aspect to a deeper, more meaningful degree is going to happen, I swear to god I'm just going to start using drugs and tight pants while hitting on dumb women with great asses. And become a rock star. Is it really such a big deal that everything I do be followed by some unnecessary brainy bullshit crap? I am going to go the nearest library and just start punching. In my other hand, I'll just have a bowl of bacon covered in A1 sauce and cheesy goo and I'm going to chew with my mouth open. I probably won't be wearing any pants. It's going to be awesome. Let me clarify this some. Sometimes, you just want a burger. You don't want to find a key hidden under the bun and a clue written on the underside of your napkin which lead to a fantastic adventure that will test your limits and teach you things about yourself you never knew. Sometimes, you just want something made of dead cow with sesame seeds nearby. Any other time, you'd prefer the magical mystery tour. Sometimes, you want to watch a stupid comedy, not an existential tour de force that intrigues and enlightens you. Not because it's not worth it, it's not something you're going to turn down because the timing ain't hotter than a smart girl in cheap sunglasses*, but sometimes you just need to fill your gut-organ with grease and cheese (not necessarily a tautology) while idiots fall down stairs into a giant cream pie or industrial-sized glue barrel to hilarious results. It gets frustrating, too, that when you've finally taken a break from pursuing those Deeper Meanings, taking a little time to relax and breathe, THAT'S when you find the next clue in the mystery. Can't a guy have five minutes to grab a bite to eat? Even Indiana Jones spent time just lecturing to class full of enamored college freshmen and none of them spontaneously became the only lead to a lost civilization. Can't a guy have the payout come from his dedicated effort and not just drop out of the sky? That's it, too. It's nice to get something you want, sure, but if you only gain it through happenstance and Greater Forces At Work, eventually you're going to feel like an impotent extra in your own cinema. I want to catch a break sometimes, as much as the next guy, but for things I need, important goddamn things, I want to be able to figure out how to get them again. I want to entrust as little as possible to forces outside my influence. Even the best things in life lose their luster if you're incidental to them. Besides, the harder it is to enjoy the little things, not to mention the basic primal physical/social things, the farther you get from normal and human. Which is hard enough to stay near as it is.

If this keeps up, for a sensible man like myself there's only one thing left to do:

I am going to stab a drunken cow in the neck to drink it's liquor-like blood while riding naked through Vegas alongside two gullible barbi-blonde double-D stewardesses covered in olive oil. And the next day, I'll go to work as though nothing had happened. Wearing only bodypaint and dress socks. Just in case.







It wasn't even Big Amorality. Or Big Hedonism. I just come from a very... considerate, moderately unparty-like background (that I've mostly thrown off) so some behaviors seem more like privileges to me than to most folk.

I met a girl at a party. Gorgeous girl. Hot... but I really like her. I can't actually have her, what with moving and all, but still. She's... exceptional. All I wanted was to make out with someone forgettable at a party. Have fun. Noooo. Instead I have to meet a rare, high-quality, attractive type that I'll actually remember. She can fix a car, fly a helicopter, speak four languages, raft, makes games, meaningfully and intelligently follow politics, and she's a med student. And she has passion without being crazy. She smiles while she's kissed. But I'm tired and temporary. It's not the time and not what I'm looking for. Like a high-quality cookware when you're shopping for a picnic's plastic forks. This doesn't help the connection, it makes it more difficult. Ah well.



I'm never getting that no-strings Summer of Love.



*ZZ Top. They knew how to live. Cars, women, facial hair. Oh yeah. That's livin'.