The sun is coming up and I’m barely coming down from a night of work. Work where my personality isn’t utilized and my back-breaking breakneck speed and energy is used poorly planned asinine ways, not to mention the pay isn’t far from bottle deposits or plasma donations.
I’m in love with the fantastic past while the present is desperate to perform. Quagmire of corporate failings, stifled interest and inspiration, I’ve planned for the future only to realize that a theory mapped and developed eventually leads to routine and insufferable banality.
Better to write of what spikes my serotonin than what drains my dopamine.
Money begets money. A pile of cash does one of two things but it never just sits there. Either it grows into a healthy stack of paper or it shrivels up and disappears like cold river genitalia. The trick is to stuff enough of it until it fills a mattress because hard-earned freedom is often measured in legal tender. And unless you’re exceptionally smart or painfully good looking, such tender provides the means to rebel.
Can’t curb the lust for travel. To witness millions of other people living lives in beautiful polarity with mine, to smell the air of mountains and cities and devour streets and seasons, starved for culture and foreign perspective. The bug is in my blood and as much as I love this land I need to make my way across others.
Conversations deep in bad sazeracs and twisted with painful philosophy shed new eyes on old friends and make good love from great time.