Monday, November 30, 2009

Naked Bullshit

A man is many things, and in his lifetime he has the opportunity to be many different men. Throughout their lives, people reinvent and rediscover themselves time and time again. This is exceedingly so in those oh so important developmental years known as the teenage years. Or as I prefer to call them, the downward spiral. It is in this time we are introduced to many of life’s less than pleasant qualities. Some fuck, and some get fucked. Often both.

In my own short journey, I have been through many a transformation. You might say I was evolving to be the “man” I am today, but that would imply a constant growth, an ascension. Yes, I have been many different men, and I have grown, but cynicism and experience tell me to never think that I (nor anyone else) have grown beyond our flaws and those parts of us we despise. Surprisingly enough, self-loathing is not my motive for writing on this night. Surprise. Tonight, despite my weariness, I aim to share my mental musings on my attempt at removing that which is unnecessary from my life and simplifying myself.

First on the list of overly complicated things in my life: clothing. Every time I must be seen by eyes other than my own and those of my nuclear family, I tend to dress to the nines as best I can. Being from a small town in South Carolina, one can assume correctly that I am almost always quite overdressed for any occasion. What better way to put less thought into my wardrobe than to emulate another person? So lately it’s been jeans, old converse, dark t-shirt, and leather jacket in honor of Hank Moody. Looking like I just got out of bed and don’t give a shit is liberating and refreshing.

(might I point out that, at this point, I passed out last night and am continuing this the next day...which would be today)

Next to go: my overabundance of texting. I’ve come to realize that these little snippets of thought are generally worthless. The only thing I really ever get from a conversation performed without any oral communication is a pissed off feeling when the other person inevitably stops replying. Some manners would be nice, but it’s too much to expect anyone to be polite. Instead of playing “text message etiquette evangelist” and spreading the good word about common decency, giving up my addiction is not only the more productive solution, but also the one that requires less effort on my part. No offense to those of you I do text, but as I’ve said time and time again, if people want to talk they’ll talk. If you want to text me, then you’ll text me, and I’ll respond. I’m not (always) that much of an asshole.

Last on the list: over-thinking my interactions with others. Trying to make good impressions with everyone you meet makes interaction more of a chore. I’ve never enjoyed chores. I’ll admit to being a little vain, checking myself in the mirror, putting a little too much effort in trying to look how I thought was cool. Saying what I want, no matter how crude or brutally honest, gives me a comfort no amount of bullshitting can supply. Now that I’ve accepted the fact that I’m an asshole and probably a bastard, being myself has felt easier. Not to sound like a typical angry teenager, but if someone doesn’t like me they can fuck off. We all die alone anyway.

Had enough of my bullshit about myself? Good, me too. I’m just another douchebag in the march of the fuckheads. Splitting a post up across time is a bad idea. This one is gonna be short I suppose, but that just means you get to waste less of your time reading my rambling. Not sure why you would read through this in the first place. For those of you who did, congrats your shitty past few minutes (or however long it took you to read this) and on having nothing better to do. Seriously, welcome to the club, Motherfucker.

But really, if you’ve got so much time to blow on the internet why aren’t you looking at porn? Porn doesn’t really do it for me, but at the very least go google naked pics of a celebrity before you attept to do something productive, you know you want to you sick fuck.

No comments:

Post a Comment