Hi. Let us start drinking earlier. Let us start waking up later. Let us start being alone more. Let us start making less money, and buying more things. Let us read fewer books, socialize less, say fewer nice things, and lie more often.
Let us make a habit of breaking our habits, and then break that one. Let us bring out more nonsense, make fewer connections, own more things. Let us throw all this out and start aold.
I worked today, it's nice working in a huge building all by yourself. I was there for maybe 5 hours and didn't see anybody at all, not the guards at the door, nobody in the elevators, nobody making their computer faces in their glass offices. It was horrible. What do you expect me to say.
If it was between you and one other person, would you win? If it was between you and 15 other people, would you win? Would you win against 200? That would put you into the .5 percentile, but still in a class of 30,000,000 people alive on the world today. How about historically though. How many famous people can you name. People that anyone in your group of friends would know. How many of those famous people would you want to be. What did they do that makes you want to be them. Can you do it, or is it a matter of being in the right place at the right time. Is that right place and right time a one time thing, or is there a chance that it's a butterfly flapping its wings in rays of dusty light, reappearing every once in a while. Do you really think you can do it, did you give up a long time ago, or are you doubting yourself right now.
How often should one go out. Lately I've been working so much that I've wanted to go out a lot. Drown sorrows etc. Let the wheels turn on their own, let a few days or weeks pass without the relentless knowledge and guilt that I'm not doing everything I could be doing, not making the progress that I could. People around me are starting to say that I'm sounding more resigned, more normal, less angry, less nice, more gray, neutral, blah, blending in, etc. This is just a rumor.
Listen. Is there an airplane in the air. An itch on your arm. Is your hair in your face. Talk me out of this endless repetitive monotonous voice into the vital alive present. Keep me there, focused on your fingers like a drunk man on the verge of passing out. Don't give up on me because if you let me slip now you'll find me dying in a pipe on the side of the road in two seconds flat.