Slice One - Standing in a crowded bus, covered in sweat.
It isn't my sweat. Unwillingly subjected to the grime these 9-5ers seem to have accumulated, I stand grinning because one of my senses is distinguisingly privileged.
I have music.
Slice Two - Sitting at someone else's desk at the office.
Trying to use the internet; the server is down, but I will persistently hit the refresh button, hoping it will catch a little signal and then I will have the world at my finger tips. What do I need it for? I don't know yet but it's nice to have the option. The A/C runs dry air consistently through its vents and my fingers are cold. Not entirely sure how to keep myself busy but I've put my friendly face on and it's Day 1 on the battlefield.
Looking forward to Day 2... mostly because it means Day 1 will be over.
Slice Three - Staring at a beautifully lit wooden stage in an auditorium.
One of those classy halls with heavy carpets and comfy seats filled with people wearing mufflers... and reading glasses. There are two elegantly dressed Spanish women bowing to the audience; then they begin their recital. Piano and violin. Classic. They swim through symphonies and give me a lot to think about. My ears and eyes are soaking in the music, but everything else is everywhere else. Where am I going to go after this? Who am I going to meet? How am I going to get there? What am I going to eat? When am I going to find a house for myself? Is this the life?
Well it sure is exciting.
-----------------------------------
"That's enough, thanks", I said to the waiter. The spread is amazing and I am stuffed. This cheesecake really hit the spot. I want to go home now.
But it isn't for me to decide, I need to wait on my Uncle and his wife. I'm at a 40th birthday party, and it is hopping.
I'm outside the city; outside the state, rather. Magnificent house - so many rooms, so much space, yet still very homely. No frills spared, the caterers walked around serving fancy hors doeuvres to the fancy guests. Needless to say, I felt out of place.
But then I also felt completely in place. I watched as these people twenty years older than me were dancing and singing awkwardly and it was exactly like the parties I've been to, minus the fancy stuff.
Honestly, this generation gap business is a myth. Yeah, we were born into the internet and yeah, we are quicker to grasp shit but NO to everything else.
Intelligence is a language by itself and if I looked a little older and wasn't introduced as anyone's nephew, the whole of that night would have been an experiment in camouflage. It made me reflect constantly, like a fucking house of mirrors this party. These people knew each other in all shapes and ways. Some went to college together, some work together, some slept with each other but things didn't work out, some are somebody else's friend and so on.
Sound familiar?
Of course it does.
Their language, their relationships, their concepts felt so synonymous and I felt like I could relate. Once we were comfortable, we got to talking about everything from naming kids to psychoactive drugs. It was amazing. I stood fascinated at how everyone gelled together and I thought about how everyone who grows up with you is obviously someone you consider close. But then there really is no finishing line to the process, is there? We're always growing up.
And then we die.
Haha, I'm only kidding. I mean, yes of course, we do die. Eventually. But there's loads of room for some fun in between. And I was witness to a heck of a lot of that at this soiree. Good time.
This new city life ain't so bad.
And I fucking love blueberry cheesecake.
These are the Days. (5th June 2009)
I pressed my back against the seat and placed my head closer
The wind swept across me and pushed my grin wide
My eyes can see fleeting pictures of dark covered streets and the hills at the distance
My ears listen to the cascading melody and the precise euphoric beat
My skin can feel the touch of soft faces beside me
My thoughts are filled with energy
And my lips taste of scotch.
These are the Days.
The wind swept across me and pushed my grin wide
My eyes can see fleeting pictures of dark covered streets and the hills at the distance
My ears listen to the cascading melody and the precise euphoric beat
My skin can feel the touch of soft faces beside me
My thoughts are filled with energy
And my lips taste of scotch.
These are the Days.
Bill Hicks (17th May 2009)
Well, hello there. It’s been long enough since I’ve written to you. I find the best times to write are when you have a lot on your mind, but you’re not quite sure where you want to lead yourself.
So, what’s it all about? Eh? Familiarity is a funny thing. It’s nearly halfway through 2009 now and if the first bit is anything to go by, this year presents itself to be an entertaining one.
Have you ever felt at any moment that you are dreaming up this existence? You’re walking down a street, or driving your car when all of a sudden you think about yourself and how you are perceived by the people around you and you wonder – is it all pretend? Are we under an illusion of sorts, in which we are led to believe that we continue to exist, when actually, we don’t really have a place in this world anymore. I know I started that out as a question but perhaps this needs to lie as it does - a statement of provocation. We need more of those.
Take a second to understand your friends and yourself. Evaluate and assess the dynamic you possess, or think to possess and speculate whether it could get better than this. It probably can. You’re probably sitting atop a whole mess of junk and nobody has the cahones to pick it apart, one by one and sort it all out. Not even me.
For once in my life, I’d like to feel absolutely limp. As a puppet, perhaps, only directed by strings and sticks and my every action manipulated. Your actions are always manipulated, of course. The worst bit is when you manipulate yourself and don’t even know it. Those folk are the sufferers. But who am I kidding? I like feeling this way. I like thinking I’m in control and I like believing I’m not a puppet. In fact, I even go to lengths to rebuke and berate these so called puppets and think to myself, ever so cynically, why don’t they learn? Why don’t they question? Why don’t they understand? What is it that separates me from them? What is it that separates our entire fucking existence? Subjectivity? Bah.
We’re free, you and I. Free in a cage. Do you see how I see it? Do you see at all? Filthy, blind, deaf and mute bastards. Unfeeling, yet sensitive to change. Sensitive to each other, sensitive to themselves. How is it of any consequence?
Right. I seem to have a lot of pent up writing to expel. I try very hard to remain stoic in social situations. I come off sociable and interactive, but all the while refraining from actually engaging in a conversation of conviction. Why, I ask myself and I know the answer already. I’m done. I’m done having to feel like these things matter, and that we’re all really here to help each other figure this massive puzzle out. Piece by piece, brick by brick, each of us has something invaluable to offer and we’re not about to stop proclaiming it for the world to know. We want recognition for our genius and that’s perfectly understandable. But just for one moment, imagine that what you have to say or show or explain to your collocutor is absolutely pointless and borderline retarded. Wow, maybe that’s a little harsh. But honestly, you reach a point where it’s refreshing to find someone who doesn’t pretend to have thought of everything. Maybe I need to pick up a job at a school because I’ve obviously found myself in the most hypocritical of situations: where I want to teach and not be taught.
Unless of course it’s someone like Bill Hicks.
So, what’s it all about? Eh? Familiarity is a funny thing. It’s nearly halfway through 2009 now and if the first bit is anything to go by, this year presents itself to be an entertaining one.
Have you ever felt at any moment that you are dreaming up this existence? You’re walking down a street, or driving your car when all of a sudden you think about yourself and how you are perceived by the people around you and you wonder – is it all pretend? Are we under an illusion of sorts, in which we are led to believe that we continue to exist, when actually, we don’t really have a place in this world anymore. I know I started that out as a question but perhaps this needs to lie as it does - a statement of provocation. We need more of those.
Take a second to understand your friends and yourself. Evaluate and assess the dynamic you possess, or think to possess and speculate whether it could get better than this. It probably can. You’re probably sitting atop a whole mess of junk and nobody has the cahones to pick it apart, one by one and sort it all out. Not even me.
For once in my life, I’d like to feel absolutely limp. As a puppet, perhaps, only directed by strings and sticks and my every action manipulated. Your actions are always manipulated, of course. The worst bit is when you manipulate yourself and don’t even know it. Those folk are the sufferers. But who am I kidding? I like feeling this way. I like thinking I’m in control and I like believing I’m not a puppet. In fact, I even go to lengths to rebuke and berate these so called puppets and think to myself, ever so cynically, why don’t they learn? Why don’t they question? Why don’t they understand? What is it that separates me from them? What is it that separates our entire fucking existence? Subjectivity? Bah.
We’re free, you and I. Free in a cage. Do you see how I see it? Do you see at all? Filthy, blind, deaf and mute bastards. Unfeeling, yet sensitive to change. Sensitive to each other, sensitive to themselves. How is it of any consequence?
Right. I seem to have a lot of pent up writing to expel. I try very hard to remain stoic in social situations. I come off sociable and interactive, but all the while refraining from actually engaging in a conversation of conviction. Why, I ask myself and I know the answer already. I’m done. I’m done having to feel like these things matter, and that we’re all really here to help each other figure this massive puzzle out. Piece by piece, brick by brick, each of us has something invaluable to offer and we’re not about to stop proclaiming it for the world to know. We want recognition for our genius and that’s perfectly understandable. But just for one moment, imagine that what you have to say or show or explain to your collocutor is absolutely pointless and borderline retarded. Wow, maybe that’s a little harsh. But honestly, you reach a point where it’s refreshing to find someone who doesn’t pretend to have thought of everything. Maybe I need to pick up a job at a school because I’ve obviously found myself in the most hypocritical of situations: where I want to teach and not be taught.
Unless of course it’s someone like Bill Hicks.
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