| The thing with living in America.
It feels like swimming in a big fucking school of fishes. Only, these fish have bleach blonde tips, and mini iPods apiece. Perhaps my bitterness is a direct result of not (yet? or at all) eschewing to the white collar working class bourguise. Although i agree that boredom is for the boring, i've recently found myself questioning NOT whether i'm alive or not, but am i living? Sure, my heart is beating, my bodily functions are in tune with keeping John v.21 cognizant, whole, hearty, living. But the course of my actions are determined by outside sources so wide varied and far reaching, that for the most part, it is nearly impossible to determine which will send the correct pattern of vibrations, the right vibrations of energy, the right energy directed in the right focus, the right focus transformed into something (anything) substantial to grasp on to. And believe me, everyone of us clenches these things with hysterical abandon. Individuality, the fingerprints of our creator, one's own intuition, these are the flimsy insubstantial forfeits for living in Uncle Sam's theme park of Freedom. Free admission for newborns, half off if your Hispanic. Blame does not reside solely on the shoulders of American culture and politics, it is one's circle of friends, one's chosen identity, job, sex life or lack thereof, born ethnicity, accepted cultural identity, waist size, height, and a plethora of other influences that effect your you-ness. I often wonder what life would be like if I had jumped through this academic window of opportunity head first instead of waiting for it to close on my foot. But that bruise is healing, and with strength lent from healthy friendships and familial reconciliation, I shall again embark on another (and certainly not the last) surge through the water.
Can't please everyone. Won't please Republicans.
In thick Nigerian accent:
"Sink or swim, bitch." - Ekechu Shibuzo |
