...the Great

There are 7.046 billion people on the planet...so many that I tried to capitalize the seven and got &, as a number. Astounding.  Awe inspiring.  And we're all exactly the same.  We all are born, to varying degrees...some are spawned, hatched and nurtured at the teet of Satan...I digress...we have loving childhoods filled with the building blocks that will make us, us.  We fortify ourselves against the world with our walls and hangups, have uncomfortable, breathtakingly awesome experiences.  We connect.  We wallow.  Then we feed the worms with our corpses.  Sounds cold.  It isn't.  I get all fuzzy thinking about me as worm munchies...maybe a few mushrooms in there chomping on my earlobe.  Not trying to be too terribly maudlin or morose but it is an interesting concept.  We all do it the same.

We all do it the same way.

I grew up thinking I was special.  That I would do something really miraculous when I got old enough to understand it all.  How can seven billion creatures all be special?  All have something special to offer?  Something sometimes indescribable but tangible.  You can feel it like a hunger pang or sharp tone from a loved one.  I mean I get that we all have that little something that sets us ever so briefly apart, but to change the world somehow...or affect such great momentum in a monumental way...not everyone has that.  Do we all think we have the capability?  Are we all delusional contestants on a nightmarish reality show of dolts who don't know they suck?  Do we all just kind of suck?  Would we ever be satisfied if we got this point and lived it everyday?  I'd be so much more satisfied everyday in everything I did if I just knew that I sucked and that my time here is merely a fortuitous bout of events in evolutionary history.  I'm here.  Then gone.

The End.

But alas!  Here I am...on the American Idol(that's still on, right?) that is life, thinking I'm awesome and going to impress Simon(he's still alive, right?) but really I'm tone deaf, can't remember the words and shit my pants from fear.  I thought I'd be accomplishing stuff.  Instead, i feel remote, removed from all that matters.  Then I forget what matters cuz I should be working on getting the best butt of the summer, or making endless coin to purchase shit, orororor.  Also, why do all women's magazines make me feel so inadequate?  Still?  I should be growed enough for that shit to roll right on...also, it doesn't entice me to consume the advice or the mag for that reason.  What are 'they'  playing at?  What's the end game here?  Is it political?   Mind control?  Now look how much time I just spent on discussing something that doesn't matter but takes all of my precious thought-time away.  Anyway, I like that I'm a meat sack and that souls are constructs of an ignorant society to make you feel bad or righteous or comfortable.  We're all worm food and no amount of effort, achievement, longing, pain, or joy will change that.  Maybe I should chill the fuck out.  Be present.  Remain focused on the good stuff and laugh at the shit.  Love my family.  Love my man.  Find a gig that doesn't make me want to cut myself and a supporting cast of non-assholes.  Be outside lots cuz goddamn this city is brilliant...let's see how sustainable this is...