I've had more than my fare share of shit, real shit. Now, at age 16, I look back on the shit. I wonder how exactly, did I survive the shit. And the results are -
1. Films about other people's life sucking
I'm one of those cynical pricks who will regularly refer to Hugh Grant as a cunt. Why? Because I can't remember a time when he was in a film, which didn't resolve itself in happiness. I'm one of those cynical pricks who regularly calls Jack Nicholson a genius. Why? Because when I watch One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, As Good As It Gets or Anger Management - It gives me hope, I can relate to the torn and flawed. I agree with their views on life, partially. I acknowledge with great comfort, that we are just another failed species. But I see a beauty in how I can absorb the art Jack puts forth. Am I in a mental institution? NO. Am I a best-selling novelist? NO. Am I a anger management therapist? NO. But I feel, Jack, his characters and I, all have awful stories. We are all one.
2. Death
I know I am one day going to die. Could be tommorow, could be later on today, could be in 54 years, 22 days, 5 and a half hours, 11 minutes and 20 seconds. I TAKE SO MUCH COMFORT IN THIS. I love the idea of an afterlife, I love the idea of being unborn again. I imagine myself in the last scene in Beetlejuice, that's me after death, putting all this shit behind me, this fraction of a fraction of a second that I'm on this piss poor earth and saying, with a level of conviction, "FUCK IT!" See you all sooner or later.
We are one, but, FUCK IT! | |
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