HOW TO BECOME INTERESTING AGAIN

I see a thousand dead people.

The eyes go first.

I sling my arm out the window and try to make eye contact with all those inching along the H1.

DEAD. DEAD. DEAD. ALIVE! A toddler in the back seat waving at me. DEAD. DEAD. DEAD. ALIVE! SOMEONE FLICKS ME OFF AS I SWERVE IN FRONT OF THEM, JEEP TEMPTING TO KEEL OVER. DEAD. DEAD. DEAD. FUCKING DEAD.

An urge to hop out with my tire iron and tap windows washes over me.

By 25 the masses’ eyes are fucking dead. Whatever the latest trend, whatever the new saying, it colonized their brains. The devil topped the lid off their head and is spooning out their mushy brain soup and having a splendid dinner.

So when a person who is interesting shows up, well.

Fuck being humble.

When I swing through the door swaying in, shouldering back and forth with my walk, looking wild, my hair flaying every which way, brightest hair they’ve seen, they look into my green eyes and they see the aliveness, the intensity, my black eyebrows furrowing over them.

The dead ones beg me to toss on my blacked out Wayfarers.

They sense something. My spark still lit. The fire burning.

Being around me they feel drunk at ease.

Your stress and pressure are the last things women want to feel. They just want to feel alive around you. Before I had the writing money I had fucking chicks up the wazoo. Because I was alive.

Let’s just call it as it is. The 99% are sheep.

That is why Viagra sales are through the roof. Why people are numb. Why the fucking stopped. Why the relationships stopped. Why they sit at jobs they hate. Only an alive person makes an alive choice. They forgot who they are.

The mega corporations selling you shit want you sedated just enough to keep watching their stupid fucking advertisements, keeping you in slave labor.

I’m sick of meeting people who ask me, What do you do for work? As if that defines a human being.

It happened yesterday at THE DECK. I smirked.

“I EAT SHEEP.”

He laughed the laugh of “I’m unsure if he is joking”. I AM NOT. I WANT TO HOP UP ON THE DINNER TABLE AND PULL A SWORD FROM MY SHEATH. SHOUT OUT HIS LINKEDIN ASS RESUME, DEEMING HIM FOR DEATH. THE CROWD APPLAUDS. HE CRIES INTO HIS IPA.

But I let him live, and he chooses a new life henceforth.

I’m sick of people who expect you flushed down the same pipeline as them. We watch movies and read books about people who follow their dreams and become superstars and rock stars. They sell us that dream. Then the moment you actually do it, everyone hates on you, or doubts you, or tells you to go be a lawyer. Go to school. Go be a teacher. Go be a cop. Go be a fucking job so I can put you in a box below me.

Fuck that.

So free sheep, this is where I lose you.

Wolves, into the woods.

Quit fucking reading right now if you are happy with a comfortable, safe, neat, people pleasing, Mr. Nice Guy life. This is for the few.