I’m feeling so exposed and vulnerable.
No family. No business. No home, roots or symbols of meaning that we often point at to say, “this is me, I am good,” with a highly-tuned sensitivity to read the faces of others around us to affirm our belonging.
This has been my state of being for nearly 15 years, probably longer actually, but I was too busy to notice, caught up in the rat race of life that included the normal trappings of status, money, possessions and accumulating things I could point at to say with confidence, “Hi, I’m Robin, I’m good…I promise.”
Those days are long gone and I’ve lost my tolerance for bullshit. That’s unfortunate really, because bullshit, is everywhere and usually things we enjoy…are steeped in bullshit. That’s a lot of … ya that’s right … bullshit.
I think that’s why I write. To escape the BS, mainly my own, and somehow connect again to a symbolicance of truth and escape in poetical ranting and and philosophical rationalizing. Ah that feels so good.
I hate myself for writing in ways that make you like me. I despise that actually. I sell out my own truth, exchanging the beauty of God flowing through my letters, for the accolades of well tickled ears. Fuck, I hate it.
Every writer, the honest ones, want to tell you silly humans to fuck off. You are defecating, burping, consuming wastes of space that are vulgar and obscene with non-stop desires and insatiable appetites for the ambiguity of MORE.
It’s mind numbing.
And I only know this is true because, as little human mirrors, I am what I describe.
Want to know what Writers Block really is? – the fear of saying the above for fear of more continued isolation and mis labels from the crowds that spend their mis-used days pursuing things they don’t want, to be approved of by people they don’t like.
Wait. If you’re thoroughly offended by now, good.
I am too.
Because I am you and you are me.
I won’t pontificate endlessly about how horrible you are – I have nothing to sell you or anything to sell. (Unfortunately)
You are my mirror. Write long enough and you’ll travel full circle to where you once began.
Ah you humans. I am one too. Best I can do to escape this inevitable bullshit of consuming to find happiness cycle we’re all on, is to write. Write. Write.
And nature. Go sit in nature. Camp. Wander. Explore. Travel. Big Sur…is epic!
It’s the escape from the routine of endless Costco visits where we can consume in bulk, arcades and pool halls to waste time in video games, television watching and social media madness that is really another game of compare-and-compete.
It’s the weekend. Saturday specifically. I sit at a wine bar writing while others feed their fat faces and drunken minds on “more”.
I just can’t join you any longer as a means of being accepted. I would rather sit behind this little iPad and drink my ONE glass of wine while listening to the very enjoyable 2-man band strumming Stone Temple Pilot songs in the background and being grateful for every moment I’m caught in.
I’m not better then you. Oh trust me
Perhaps I’m better off – but even that, is a matter of perspective and you, seem very happy, especially circling that 3rd glass of wine and 2nd helping of food. You heard that song in the background right? You know that glass of wine was curated right here on premises, bottled and corked to perfection?
Farting, burping, ravenous, self-absorbed humans.
Whether by food and drink, possession and goods or in religion and philosophy…We’re all insatiable.
Drunk on the goods of the universe, and wanting more.
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