Toxic trails. Following in the wake of someone else’s discharges. The fumes of another’s progress.
A person could escape all that, suffer it no more. Exit stage somewhere fresh and be rid of the haze of someone else’s wake. Carve one’s own path, breathe in fresh air at will, all the time, if only . . .
One has to do what is necessary for life to work, and what is necessary for life to work can be accessed through whatever has been proven to work on any given day and age. Follow the success stories, the components and initiatives that came together along lines that functioned. Put life together in ways that make inroads, proving themselves useful and enduring. Be mindful of what works and wary of what doesn’t, and choose between the two with cool and committed resolve, opting for the function, not the ideology. Better chase after what works, making things turn, so much better than wasting time defending one’s sense of pride with exhausted and obsolete points of view.
It’s that simple.
Bottom line is, and humanity on the whole fails to grasp it — and I am here to teach this lesson the hard way, just like I was taught it by Father — if it doesn’t work, it won’t work, and you suffer for it. Stop wasting time trying to resurrect a rotting horse. Flog it all you want, shout at it, fuck it, threaten it with God’s wrath, raise it on stilts and shoot it with electricity, or whine like a crybaby, invoking all the ancient adages you can muster, it doesn’t make a difference. If the horse is rotting, it won’t horse up. It won’t whinny and trot.
Put simply, if it doesn’t work, and you stick by it all the same, you suck, big time.
You have a choice, a simple but potent one. It’s rather brilliant how it works, and goes something like this: Catch up with the times and get with the program, learn, adapt and make things happen, be smart about things, stubborn on everything that augments life in the long run — do that, day in, day out, lest you fall behind: yes, fall behind and eat shit, if you back the wrong horse. Eat shit and dust, pretending everything is hunky dory, getting accustomed to the sight and smell and taste of someone else’s back end. Your choice.
Make it quick. Time waits for no one, ever. Your life, your future, your dignity, your fifteen precious minutes. Make them count.
Tickled? Vexed? Watch this space for more.
From the collection of writings EON: THE ANGRY COMING OF AGE