Okong' Okuna@XivTroy
Man, I don't have much to say lately. It's a chaotic world. The poor marry, so do the rich. Some die, some are born. I ate meat, I ate veggies. I lost my job, but I got another. And I love it in nature, man. The ocean, the trees: they do something to me, man.
And when I am running, the wind feels like therapy in my face. I also concluded that I have no type, no mechanical standards with people: everybody is an experience. A book I unravel. There are times I wished the novel would go on forever, but I guess I am no life's author: I am only a reader. I can only exist in the moment. Not focus too much on the ending.
There are women I thought I would marry, man. And I loved holding their hands, kissing their foreheads. But I guess it was never meant to be. And it is sad, but it's life, man. That's the joy of it. To feel with abandon. Then heal just as resolutely.
I used to believe I was entirely good. But I got blocked for the first time this year, so I guess I can't be all that. When I tell my stories, I am an angel and rainbow, but I must have hurt people in my past, and I guess I am a little heartbroken by it. I wanted to be perfect. And I always meant well but intentions never count when we hurt people, do they?
And I want to live with the rules, man. But they are so exhausting. Do this, and do that and they still don't guarantee shit. Because after all of it, I am still going to die. You could do everything right, and still lose. And that's just how it is. That's just how it is.
So I guess my only rule is living for now. I will be more pessimistic when I give up. But I have hope still. I see myself with a nice house somewhere with a lot of trees, man. Someone I will wake up to and call "baby". I mean it's stupid when you think it up, but what's the alternative, man? Wake up to a fucking cactus in a pot in my 40s?! Call a cat "honey"?
And my friends look at me and say,"you are too white, brother". Too romantic for life. But I am not the one chasing emptiness with gin. Night after night with nothing to show for it, except bland tales about the pretty girl at the bar, and the big boys that spend cash like it's water. Knowing everything about everyone except ourselves. Chasing everything but us, man. Living vicariously through others, delegating our existence to another. Like a man who has love at home, but won't stop lamenting doomed love. Parroting hell for relevance until he becomes the statistic he spoke into life.
And why must it always be investment. Can't even spend my money in peace. Everybody is preaching and the gospel is all stacking it up. But I saw a local dude in some torn shorts, with his wife and kids in Lamu, laughing to their last teeth by the beach. I mean it's not much, and it could be better. But it's not nothing. Right? We are not going to be dollar millionaires, and I guess that's fine, man. We don't have to be to live life. Most of us won't. But we can still be loved. We can still eat and drink. And that's what they call living, man. So I don't want to talk about the latest cars and flashiest watches. I will settle for the occasional laughter God sends my way.
Until I have lost the light in me, then I will join you. But for now, I want to live. I want to wake up with some excitement. I want to exercise, man. I want to dream. I can't be mechanical about it. I am not a car. Just another dude, who a million years from now won't mean shit. But I've got to live. I've got to live.
