To change the story you’re telling is to change the life you’re living.
Bukowski tells of women, hard-ons and boozing.
Waiting out the clock, taking some pleasure in the idea of immortality in pen.
Elon Musk tells a story of space travel and solving the “problems” of man.
Taking some pleasure in the idea of scientific triumph via computation.
Chasing immortality by hacking the system.
Most others tell stories of gathering up comfort.
Following rules and doing the bidding of someone else.
Placing bets of sweat at somebody’s race track.
Hoping to be the horse with a wreath of flowers around its neck.
And kind of like the horse – having no clue what the flowers mean.
But the horse with the gargantuan advantage of actually not knowing the significance of the wreath.
Stupid of it all.
Responsive enough to do the training.
Dumb enough to stand in a winner’s circle and think ‘what the fuck’ with glassy eyes.
But the storied man – what a complexity.
Painting futures with their minds and buying insurance to make sickness or death comfortable.
Knowing full well that neither will be.
Hoarding shiny things and boasting of travel just to get pussy.
Why not just ask for it and forgo the histrionics?
For anything really.
Don’t even ask.
Take what’s given, and stop steering the boat that’s not yours anyway.
And, for godsakes change the story to have a different life every day.
No other story proves otherwise.
Illusion begets illusion.
