My heroes are brave, pragmatic, and fucking regular.

My anti-hero’s are yesterdays heros.  The ones who were on top, and rest on their best yesterdays.

I was a Buddhist.  A hippie.  I respect all of that, as the impetus is good.  But that doesn’t mean I have to side against shadenfreude.  It doesn’t mean I can’t take a joke, or make fun of people.  It doesn’t mean many things.  I drink, and fuck, and sleep well, and I’ll die, unknown.

What I mean is, between narcissism and nihilism is romance – a chosen lie.  Community – our choice of bullshit.  Family – our decision of who to feel for.  And that changes.  Whoremongers usually eventually settle down.  And married people usually eventually cheat.  There is no final solution that doesn’t include change – we are still in school, or we are out of the game.  Retired.  Retireded.

My heroes are brave, and pragmatic.  And getting some sort of fucking.  Maybe their sort of fucking is raising a kid, or reading a book, or telling a joke.  They are a alive in the moment.  Surfing.  Blowing on that trombone.  My heroes see their small place, but feel huge in it.  They shirk death, but feel him in the room.  My heroes laugh, because that’s the best thing they can think to do.  No – my heroe’s laugh when they aren’t fucking, play games when they aren’t laughing, appreciate little moments when they aren’t playing games, lucid dream when they aren’t appreciating silence, and sleep like drunkards when they aren’t lucid.

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