How to fuck up your life right

What the hell should I start with?

Maybe with the fact that this life wants me dead since the day I was born and I don’t plan to give it that pleasure without a fight… Cliché, huh? Maybe it is… see if I care.

They all want to model you in a way that has nothing to do with who you really are… I mean parents, family, friends, teachers, colleagues, bosses, wives, husbands. Hell, the whole world is against you and your true self.
Everybody wants you the way it pleases them most, never giving a fuck about what you want. Never fuckin’ ever.

You had no problem, as a child, to get angry and be vengeful, like towards that kid that stole your bike, but now you grew up and you have to learn to understand and keep it all inside, to tolerate, to be tactful and diplomatic, no matter what the others do to you. And the worst thing is that you know you’re wasting time on ingrates actually.

No two beings are born equal biologically, but you gotta accept that every damn incapable idiot has the same rights as you do, although he can’t do half (at best) of what you can.

You gotta submit yourself to the will of the masses, due to nothing but their “power in numbers”. Quantity over quality, right?

How many times did they tell you to grow the hell up, when the only pure thing you ever had was that short moment right after your birth, before the world got a hold of you and started shaping you to the point of unrecognizability?


You gotta believe everything you are told, because everybody else believes the same bullshit.

You gotta do what you’ve been told, because everybody else knows what’s best for you, except you. And if you don’t do just what they tell you to do, they’ll punish you, just so you’ll see how much they care.

Never question and doubt anything.

You only got to learn to forget who you are and they’ll be happy. There you have it, son: your burden. There you have it, daughter: your burden. Carry it well and make us proud of you.

And there you are: doing the splits and wondering how the hell did you get in that awful position? Wondering why and wherefore? ‘Cause you know damn well you’re no ballet dancer and no gymnast either.

And even if you do all they want you to do, it’s never good enough. Never enough. There’s always room for more, for better, for… fuck all!

Where are you in the process? How about you? How about what you want, what you like, what you dislike, what you believe in, what you care for? How about it all, motherfucker???

But it was never about you all along, was it?

So you grow old, you lose yourself in routine, in bills to pay, mortgages, kids growing up, work, work and nothing but work… for what? Just so you’ll end up in a retirement home somewhere waiting to croak? At best? For that?

You are not going to take all that stuff with you, you know? Even if there’s an afterlife, or whatever, even if there’s nothing: you’ll leave it all you “lived” for behind. All your diplomas, all your money, all your belongings. So why gather stuff? Why wanting to have everything? Even if you had everything, where would you put it?

You know that just as you were born alone, that’s how you’ll die: alone. Nobody will die for you. And what will you say to yourself, in that fraction of a second, before the Grim Reaper comes to take what’s his? What? That you did your best? Don’t make me laugh. How about all those regrets you hold insid? How about that? Aways playing it safe and doing it the resonable way got you into this mess in the first place. That’s why you carry so many regrets with you. That’s what hurts now, sucker! And it sure hurts like hell. But it’s too late. Way too fuckin’ late now to change anything.

There you go: though you had something like a fair chance at the beginning, you lost that. You blew it.


Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s