It seems that life is a never ending struggle to find human beings that you can truly connect with. Small talk is one thing- most men, when locked in a situation where they have to interact with strangers, look for the lowest common denominators that link one another. Like sports ("Did you see Utley's inside-the-parker the other night?"). Or, food ("Man, that place makes hoagies the size of the Space shuttle!"). Or, sex ("We're talking big, big, you know...big..."). A true connection, on, say, a spiritual, or a chemical, or an intellectual level is truly rare. I find that this saddens me. It's as if all the spiritual, chemical, and intellectual connections in your life have been made already when you've reached your mid-forties, and all you're left with are people who are basically afraid of opening themselves for fear of some kind of rejection. I've met very few people in my life who I've had this kind of connection with. This condition of deprivation exists as a sort of hole in my soul, I think. My life is filled with with very empty individuals, in my eyes, with very little to offer other than very shallow values and mindlessness and American Idol. I'm dead certain that this can't be all there is in the world.
What is life, anyway, really? I have looked around, and I've come to the conclusion that 90% of life, as we know it, is complete bullshit. You're born, you didn't ask to come into this world, and you might be enveloped by parents who want to keep you free from every trial and tribulation that could possibly await you, until you have to go out in the world and know nothing of the obstacles that you might've been prepared for along the way. From the moment you saw the TV in your living room, you, all of a sudden, became a target market for every junk food manufacturer, every toy manufacturer, every corrupt huckster on the face of the earth. You're not a child, you're a demographic number, and you keep on being a demographic number right up to the time you're lowered into the ground. You don't mean a damn thing to anybody other than as a demographic to be marketed to, or as a tax revenue receipt. This is it. You might be among an elect who comes to the conclusion that work is ultimately meaningless rubbish, that Church is even more meaningless rubbish, that parenthood never meant a friggin' thing when you find out your 17-year-old daughter was texting someone as she was going through the red light, only to plow into the cab of a tractor-trailer; that Values and Morals and Structure are total hogwash, when you discover that the only way you can get ahead in life, in your dead-end midwestern town, is to start your own meth lab. What is life, really, in these United States of America? Is it to latch on to some kind of spirtual structure, that would offer somnolent bromides? Is it to grasp mythology, that you, in your heart of hearts, know to be complete buncombe , because you lived through it, and you know things never happened that way? Does it lie in a bottle of Bourbon?
Is life itself a lie? Just what is all this, really?
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