Imbedded into us: dates, times, social security…injected into our existence from our very FIRST breath. Numbers are uncontrollable, irresponsible, and entirely necessary. We have no authority to change our number once it happens, although some do try; milfs and cougars being the prime suspects. Most everything is numerically labeled for accurate random individualism. Having been an individual for one-million forty-four thousand nine hundred and twenty-four minutes, I’ve discovered just how dependent we are on what numbers seem to do: they make us feel important. T.S. Elliot said, “Half the harm that is done in this world is due to people who want to feel important.” He was right on time with that statement. Reality stars suffer from this terminal affliction. People needing constant validation usually on Sunday nights at eight. TIME. Schedules. Without them we would live in a constant primal state of being late for something we never knew existed. That’s love. We reward ourselves in numbers. The winner is first; number one. The loser is third on back. You garner some acclaim for second place but only for a second and that’s a place only third on back wish they had. A world without numbers couldn’t survive or at least there’d be no record of it, as the records show. Numbers are autocratic in nature meaning the one person to put value on them is you. Don’t limit yourself to what your number dictates. So can I have your number?
wehj ;s’a thoekm skjhu putoyh ahkjol whhl; wilhg zkak naehhry ahekfogn lakjfk akkk a the penguin and wif thk bally on dakjh. otnjskd no one even ahek dlgfot so it happens and I say, whyat? You don’t kno,w who day is on the day. alklfeo rllksud ;rotiha akjdhfkr loiph[,m dolfins ask meoil alkfoi s;lem o I dol;kjgf alkoour qwori slkkse sdkljfhici zkjh uusil uukj oaip jdkr haer ajd jeut. Think aboutth AT HAROLD! Cool. LSkjld a;oorh to the up and words. D;ont eat anythieng that is a hundred year s from the Mesozoic Era period. uy wouill be died. Whateviner. worse part iss Im” not even DrUNK yet. Ijsut have vary poor gramma.
Life is a series of content. A collection of moments. We gather experiences, day after day, memory after moment after answers. We connect, we learn, we build. Intrinsically we are irrational beings trying to rationalize our own mortality through things like theology. Or why we do and act and say the things we do through psychology or in a tribal sense, sociology. A human imperfection is a cosmic miscalculation on the grandest of scale, there is no such thing. We’re here. We made it. You. Me. That weird guy who sneezed on you in the frozen food aisle. We try so hard to KNOW things, to have purpose, to fix ourselves, we forget to just enjoy it. “It”…What is “it”? It is nothing. It is everything. It is the thing a week from now making you feel anxious. Why? Because of time. Because of schedule and fear of “it” being over or missed or worst yet, lost. We make mistakes, yes, trials and tribulations, we are an internet browser without the option to clear our history, retrograde amnesia victims aside; most aren’t so lucky. We live under constant bombardment of self understanding, we strive for nirvana, not the band, but the idea. Ideas are everything. Ideas are it. God, love, happiness are all ideas we created to help ourselves understand ourselves to live with ourselves. Expressionistically notorious for being, for feeling, for hoping. Hope of riches. Or love. Grammatically inaccurate, analytically sound. We pray for peace, yet we shun or cover up imperfection. We hope for love, yet we don’t. Life is temporary, but only if you make it so. We have words, we have art, we have stories. Generation to generation, forever. It is happiness incognito, hiding just behind the guy down front with the bushy hair. Politely ask him to move and see the screen for the first time. The movie of your life. Whatever act you’re in, it doesn’t matter: first, second, or third. Make it the best you want it to be. Life is a series of content, you can either be a load screen or masterpiece. It’s up to you.