Charles Bukowski once said “it has been a beautiful fight. Still is.” I keep on wondering, contemplating about what could have been or what has been. All I can say is, The man I am now is far more different than the man I was last week. For a really long time, I hated the labels. I never wanted to fit in any clan or a cult of a party just to feel good about myself because everyone around was the same and hated the same things.
In this crazy little thing called life, so far, I've learned that people are only together because they can point fingers and feel good about how their crew, group or whatever the fuck you call these days is the best. Never I have ever met someone who wanted to really make this world a better place. but then again, some of the days I care, a little too much and on other days, you could be dying in front of me and you’ll see no dash of emotion rattling in me.
Life. What the fuck is life? I don't know. all I can say is. Most people you meet out there want something from you. Be it your thinking, your connections, your cock or your talent.
Now I'm not like Bukowski. Because he was a low life, ugly, son, of a gun. And he loved it. Because he knew if someone is gonna like him it would be for him and not his looks. I am a self-proclaimed a lot of things. Being a pretty boy is one of those. I have a hard time when someone is being nice to me, I have a million thoughts when someone says that they like me because I've been hurt more than you can ever fathom and I still keep going on. Not because I'm a hopeless romantic. I mean there’s a part of me, the writer in me who is, for sure hopeless one. But as a guy who has loved and lost, I know nothing is permanent. Even Us, we are bound to go at some point in time. Now as I write this monologue or pissing out of my asshole, I wonder will it ever stop? The pain, the sudden urges of sexual desires, the endless fight to be what I want to be, the love, all the friendships turning into enemies.
Does it stop?
I am always gonna be on the line of an optimistic lad with nihilism attached to it. It's a deadly combo. Where I take everything upon myself and the chaos which I find myself in. I think I am to blame for everything going wrong. When will I understand that the people around me are as much responsible for the chaos they pull me in. As always, I take that on me, where some of the times I am just as innocent as them because the timing and the setup are so ridiculously beautiful as it just feels right. And then the next day comes and I am again haunted by a road not taken.
My mind is rough, masculine, dirty, sharp around the edges with a teenage boy looking for love.
I am in my late 20’s and 30 is just around the corner. I take pride in following my dreams and have romanticised the idea of sacrificing and living for a purpose deeper than my scotch soaked weed breath soul. I still believe I have it in me to make the best album, the world bestseller book or just being the greatest songwriter of all time. “So much for fake, it till you make it.”
I also have some regrets as to how I should have treated few people but they probably deserved it at that point in time. I could have gone down on few women more often, let them know how much I loved them and how fucked up my mind was. But what's gone is gone except the time I accidentally made that girl pregnant.
As I write this, a lot of faces from the past comes to my frontal lobe and I can't do anything other than just watch them come and pass by. That’s how I keep most of them close, in my writing.
But the question still arises why is the world so hell-bent on destroying its female population?