I'm not a hippie. I'm not a loner. I'm not against greed or power or pop culture. I'm not bitter, and I'm not awkward.
The trend-setters and jet-setters dominate the puny American mass consciousness. I begrudge no success, but their disciples are stifling. I've done it too... gotten a $50 haircut and a $200 pair of shoes and put myself out there. It's fun to look good and twirl your cosmo around like a mock aristocrat scheming and vying; I don't deny the allure. But, by god, it's hard work. Work without satisfaction, unless you're a social engineer.
I've turned my back on you now. Turned to real work, like deciding what satisfaction really is. I've narrowed it down quite a bit. It's no longer about drive. Everyone is driven by something, sometimes good, sometimes bad; but so are animals. What's important is not what you do with your life but how it's done.
You have conscious but no conscience. You always talk bigger and hungrier, but there's no mindfulness. There's no admission of guilt, or acknowledgement of reality. The slurry of alcohol and cocaine walling in your humanity. Every word sounds more and more like the last, hollow and jaundiced. It's a disease that consumes you.
But I don't hold this against you. We still find moments of happiness. The sacred moments where the veil of matter is briefly lifted and we can breathe as newborn people; drinking in life and exhaling detritus.