Doesn't anyone want to live anymore?

Drunk doesn't look good on people. Slow blink, quiet knocks on doors, subtle indications that there's more to your feelings than you say there is. I'm not scared of being drunk, I'm not scared of the high, I'm not scared of "relaxing" and "having fun" and "letting loose a little". I just hate how it looks. You aren't you drunk on Jack Daniels, you aren't you staring blankly out of pink grassed-up eyes, you aren't you souped up and manic on some powdered thing you just tried. 

Life is the thing. I'm sorry it isn't for everyone but it's not something to work on escaping, it's something to work on accepting. Not being able to handle life isn't solved by punching in and out of it, you can't do that, it doesn't work, stop trying. I can't bear to be in a room full of people who don't act, think, and pretend they can't breathe because their catatonic and life doesn't matter. Look around, life is beautiful, learn to see that. 

If you're trying, good on you. But loving the worst of it, wallowing in nothing, mindlessly moving, is not the way to be. You can change that, you have the power to change it, if only you accept it. Self-awareness without thinking that in itself is a solution. 

No one is better than anyone else, nothing is sadder than the moment you're feeling, but it doesn't have to spiral lower either. It's a speck, though it feels like a monster, and I don't mean that we're insignificant, I mean that we have to have perspective. If you get caught up on your size, insignificance is all you will be, you have to really live to your fullest insignificant size. Maybe you'll break out of it somehow. 

The world is impermanent, everything is transient, and yet that's still no excuse for theorizing and chewing fat and mumbling melancholy nothing because you aren't facing it. To face life is to say "okay, I am tiny but that's okay, it doesn't mean my life is worthless, it only means nothing is going to give me my worth. The world is too busy to give me one on one attention so I have to be big enough and live high and wide and long enough to get its attention myself." There's no profundity in "life sucks then you die" because you're writing off the entire infinite insane, chaotic wisdom of the entire world as "sucking" even though you claim to be an insignificant part of it. Who are you to label something so much bigger than yourself. Live a little.

Nothing wrong with one night out, a couple drinks here, hanging in moderation, a crazy all-nighter bash, but where is it coming from? 

Get crazy, get lucid, get sober, and check out those cool fucking  clouds up there. You see how they flit and gleam? The mountain is a silhouette and that factory is sure a stark scar across the blue sky. I wonder which one of those rats has pissed on the most subway shoes. I wonder where we are, look around, now how do we leave? 

I sat in a room today with about 15 people from the school publication. The room is in the basement of one of the dorm buildings. There are three chairs, stained walls, and faded posters of the editions of days past. Three people worked on the paper. Four ate noodles and chatted briefly about internet related things before watching youtube. Two were glued to their phones. The rest half-heartedly laughed, but mostly mildly chuckled as they taped an inch stack thick of Waluigi print outs to a door that lead to a spare room. It felt like middle school, it felt like a prison, it felt like time was moving backward. 

There are crummy zoos where chimps throw their shit at the cement walls of their pens, cooped up and copped out, dumb with boredom. There are babies who are born into the enclosures and throwing shit is all they've ever known. They go about, blissfully unaware that they're living a lie, and that truly they're asleep. I'm not saying my peers in that room weren't happy, because I don't know how they think, and I'm not trying to say that the way I want to live my life is the way for all. But sometimes they don't even know what life is because nobody ever showed them. It's easy to fall into the wheel that keeps turning and turning and it's easy to switch off because life is hard. But isn't it worse to deal with life when you've turned away from it and written up in your mind as some sort of monster that needs defeating? 

Life gives you lemons, make lemonade, or don't. Sometimes those lemons are just shit and you have to stare at them for awhile and chuck them out and cry and scream and then go to sleep, but one day the lemons aren't so bad. Sometimes life gives you lemons and they're rotten and moldy but you make lemonade with them anyway, because that's what you've been told that you're supposed to do, but the lemonade makes you sick because they needed to be examined and understood, not just poured into sugar and syrup and stirred. Sometimes life gives you lemons and they smell and they reek and they're four different colors and you think "i don't wanna touch that". But three weeks later they're worse and now they're all over your floor and you've gotta get down on your hands and knees to mop up the stinking juice and blackened seeds and you'll be all sticky and it's hard to wash out of the hardwood floor.

We are lobsters in a pot and some lobsters have been in there since the water is cold and have gone fuzzy from the new boil. some of us are being tossed in late and we want out. There's life outside this Plato cave, but I get why you don't see it. 

I will step off of my high horse if you say he is, please get on it he doesn't bite, ride into the sunset. 

get home safe.