It’s amazing how easily constant repetition conditions our herd (aka society) to accept whatever narrative the puppet masters of this planet decide to be “truth.” The media dictates that if someone wears a badge, stethoscope, or elongated hard-hat, they should forever be lauded as “heroes,” no questions asked. I’m not exactly sure what’s “above-and-beyond” about handing out a thousand-dollar fine to someone sitting on the beach reading a book, or why hiding in an unmarked pick-up truck on the side of the road to hand out speeding tickets is superhuman, but I guess I’ve always been a little confused about what society deems to be normal.
If you thought you’ve heard angry rants in the past here on BonerFruit, well prepare yourself for something fucking extraordinary, as I’m about to set the fucking record for the fucking number of F-bombs ever recorded in a fucking 1000-word fucking essay.
Because cocksucking society has lost its collective fucking mind. And even though there’s absolutely no worthwhile reason to write this post today (since realizing humanity has the aggregate IQ of a chromosome-deficient chimp huffing gas fumes while being steadily pumped with carbon monoxide via a short hose jammed straight into its hairy ass), I need to document a few things which are solely for my benefit — a dear-fucking-diary piece that I don’t give a flying fuck if anyone reads or resonates with. I don’t even fucking know what the fuck aggregate means, and guess what? I don’t give a flying fuck.
There are believers, and there are disbelievers. Open-mindedness is not an option to choose from. You’re either with us, or you’re with them. Pick your side, and let the animosity unfold exactly as intended.
I won’t sit here and tell you fairies are real, because I’ve never seen one. But when I hear descriptions of half-man/half-horse creatures, and witness structures such as the Great Pyramid, knowing our best modern architects can’t come close to recreating such a monument, or even move the impossibly heavy monoliths lying half-finished in quarries, despite access to the most cutting-edge cranes devised by genius engineers, it’s easy enough for my mind to consider the possibility of advanced races existing before us, ones with an unnatural penchant for genetic engineering to create Minotaurs and Mermaids, and the skill to move rocks with sound frequency or some other “magic.” The reach is rather effortless, but you’ll never find me running around decrying “I believe in centaurs.” Unless I’ve experienced it first hand, it’s theory to me — but always worthy of unbiased investigation.
Alright peeps, can ya’ll give me a simultaneous, “FUCK YEAH!!”
And also a megadose of “WOO!”
Original Sin be done! Live, and ready to be ignored by the public!!
Author copies are headed my way in the next couple days, so if anyone is interested in a signed edition at a discounted rate (1.3% off the regular price — sweet deal, I know!) then shoot me a Feedback note, and I’ll ship ‘er out to you.
I’m in the middle of the final proofread for my new book, but my brain has turned to mush, so I need to take a break before I start missing obvious typos and stupid shit that’ll make me look like a jackass hack once I hit that publish button. I’ve come too far to half-ass my final polishing, just for the sake of quicker completion.
So how do I take a break from writing? By writing obviously…
A new blog post has been long overdue, mostly because 24 hours in a day doesn’t quite cut it for me anymore. But that’s bullshit of course. We always find time for the things we love. It will forever be our choice to prioritize one action over another.
(lost in the unpublished archives, September 3, 2019, the pre-virus days)
I’m beginning to realize competency is a bit of a curse. When you demonstrate quality work, people usually end up asking you to do more of it. That’s fine and dandy if you’re engaged in something you love, but if you happen to be trying to earn a few extra travel bucks in, oh let’s say a shitty kitchen or something, demonstrating quality work doesn’t reward you with extra time off. If you’re responsible, reliable, trustworthy, and personable (throw in good-looking too), employers seem to want you around as much as possible. Go figure…
I don’t entirely know what happened to the work ethic of kids today, but it’s pretty fucking appalling. Half-assed work, missed shifts, and a complete lack of common sense seems to be the norm for our modern youth.
I understand slave-work better than anyone, and I get that a minimum-wage salary ain’t a great incentive to bust your ass, but what the fuck happened to a little bit of personal pride in the work you’ve been contracted to do? Is it so tough to show up for a shift without smoking 3 joints 10-minutes before walking into the building? Is it possible to work 5 hours consecutively without bitching about how exhausted you are? Is there the slightest fucking chance of doing something productive without being asked or told to do so?
Perhaps I’m a bit pissy ’cause five 12-hour shifts in a row have claimed far too much of my free time to get a little writing done, or even put out a consistent Daily Bread. The bitching’s unwarranted, of course, because no one put a gun to my head to take the job. Truthfully, I volunteered for the extra shifts to give my bosses a chance to finish their move and settle into their new place in town.
So why did I bother whining about any of this?
I dunno. I had nothin’ pressin’ to write about, but I remembered a quote from Picasso:
Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.
So I’m typing away. And upon writing that quote, a notable thing just came to mind…
The 12-hour days are a joke. I can do them effectively on pretty much zero sleep and nothing in my belly — but not indefinitely, and not without affecting my naturally pleasant (and charming) demeanour. In the restaurant environment, irritability begins to rear its ugly head the thinner I stretch myself. Halfway through day 5 of my slave-marathon, when the building filled with a parade of burger-eatin’ douchebags, and I was alone to deal with the madness, it wasn’t long before full-blown survival mode kicked in.
So what exactly is survival mode?
It’s somewhat unfair to compare cooking a grillful of steaks to something like eating your dead buddy’s ass to stay alive after your plane crashed horribly into a mountain top, but, nonetheless, a connection exists. And it’s a simple one:
Be fully present in the moment.
To get through a seemingly impossible situation, a few truths need be realized:
Panic gets you nowhere.
Extrapolating a hopeless future serves no purpose.
Anger and outrage cloud your thinking.
The only viable option is to focus your mind on the immediate task at hand, and push all the crippling emotional stress of uncontrollable future events as far away as possible.
If you find light at the tunnel’s end of whatever ordeal you’ve just endured, you might come to an important realization: life is a series of moments. And the way we perceive each moment will come to define our lives.
A “good” day is just a mental tally of instances that outweigh “bad” ones. But, looking back on them, we realize our definitions were all based on our chosen perception of an endless present.
If we can remember that, the past becomes much less cumbersome, and the future a lot less daunting. In fact, we may even realize neither truly exists, and all the shit we’re incessantly stressed over never unfolds as badly as our negatively-charged brains predict.
I’ll bet no New Age guru has ever told you to stop sleeping and take on high-stress work as road to personal enlightenment. Hell no. They encourage you to quash all your “negative” energy, and think perpetually happy thoughts, no matter what the situation may be.
An interesting strategy, but an ineffective one, as bottled up emotions have no avenue of expression. Trying to think perpetually happy thoughts will probably end up leaving you pissed off and stressed out when your diligence falters, making you more even more enraged than before you began happy happy mode.
In a strange twist, I’ve learned you can actually be stuck in a moment you hate, and realize you’re having a lot of fun hating the situation.
Today was a reminder to stop overthinking shit as it happens, and just roll with it. To stop worrying about fantasies of a “better” tomorrow. To breathe in the fresh air, and soak up whatever rain or sunshine appears.
You won’t change the storm clouds by being pissed off at them, but you don’t have to pretend that they make you happy while they rain on your picnic.
The sooner we realize our emotions don’t control the external world, the quicker we’ll learn it isn’t the world we need to control, but thoughts that don’t serve us. We either feed ’em, or let them starve.
We can easily look back at some of the shitty moments that happened in our lives and laugh at them, so why not engage in the practice as they occur?
All we ever have is right here, right now, so suck it up, and learn to love it, even when you feel the need to beat the shit out of a puppy.