A Flash in the Pan Leaves a Scar on the Hand...
Please don't tell me you've become an American ascetic. Those sandal clad scum with their holistic approach to life and hostile attitude towards war are ignorant and counter productive. They believe that by being kind to their fellow man that they would encourage the rest to do the same. But those bible totting Pharisees, bending Jesus over their Hummers as they accelerate America's descent from super power status, don't respond with anything but exploitation to those that want to live by the golden rule.
The only golden rule is that gold rules. And there is no more gravy train, dragging us out west to fill our hats with filthy water from the Sacramento River, while chanting a sacrilegious prayer to God to let you find a nugget of gold smaller than a kidney stone, so that you can go buy some over priced beef jerky from the general store outside San Francisco. Therefore, we're in a closed system, and whatever resources exist, people are so desperate to retain them that they shove 'em up their asses to keep hold. So if anyone wants to get ahead of the game they have to go and kick some ass, then maybe some nice shit will fall out and we can pick it up before some other ambitious fuck opens up opportunity's chest cavity.
But the dream is still perpetuated, one day we'll all strike it rich. With just a little luck and taking a big chance we can hit the jack pot. But that dream is as realistic as don Quixote fighting dragons throughout the Spanish countryside with his partner in romantic sentimentality, Sancho Panza. No! There are no dragons and no easy money. Sure, in this era of liposuction, paxil and cialis, everybody is starting to believe that value has no relation to effort. Our parents' parents tried to spread the idea that hard work elicits the sense of fulfillment, but Dr.Spock, Sesame Street, and Elizabeth "Fucking" Taylor decided to whip it out and piss all over that idea in favor of the "I'm the most important one to me" ideology, which naturally leads to, why should I work unless its just for me, which then leads to "what the fuck do I want to do", which inevitably leads to the decision that I enjoy reality television and eating Doritos sitting on my ass while collecting disability because I'm a crystal meth addict...
That is only one side of the millihedron die of society's problems. Others think that with enough will power they can accumulate talent over time. And with enough talent they can get noticed (from either the east or the west). And with enough attention they can get famous. And with enough fame they can get rich. And with enough money they can be able to do what they want (i.e. eat doritos and smoke meth). See full circle back to the same result of that putrid trinity of hedonism. Only with the more money you can hide the addictions better, be lazy in better clothes, sitting on a more comfortable French silk, goose feather couch. So if what Aristotle says is true and what the majority believes is truth, then by hiding all these faults from the voyeuristic prying eyes of the public then one can truly reach perfection.
Really, though, how many people get famous? Two, Three thousand? With 6 billion people in the world, even taking out the Indians and Chinese, that's seven people out of every ten million. Same odds as the lottery, just more work. But what happens to all those people that get started on fucking their way to fame, but get derailed from some drug bust, some prostitute, or some misquoted anecdote about the 13th Dali Lama that got confused with Adolf Hitler? They get sent through the potato peeler and fried in a vat of their own feces.
These shaven apes flounder as they try to get back on their feet. Those pathetic simians keep on getting back on down the track from when they derailed and lo and behold, their train comes a'crashing down again. You can't pity them. They'll just learn the lesson the hard way. Better to be a hermit with pride than a celebrity with shame. But those tattooed with the scarlet letter upon their tongues will eventually give up... or die... either way is giving up since the only death now-a-days is suicide. But if they overcome their fame addiction before the great inevitable spiritual orgasm, they might find that they regret the celebrity.
These people will be haunted by the cheap thrills, wet pussy, fast cars, easy money and intoxicating superficiality from their fabulous past. They realize that the notoriety and prosperity was the devil appealing to our lower cravings by giving us cake and feeding us too. But the survivor will never forget, and the residual taste of that cake will cause one to shudder with desire. But hopefully, they'll refrain, for a flash in the pan leaves a scar on the hand.
[Still on very little sleep]
The only golden rule is that gold rules. And there is no more gravy train, dragging us out west to fill our hats with filthy water from the Sacramento River, while chanting a sacrilegious prayer to God to let you find a nugget of gold smaller than a kidney stone, so that you can go buy some over priced beef jerky from the general store outside San Francisco. Therefore, we're in a closed system, and whatever resources exist, people are so desperate to retain them that they shove 'em up their asses to keep hold. So if anyone wants to get ahead of the game they have to go and kick some ass, then maybe some nice shit will fall out and we can pick it up before some other ambitious fuck opens up opportunity's chest cavity.
But the dream is still perpetuated, one day we'll all strike it rich. With just a little luck and taking a big chance we can hit the jack pot. But that dream is as realistic as don Quixote fighting dragons throughout the Spanish countryside with his partner in romantic sentimentality, Sancho Panza. No! There are no dragons and no easy money. Sure, in this era of liposuction, paxil and cialis, everybody is starting to believe that value has no relation to effort. Our parents' parents tried to spread the idea that hard work elicits the sense of fulfillment, but Dr.Spock, Sesame Street, and Elizabeth "Fucking" Taylor decided to whip it out and piss all over that idea in favor of the "I'm the most important one to me" ideology, which naturally leads to, why should I work unless its just for me, which then leads to "what the fuck do I want to do", which inevitably leads to the decision that I enjoy reality television and eating Doritos sitting on my ass while collecting disability because I'm a crystal meth addict...
That is only one side of the millihedron die of society's problems. Others think that with enough will power they can accumulate talent over time. And with enough talent they can get noticed (from either the east or the west). And with enough attention they can get famous. And with enough fame they can get rich. And with enough money they can be able to do what they want (i.e. eat doritos and smoke meth). See full circle back to the same result of that putrid trinity of hedonism. Only with the more money you can hide the addictions better, be lazy in better clothes, sitting on a more comfortable French silk, goose feather couch. So if what Aristotle says is true and what the majority believes is truth, then by hiding all these faults from the voyeuristic prying eyes of the public then one can truly reach perfection.
Really, though, how many people get famous? Two, Three thousand? With 6 billion people in the world, even taking out the Indians and Chinese, that's seven people out of every ten million. Same odds as the lottery, just more work. But what happens to all those people that get started on fucking their way to fame, but get derailed from some drug bust, some prostitute, or some misquoted anecdote about the 13th Dali Lama that got confused with Adolf Hitler? They get sent through the potato peeler and fried in a vat of their own feces.
These shaven apes flounder as they try to get back on their feet. Those pathetic simians keep on getting back on down the track from when they derailed and lo and behold, their train comes a'crashing down again. You can't pity them. They'll just learn the lesson the hard way. Better to be a hermit with pride than a celebrity with shame. But those tattooed with the scarlet letter upon their tongues will eventually give up... or die... either way is giving up since the only death now-a-days is suicide. But if they overcome their fame addiction before the great inevitable spiritual orgasm, they might find that they regret the celebrity.
These people will be haunted by the cheap thrills, wet pussy, fast cars, easy money and intoxicating superficiality from their fabulous past. They realize that the notoriety and prosperity was the devil appealing to our lower cravings by giving us cake and feeding us too. But the survivor will never forget, and the residual taste of that cake will cause one to shudder with desire. But hopefully, they'll refrain, for a flash in the pan leaves a scar on the hand.
[Still on very little sleep]
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