Living Wrong

I hate cobwebs. I don’t like seeing them in the corners of my house or on my things. When I see them I will try and annihilate them.

This Person whom I am writing about does not do anything about the cobwebs. This Person lets the cobwebs grow everywhere, either not seeing them or not caring about them. Maybe This Person just expects someone else to take care of the hard work. This Person would let his/her entire house become one large cobweb and then maybe This Person might act to get rid of the cobwebs. But not before.

This Person is many people. Maybe you know This Person or someone like This Person. A person, who in your mind, is living wrong.

Obviously, This Person would disagree with all that I am writing here because the only way that This Person can remain This Person is through a continual defensive reflex. If they were not always defending themselves, they would have to change.

This person seems not to care about refining any sensibilities. Intellectual, aesthetic, environmental, political. Developing any or all of these sensibilities does not seem to appeal to This Person. Developing sensibilities takes hard work. A person has to remain curious and continually seek out challenging information and knowledge. They have to continually put themselves in uncomfortable situations. This Person prefers easy entertainment, comfort and simple distractions. Things that do not ask too much of them.

The artist Chuck Close said, “Whenever you reach a fork in the road, take the most difficult route because everybody else is going to be taking the easy route.” This Person always takes the easier route, thus never really distinguishing themselves in any one thing.

This Person is content being ok at things. Not bad, not great. Just ok. This Person does what they need to do to be good or ok at things and nothing more. This Person does not like hard work. This Person starts many things but struggles to stay engaged if it is too hard. Like I said This Person prefers what is easy. Simple distractions, sleep, hanging out, work if they must, doing what others force them to do but what they would rather not do (clean house, pay bills, clean car, take care of themselves, etc…)

This Person is not that driven to do much unless it is easy. This Person prefers to do the bare minimum to get by. They will work but not more than necessary. Sometimes they will have a burst of energy and get really into something, but it will not last unless the something is easy.

I can not help but think this is living wrong. In my mind it is important to excel at things. It is important to work hard at things that interest you. It is important to cultivate sensibilities and challenge yourself. It is important to develop your intellect. To put yourself in situations where you have to continually push yourself to do what is not easy. This is what it means to thrive.

Humans are like slabs of stone. As we grow we carve away at these stones creating shape and texture. Most people’s stones look ugly, lazy, basic and very unfinished. Most stones all look the same in this way. For most people carving the stone is just too hard and they give up, barely working on it anymore past the age of 45. A lot of people expect other people to carve their stone for them. They don’t want to do the work. To have a stone that looks distinguished, unique, one of a kind and has a beautiful shape- takes continual effort. You have to work hard on it for a bit everyday.

Even if it means maintaining a beautiful living environment. It is important to continually keep things in their right place. To not grow lazy with the care of your home. Once you let your home go and become comfortable with cobwebs everywhere, how can a person excel at anything in life? A person’s living environment and the care they take of it determines the degree to which they will be able to live right.

If This Person has the ways they are living all wrong pointed out to them they become immediately defensive and withdraw further into incapacitation. If you point out to This Person that they do not exercise, that they would benefit from being more physically active- this person will withdraw into more sedentariness. If you point out to This Person that they should challenge themselves more intellectually, they will read less intellectually challenging things. It is an unconscious and reflexive behavior.

Pointing out to This Person how they are living wrong is a battle that can not be won. All a person can do is accept that This Person is just not interested much in pushing themselves right now, in refining themselves, in differentiating themselves from the mass of people who take the easier route. A person can just pick up the slack where they can, continue to take the harder route within themselves and not worry about This Person who is living wrong.

Everyone is free to live their life in a way they feel is right. Maybe This Person thinks that I am living wrong.

Who am I to say that This Person is living wrong? Maybe they are living right! Maybe life is a meaningless experience and all of our efforts to refine and distinguish ourselves are ultimately all for nothing? Maybe if we could just learn to care less, let ourselves go a bit more, not care about the cobwebs that will continue to grow no matter how hard we try to get rid of them- maybe then we could have a happier life? Maybe the harder route isn’t that great after all.

Who am I to say? All I can do is live in a way that feels right for me and try not to force This Person away from living wrong. The moment I push, force, encourage or try and motivate This Person to move in a different direction is usually the moment I start living wrong.

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The Inventor Of A Place Where The Place Is Not

I am an inventor of a place where the place is not.

I am pleased with the results of my invention.

Outside my back door I have simulated Northern California.

Outside my front door is the suburbs of Southern California.

I grew up in Northern Califonia. I currently reside in the suburbs of Southern California and experience a kind of subtle homesickness the moment I walk out my front door. This homesickysickness has forced me to become an inventor of a place. I call it a homesickysickness to reduce the painfulness of the expereince.

Homesickysickness creates a longing in a person to be somewhere they are not. It is a painful experience, especially when the longing is for a radically different place than the place in which one is.

Southern California is not that far from Northern California. An ambitous person could drive a car back and forth between the two, twice, in one day. But still, North and South could not be further apart. They are two totally different universes with absolutly nothing in common. I often state that a person should need a passport to go from one to the other. They are that radically different.

Make no mistake about it, California is a bipolar state.

The Southern California suburbs are even more radically different than Northern California suburbs. Even the birds, driveways, parks and mailboxes look different here.

In Northern California there is green. Green everywhere. And water seems to be more prevalent. And clean air. The light is different. The food tastes fresher. The lifestyle is more laid back. Artists and readers are not in hiding.

In Northern California I would often spend my days reading and felt fine about it. I would see other prolific readers around town. In Southern California I feel like I am doing something wrong when in a book for too long.

In Northern California my attention span and diet seemed to flourish. In Southern California there is too much distraction to care about these things.

In Northern California the culture is much more progressive and the people are slower, more bohemian and, well I hate to say it, but more well read. I lived in Northern California for forty years and never met a white person proud of their guns. In the Southern California suburbs white people are proud of their guns everywhere.

Televisions are everywhere in Southern California suburbs. It is probably the same up North but I like to think more channels are on public televsion networks up North. I could be wrong.

In Southern California there is brown and some green. My eyes spend an entire day searching for a significant patch of green in LA.

People here move too fast. People work too much. Facades masquerade for the real person. Image is king.

Heat and sun are constant. Style counts most. Culture is visual. Education levels are mediocre and general at best. The norm is found everywhere one looks. Those who are radically different are either in hiding or do not exist.

I never, ever, ever, ever see people reading books in Southern California but everyone is on phones. People tend to dislike each other a lot more in Southern California. It is a hostile place. The political zeitgiest is conservative.

I am a stranger in a strange land.

As a result I have become the inventor of a place in my backyard. I have grown trees and plants that are specific to Northern California. I have created an atmosphere that is Northern California. I even have a small redwood tree that refuses to grow.

My backyard is a laid back place with plenty of different areas to read and a teardrop trailer to nap in. I water constantly to maintain the green. I have built fire pits and hung hammocks from trees. I have captured several birds and squirrels from Northern California and set them free in my backyard. Most have gone back up North, despite being well fed.

I have stolen road signs from Northern California and placed them around my yard. I have taken these road signs down because seeing them just makes me too sad. I always end up putting them back up. And then taking them back down. And then putting them back up.

I am continually at work on creating a place where the place is not.

It has become an obsession. It is what I do to keep myself from becoming too depressed.

My wife gets mildly frustrated that I do not go out my front door as much as she would like. I tell her to please go run free in the world out there but she always prefers to stay with me. Okay then, lets get wine and smokes and go into the backyard, I say.

Why would I go out there more than I must? There is little I want to see, smell, taste or hear out there. Everyone is moving too fast. Normalizing Capitalistic Propaganda has been most successful here and everyone is pissed off about it happening to them. No, I prefer to stay in my backyard where sanity can be found.

Visualizing a landscape in Northern California can put me to sleep in under two minutes. I have not had the same result with my various Southern California visualizations.

I do almost everything in my backyard. I love my backyard in the same way a person loves a beloved dog or a penis or an iPhone. I only go out my front door when I must. I try to go for walks but always return home depressed. As a result most of my life is passed in the Northern California of my Southern California backyard. I prefer things this way. I feel home here. My anxiety is diminished and homesickysickness dissipates.

I am able to invent a place which is not the place I am in by creating an environment which allows me to forget the place I am in. This is the most important aspect of being an inventor of a place where a place is not- the invented place must be good enough that it enables forgetfulness and as a result encourages the imagination to become real.

Come visit me sometime in Northern California if you are ever in LA.

Letter To My Dad.

What is a man to do?

I feel so much pain inside. Maybe I should not be writing this letter to you. Maybe it is a bad idea and will only piss you off. After all, I presume that no man wants to know their son is feeling this way. You and I don’t talk anymore and we have little to do with one another, and here I am turning up in your email with an email like this.

But I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where else to turn. I have no man in my life who I can talk to. I have no one to seek guidance from. I need a father to help me through this one.

I really don’t know what to do. Here I am on a Wednesday morning feeling like I am about to cry. But I won’t. I will hold back tears. I think I want to cry because it feels so painful inside. It really hurts dad. I am in so much pain. Ridiculous, right?

I mean, I have a nice life by most people’s estimate. I live in a nice home. I have all kinds of wonderful possessions. I am not a rich man but I don’t want to be a rich man. I have never wanted to be someone who makes much money. But I make enough money now to live a comfortable life. I want for nothing material. I can buy whatever I want (within reason) and this feels nice. I don’t have very expensive tastes so I don’t need much beyond clothes, books and records and food. But none of this takes away the pain. What the hell? I have a beautiful wife, dogs, garden, nice bed, my own writing and art studio- all the things I could of hoped for when younger. But these things don’t seem to arrest this pain.

Why? What is going on? I don’t understand?

My wife came in to give me a kiss this morning and I could not even face her. I asked her to go away. Like a cat who is dying, I want to be left alone. I don’t want to be seen like this. It has been happening too much. For too long a period of time. I don’t know how much more I can take before my body and mind breakdown.

What is a man to do dad? You are an older and successful man? Granted I don’t think you have found happiness either but maybe this can allow you to have some insight into what I am going through. Maybe you can tell me what to do because you now know what does not work?

Why am I starting to feel like a brat writing this? Maybe I just need to get it together and stop complaining. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps and get on with it. This is the American way right? Maybe I need to just stop feeling sorry for myself and snap out of this? Maybe. Maybe this is what a man has to do. Maybe this is just the way life in America is.

But my work feels bad. I feel like my work is making me sick. I do not enjoy it. It causes me so much pain. I struggle through each day filled with such uncomfortable anxiety. My chest gets tight and I struggle to breathe. I feel awful. Today I have a long day at work ahead of me and it feels terrible. I don’t want to do anything. I feel empty inside. I am just sitting here killing time waiting until it is time to get ready to go to work. I don’t have the energy to exercise. I don’t want to read or listen to music. It is hard for me to find fulfillment in anything. I feel empty and drained inside. This worries me but I don’t know what to do dad. Can you help me? Can you give me some guidance here? I don’t know where to turn.

I make good money from my job. I have the respect of others. It brings me a good amount of social legitimacy. It provides me with a decent material quality of life. You and I both know how down and out I once was. You and I both know how much I struggled to make a dollar and lived for years in impoverished conditions. But I did this because I did not want to sell-out. I did this because I did not want to go against what I felt was right and best for me. I did this because I knew that if I sold out I would feel like I do now.

What do I do dad? Do I just quit my job and find some other way to make a living that does not hurt so much? Do I commit myself and try and make a decent living at my lifelong dream of being a writer and artist? Do I really apply myself to living my dream or do I continue to let my dream die out? My work and everything I have to do to make money just drains the dream right out of me. Isn’t this what selling-out does to a man? It drains the life or the dream or the substance or the soul right out of him.

I don’t know what to do dad. I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this. My poor wife. It is so hard to have all these wonderful things all around me but feel so bad. I do start to feel better on my days off. I feel this huge sense of relief but all I have energy to do is rest and recover from the drain of work. By the time I begin to feel better again, it is time to go back to work.

Maybe you don’t have any answers for me dad. That is ok. I have never felt like I have received much helpful guidance from you in the past. We have never really gotten along. You have always felt like I need to work a job (even if it is “flippin burgers”) and become a financially independent man like you. You have never really had much tolerance for all of my negative feelings about work and selling-out.

So I have done what everyone one else has told me I should do. I have done what everyone else around me seems to be doing. I have gotten a real job and am making good money. I have my own office and my own house. I am a financially independent man. I did good dad, right? But then why am I in so much pain? Why does this hurt so much? All these fucking bills and debts and things that I have to do to make a living and support myself in this society- it does not feel alright. Why does it not feel okay? What the hell is going on dad?

What am I supposed to do?

Maybe I should just go take a shower and get dressed. Maybe I should get out of my house and get to my office early. Maybe this will help. Just get out. I know that work today is going to be really hard and painful and unfulfilling but maybe I just need to get started with it. Stop sitting here dreading it. Two more days of work in front of me and then I can be free for a few days. I just need to get through this week. When I come home tonight I can look forward to drinking a bottle of good wine and just relaxing. This is it. This is all a man can do, right? Tell me dad, what the fuck am I supposed to do. How the fuck do I get out of this mess without losing so many of the things I love?

I don’t know what to do dad. Maybe I should not even send you this. I don’t want to worry you more than I probably already have throughout the course of your life. People tend to worry way too much about their kids, but I assume that it is because they do not want their kids to end up where I am right now.

I really don’t want to go to work. I really do not want to do all the things I am going to have to do. I really don’t want to do this. It hurts so much.

I hear a bird chirping. It is a beautiful sound. The sun is out. A fly is keeps running into my window. Silly fly. Maybe I just need to sit here for a little and pay attention to these things. Just watch the shadows on the wall. Maybe this is all a man in my situation can do? Just let go? Just surrender?

I know you don’t believe in that sort of thing. You believe that a man must tough it through. Just suck it up.

But this world of work really sucks dad. This is why I wanted my dreams to come true. I thought it could be a way out of this. I wish you could of understood this more dad and given me more support and less hardship. But that’s in the past now. That doesn’t matter anymore. I’m just going to sit here for a bit and listen to the bird chirp. Then I will go shower and get dressed nicely for work. I will spray on a lot of cologne. Maybe that will help to lift my spirit.

That is what you did, right dad? I remember your smell more than I remember your face.

Anyways, just writing this letter to you has helped. I don’t think I am going to send it now. What would be the point? I don’t think you could say anything that would help me anyways. I hope you are enjoying your winter vacation home and getting a lot of skiing done.

Thanks dad. Take care.

The Sell-Out. Conversation #52.

I have been wondering around online all morning.

Why are you doing this?

I don’t know. Trying to kill time. I have a long day ahead of me. It is not even 8am yet. Caffeine is just kicking in. Nothing else I want to do. I tried reading the novel I have been slugging my way through (Jim Carroll’s The Petting Zoo) but have little interest. Reading a novel should not feel like such an uphill climb but every novel I read these days feels like that. I suppose I could write or make art or water my garden or exercise or do something more productive, but I don’t want to do anything.

So you just drift around from website to website?

Yes. And I find nothing of substance. Just more albums being released. More musicians trying to distinguish themselves as interesting. More sensationalized news stories. Everyone is trying to be someone online (including myself I suppose) but all of it lacks substance. At least I am not finding any substance in any of it.

Maybe the problem is you? Maybe the problems is your life? Maybe you lack substance?

That is an interesting thought. You are implying that the reason why it all feels empty to me is because I am substanceless?

Yes.

It could be true. I feel pretty dead inside. Empty I suppose. There is pain. I don’t like anything right now. I realize that in the mornings I am often at my most miserable so I don’t want to get too carried away in any of these negative feelings. But I do feel bleak. I do feel bad inside so it makes sense that nothing on “the outside” will feel like it has any substance.

You are looking for things on the outside to fill you up. To help you feel more meaning or a sense of purpose.

Maybe. I just feel like shit inside. Why? I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t like this. But it all feels bad.

Fuck.

Yes, Fuck. I have to go to work today. I do not want to go to work. My work is not fulfilling. It is painful. It hurts. It makes me feel sick inside.

But you make good money.

Yes. That is why I keep doing it. My work has its advantages but it does not make me feel good inside. I feel bad doing it. I feel bad thinking about it. Today I have to work for nine hours and am already thinking about coming home tonight and drinking a bottle of wine.

That is not good man. Your work should feel more fulfilling than that.

Yeah, well, that is not in the deck of cards for me right now. I have to suffer through work in order to get paid and maintain any kind of decent quality of life.

Fuck.

Yeah, fuck is right. When I am not working I feel like I have little energy to do anything else. I just want to withdraw. I don’t want to talk with anyone. I drift around online. I feel empty and lost inside.

Why don’t you just quit your job? Stop doing it man. Does not sound good for you!

What else would I do? I just don’t know what else I would do to make the kind of money I do. I really do not know what else I could do.

Be a writer?

I would like to do that but writers do not make any money. Who would I write for? How would I make a decent amount of money as a writer? The kind of writing I do is not really about making money. It is not the kind of stuff that makes money and I don’t want to be forced to sell-out as a writer. That would be horrible. So I don’t know if I could make a decent living as a writer without selling out.

It seems like everyone has to sell out these days to make a decent living.

Yes, I know. Selling out has become the American way. I don’t like it. It breeds negative emotions. Selling out causes a person to feel the way I do right now. I don’t like it.

But you don’t know what else to do.

Nope. I have no idea. Right now I just go to my job. I work hard. I get through it. I make my money and then when I am not working any more I try hard to forget about it and enjoy my life as much as possible. But my work is always there in the background. I know that I have to return to it at some point. I know that I can’t figure out some way out of it. My work is always there in one form or another. I know that I need my work for money but my work brings me so much pain. I feel doomed.

Fuck.

Yeah, fuck. I don’t know. It is a difficult situation I am in. I feel stuck. All I can really do to help myself is buy myself things that I like and just try and chill out. Read good books, listen to music, exercise, go for walks, go out to good meals. Stuff like that. This is the only solution I have found thus far. But I don’t know what to do with myself now. I have to be at work soon. I suppose I can just sit and wait. I don’t have much interest in doing anything right now. I don’t want to read. I don’t want to listen to music. I don’t want to exercise. I don’t want to talk with anyone. I think I am just going to sit here and wait until it is time to go to work.

Just sit and wait?

Maybe I will clean my house since having a clean house seems to be the only thing right now that brings me some degree of satisfaction.

Fuck.

Yeah, fuck.

 

The Nonconformist Writer

“Very few people read my stuff,” I said.

“But you are a great writer, things will eventually happen for you,” she said.

“I don’t think so. I post things that I write online and still after a decade and a half of regularly doing so, get two, maybe three likes. No one seems to care about what I write. No publishers knocking at my door. There are so many people out there who get thousands of likes on the things they post.”

“Did you think it would be different for you? Did you think that the kind of things you write about would get lots of likes?” she asked.

“I don’t see why not. I do not see why my writing would not attract more attention.”

“You are not writing about things that get widespread attention. You are choosing to write about things that the vast majority of people do not want to think about and are not smart enough to comprehend. You are not giving people what they want. You are not a conformist writer. Those writers who get lots of attention are mostly complete sell outs. They are crap. That is not what you are doing,” she said before walking into the bathroom and shutting the door.

 

Why can’t I remember to take off my shoes when I walk in the house? I said I would. Why do my testicles hurt so much? When I talk with carrots they always provide me with wisdom. I’ve been thinking a lot about female breasts. I wish I could have a sexual experience with an attractive and slutty young woman, an experience that brings me back that feeling of youthful, sexual excitement. Why wont my dog learn how to pick up her own crap? What is going wrong in my brain? It is true. I guess the vast majority of people do not want to read about these things.

Conformist writers are everywhere. The internet has exponentially exploded the epidemic of the conformist writer. The internet and bookstores are infected by the human waste conformist writers create. Conformist writers ultimately do no good in the world even though they tell everyone else how to. They perpetuate the mechanisms of capitalism. They help pacify and normalize individuals and turn them in to well-lubricated workers and consumers. Conformist writers instruct other people how to live happy, economically successful and spiritually fulfilling lives even though they themselves do not. They write simple and uninteresting (not challenging) dramas that reflect the vegetative needs of the majority. Conformist writers help keep mediocre people mediocre through the spread of mediocre ideas.

Ultimately, conformist writers are interested in one thing: wide spread popularity. They want to be known and this is why they write about things that the vast majority can relate to. They want to be adored. They want to be accepted by the vast majority. They want to be seen as smart and great. They want to achieve the same thing I would like to achieve, success as a writer, except they sell out and take the short cut there. They want status and cultural legitimacy (just like I do). The conformist writer has completely and absolutely sold out without even really knowing what they are doing because they are too dumb. “Show me the money and the likes!” is what the conformist writer is saying. They use the craft of writing (often very poorly and unartfully) to peddle their goods. To sell the vast majority mediocre and popular ideas about how to live, profit and live unintellectually stimulated, complacent lives.

The conformist writer takes no risks. They don’t know how to take risks. The conformist writer is frozen by fear, full-of-shit and this is why most of what they write is incredibly dull and will be forgotten as the years drag on. The nonconformist writer is always taking risks. They are always putting their status, economic situation, security and cultural legitimacy at risk. The nonconformist writer lives on the edge, because this is the only way to expose the absurdities and truths about the human condition in which they live. Conformist writers perpetuate the status quo while nonconformist writers break it down and are often seen as freaks, losers, failures, threats and aberrant outsiders because of it. But if it were not for nonconformist writers (and those others who tell the truth about what it means to be or not be a free-thinking human being) there would be a lot more suicide, alienation, despair, oppression, bad ideas, dull art and violence than there already is. Nonconformist writers articulate deeper, often taboo feelings that everyone feels but very few talk about. I have deep gratitude for nonconformist writers. They provide me the creative consolation, philosophical insights and friendship that I desperately need in these conformist, mediocre, legislative, religious, economically obsessed, Hollywood fabricated and bureaucratic times in which I live.

So, I will not have many readers. I probably will not find any literary fame. Not many people will read or like what I write. I will continue to work hard at my writing and pound on this keyboard every day; risking my professional, social and economic life for very little in return. My writing will be known to only a few but the nonconformist writer is always writing to the few. I will be writing in a void. Alone and stuck inside my own head just like every other isolated messiah. Ok. Such is the fate of the nonconformist writer. In the end, I will know that I told the truth about myself and the surrounding world in an unusual way. This is the job of the nonconformist writer anyways.

 

“You almost done in the bathroom?!” “I really need to use it!”

“Wait a minute dammit! I am using it now!” she replied angrily from behind the locked bathroom door.

I squeeze and wait.

The Making Of An Indebted Man

I was perfectly content spending all day and night in my chair. Yes, I dealt with intense anxiety but that is only because when a person spends a lot of time sitting still in a chair they become very aware of what everyone else is staying busy to forget- death. I was very aware of the inevitability of my own death and not knowing when it would come made me feel very apprehensive. But I dealt with it and aside from this, I felt very content spending all day and night in my chair doing whatever I wanted.

I read my books. I stared out the window. I watched the sun set and the sun rise. I drew pictures. I followed my breathing. I meditated upon various things. I remembered my youth. I masturbated. I ate food that was delivered to me from a health food co-op. I felt peaceful. I lived off money that was provided to me by the generosity of others. I was not doing anything with my life and as a result I felt like I was living fully.

My mother would occasionally visit me and become mad. She always brought me flowers (I don’t know why). My mother bringing me flowers made me feel very uncomfortable. Why was I just sitting in that chair? She was angry that I was not doing anything with my life (my father could not even deal with visiting me). She could not understand that I was doing everything with my life. She wanted me to get up more. She did not think that spending all my time in a chair, alone in my room was healthy for a young man. I told her that the greatest thing about my life was that I was a man free of debt (I told her this because I knew she lived buried in debt).

My father and my mother owned two large homes. They had numerous credit cards. Several cars. A small airplane. My main memories of my father and mother are of them sitting around the kitchen table with a large check book opened and stacks and stacks of bills piled up in the center of the table. As a kid I knew that I did not want that to be me. But then my mother said to me one day when she came to visit: Debt my son is a wonderful thing. It is what our society is built upon and it is what allows us to have a good life. I didn’t know why, but my mother’s words often had a strong unconscious influence over me. They made me do things that I knew I really did not want to do.

A man dressed in a standard business man’s suit came into my room one day. He was carrying a briefcase. I was at the point where I was trying to teach myself how to walk on the ceiling. I would not sit in the chair as much and instead I would learn how to walk on the ceiling. That would feel like a valid accomplishment to me. I was obsessed and fascinated with the idea of learning how to walk on the ceiling. My imagination was running wild. The man offered me an American Express Card, a MasterCard and the opportunity to have any graduate school of my choice paid for by a loan. He told me that these things would drastically improve my life and I decided to think about it.

Should I give up learning how to walk on the ceiling? Should I not be spending so much time sitting in my chair, enjoying my life? Suddenly I felt bad for the way I was living. Irresponsible. Failed. Maybe there was a more adult way to live? Maybe debt could give me an even better life than the one I already had? I would at least make my mother, father, father-in-law, mother-in-law, grandmother, grandfather, uncle, aunt, wife, creditors, debtors, president, congress people, advertisers, business owners and others that I was not aware of proud. When the man dressed in the standard business suit returned to my room I told him ok. I signed several things. I took the cards. I chose a graduate school that I would attend and the man told me when I could start. He gave me a check that he told me I would pay back someday in the distant future. Congratulations son. You have made a smart choice for the direction of your life. Welcome to being a contributing member of society. This idea made me nervous but I went to graduate school anyways.

I got a graduate degree. I was then offered a house and decided why not. It would be nice to have my own home. A different man in a suit told me that the house could be all mine if I just signed here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here.

I got the house. It was a nice house with a large backyard. I bought furniture for the house with the cards that I was given by the first man in the standard business suit. I was then offered more cards by various strangers who seemed so happy to give them to me. Credit cards were being offered to me by everyone. I had never felt like such an accomplished and trustworthy person before, so I said yes to all of them. I figured this was the responsible thing to do. I had made it! I bought a car. I rented an office and started the business that I was told to start by the people in graduate school. I bought more furniture for my office with the cards that proudly displayed my name on them. Suddenly I felt like someone important. I felt like I was living a legitimate, adult life. I bought patio furniture.

My mother, father, father-in-law, mother-in-law, grandmother, grandfather, uncle, aunt, wife, creditors, debtors, president, congress people, advertisers, business owners and others all seemed proud of me. They all wanted to talk with me. When I walked into other people’s businesses I was treated with respect. I had accomplished great things now that I was a man in debt. Suddenly people wanted to spend time with me and pay me for my time. I could buy whatever I wanted but the strange thing was that I started to feel very sad and had no idea why.

I missed those days when I spent day and night just sitting in a chair. I regretted that I had not learned how to walk on the ceiling. I was too busy and occupied now. If I spent too much time sitting in a chair I noticed that I felt bad. I tried but I always felt like I should be doing something else. I checked my iPhone a lot. I had a business to attend to. A house to run and keep clean. Things needed to get done and just sitting in a chair felt like I was letting important things remain undone. Now I was not anxious because of the reality of death, but I had dozens of others things that I worried could go wrong. My hair started to thin and fall out. I felt a dark despair in me that I had never felt before but began using my cards more to buy things and an effort to get the despair to go away. I bought expensive healing products to heal the diseases I felt like I was vulnerable of catching as a result of living a more stress-filled, adult life. I drank more wine to make the anxiety dissolve away.

I would forget to pay bills. I didn’t have energy to pay bills. How did my parents do it? I didn’t want to pay certain bills. Why should I pay my student loan back, when this was the life it had gotten me into? The man in the standard looking business suit had not told me the truth. I felt more and more depressed. More and more trapped. I longed for the simpler times when I was perfectly content just sitting in my chair. I just wanted to be able to walk on the ceiling and do other spontaneous and creative things. Instead, my life became routine. There was nothing else to do.

No one else seemed to notice how much I was suffering. I thought about ending my life. I thought about how trapped I felt. I felt rage towards the men in business suits and my mother for giving me terrible advice. I felt set up. I started experiencing anxiety attacks and was given Lexaproby another man in a nicer suit. After several weeks of taking the pills I started to feel better. I started to feel a bit more relaxed and content in my life. It was working! The despair and anxiety subsided and gradually I was not so miserable going to work. My sex drive vanished, I put on a bit of weight but when I sat down at my kitchen table and paid off the stack of bills, it didn’t feel so bad. Now I could begin getting my credit score back on track. I could start exercising, meditating and maybe even reading again. I could begin to just enjoy working, driving, buying things, hanging out with other people, taking care of my house and living an average life in the suburbs. It felt nice. I lost all interest in learning how to walk on the ceiling but who cares, that sort of thing doesn’t matter anyways.

My Penis

I enjoy taking my penis out. It is something I need to do for my mental and physical health. Doesn’t everything and everyone love going out? Why should penises be excluded? When I take my penis out it is like breathing in a deep breath of clean air. It is a great relief. It feels good, like taking a long sigh.

Obviously, I try not to take my penis out when other people are around (my neighbor sometimes catches me when I am in my backyard). People are easily offended and I do not want to create a public scare. Can you imagine? Local psychotherapist arrested for taking out his penis. No thank you. I would much rather avoid that fate. So, I take my penis out only in private places.

Most people tend to think of taking your penis out as some sort of perverted thing. What narrow minded crap. Is taking your son or daughter out perverted? Is taking a date out for dinner perverted? I don’t think so. Why should taking your penis out be any different? The penis spends long hours every day stuffed behind tight fighting clothing. How would you feel if you spent most of your day to day life crammed in? Taking out my penis is an important thing for me to do. It provides much needed release. It allows my penis and testicles to feel less sore. It lifts my overall genital mood.

It can’t be healthy to keep the penis stuffed away most of the time. The penis (and testicles) need to be let out a good amount of the time. They should not just be taken out when going to the bathroom. The penis needs fresh air. It is a very sensitive organ and the fresh air does it a lot of good. It helps the penis to feel more alive and if the penis feels more alive, well this just means that the man is more alive. When the penis starts to die, so does the man.

I take my penis out quite regularly. I take it out when I am in my backyard. I will take my penis out on breaks from work. We will go someplace where there is no other people around and for a few minutes several times a day, I will let my penis be free (kind of like a smoke break). When I am out in the city I will be sure to take a moment or two to find a private spot where I can take my penis out. I am out having a good time so why should my penis not be able to come out? Keeping the penis stuffed away beneath pants and underwear is not healthy for anyone. It is probably the cause of a lot of male disease and wars. So much unhappiness and poor health could be avoided if penises were taken out more. Just imagine if someone like Donald Trump would take his penis out more. If he could just find a private spot in the back of The White House and air out his penis several times a day. He would be a different kind of President. Maybe we could all avoid the Trump induced catastrophe, which is soon to come.

My penis needs to be taken out just like anyone else does. Who the hell would be happy if they were stuffed away all the time? I try and pay more attention to this and provide my penis with the kind of open space it needs. It might seem strange to some, especially to those who might catch a glimpse of me just standing there with my pants down and my penis hanging out. But to remain healthy it is something that I need to do. It is important to keep in mind that to remain healthy we all need to do certain things that may not make other people feel good or happy in the end. Taking my penis out several times a day is important for both of us, so despite what others may think (especially my neighbor who tends to get upset when he sees me standing in my backyard with my pants down and my penis hanging out), I have no intention to stop doing something that is obviously so crucial for my health.