Smooth as Anything
Master Don Juan
- Joined
- Sep 21, 2002
- Messages
- 1,230
- Reaction score
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We cannot gauge where we are now, if we have no idea where we were. Lost in a sea of confusion, Polaris stares at us ominously. Bewildered by its sparkle we follow it: and by noon tomorrow: we’re home.
Where are we now? Where were we then? Under a translucent guise of insecurity, covered under an opaque veil of arrogance- we’re unidentifiable. The transitions we make unknowable- our accomplishments cannot be congratulated. The more important our fight becomes: the smaller the reward. It seems contradictory. It is the conundrum of our lives, and there is simply nothing we can do about it.
Progressively, we become weaker as we become stronger. This paradox is what defines the lives of the strong. Seemingly fearless: we show-up. When everyone else stays home and calls it quits, with dignity… we cry in despair, spend 20 minutes putting our shoes on and we show-up. The stronger we are, the weaker we seem—the more translucent our skin.
Eventually the goals become irrelevant: they’re not there for the reasons they were before. We wanted to improve ourselves, take it to the next level: find something. Now, it’s a matter of life or death. Complacency is suicide. Tremendous pressures on our backs screaming so violently “DON’T GIVEUP!” You can’t. You’re too strong now, you won’t give-up. This just means more pressure. Eventually: we collapse.
Why do we face the day? Why do we fight? What more is there to win? Is there anything at all?
A pain dwells deep inside of our bodies and we want to quit. We don’t know why the **** we push on anymore. We should get rid of the pain. It’s all futile anyway.
It’s quite simple, really. It’s in the back of your head. You’re killing it. You don’t even think you believe it in anymore.
Love.
What a joke… what an illusion. What a hallmark holiday. Thank you February 14th. Thank you all.
Love of yourself. That’s it. That’s the whole ****ing show. That’s it gentlemen. There is not a damn more to it. You can run around in your circles all day, trying to get laid, which hey—I don’t even look down upon. Bravo, golf clap, good job. It’s no more important than the bull**** life I’m leading, but it’s certainly no less!
Just love yourself. Whatever that means—and I realize how damn simple and obvious that is. If everyone just loved themselves, holy ****…
So, that’s it. Love yourself. I’m not even going to go into it. There’s no reason to. It’s why we fight, it’s why we die, and it’s why we endure the pain. We do it because we love ourselves, and we know what’s best. No one else does. So **** them.
Next time you want to quit, ask yourself: “Do I love me?”
You’ll work until you’re ****ing crying if you do. Remember: any negative thing can be a positive thing if it forces you to better yourself.
In the name of love. Self-love.
Where are we now? Where were we then? Under a translucent guise of insecurity, covered under an opaque veil of arrogance- we’re unidentifiable. The transitions we make unknowable- our accomplishments cannot be congratulated. The more important our fight becomes: the smaller the reward. It seems contradictory. It is the conundrum of our lives, and there is simply nothing we can do about it.
Progressively, we become weaker as we become stronger. This paradox is what defines the lives of the strong. Seemingly fearless: we show-up. When everyone else stays home and calls it quits, with dignity… we cry in despair, spend 20 minutes putting our shoes on and we show-up. The stronger we are, the weaker we seem—the more translucent our skin.
Eventually the goals become irrelevant: they’re not there for the reasons they were before. We wanted to improve ourselves, take it to the next level: find something. Now, it’s a matter of life or death. Complacency is suicide. Tremendous pressures on our backs screaming so violently “DON’T GIVEUP!” You can’t. You’re too strong now, you won’t give-up. This just means more pressure. Eventually: we collapse.
Why do we face the day? Why do we fight? What more is there to win? Is there anything at all?
A pain dwells deep inside of our bodies and we want to quit. We don’t know why the **** we push on anymore. We should get rid of the pain. It’s all futile anyway.
It’s quite simple, really. It’s in the back of your head. You’re killing it. You don’t even think you believe it in anymore.
Love.
What a joke… what an illusion. What a hallmark holiday. Thank you February 14th. Thank you all.
Love of yourself. That’s it. That’s the whole ****ing show. That’s it gentlemen. There is not a damn more to it. You can run around in your circles all day, trying to get laid, which hey—I don’t even look down upon. Bravo, golf clap, good job. It’s no more important than the bull**** life I’m leading, but it’s certainly no less!
Just love yourself. Whatever that means—and I realize how damn simple and obvious that is. If everyone just loved themselves, holy ****…
So, that’s it. Love yourself. I’m not even going to go into it. There’s no reason to. It’s why we fight, it’s why we die, and it’s why we endure the pain. We do it because we love ourselves, and we know what’s best. No one else does. So **** them.
Next time you want to quit, ask yourself: “Do I love me?”
You’ll work until you’re ****ing crying if you do. Remember: any negative thing can be a positive thing if it forces you to better yourself.
In the name of love. Self-love.
(I will accept credit card numbers and blank checks for presents)