Anyways, because I have nothing, I'm going to show you a piece that I wrote last summer (July 27th, 2011), dedicated to my sister who (at the time) was about to turn 18.
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Today's just an ordinary day… and tomorrow will be, as well. I'm still going to wake up groggier than a man hanging over from another good time. I'm still going to start my day by looking at a man in the mirror preceding a masterful throw of warm water on my face that is so refreshing, I don't even want to go back to bed. Before opening my door to beams of sunlight and head downstairs to my dining room table where a laptop awaits me with a cluster of emails, I indirectly think about how I'm going to prepare myself to the best of my ability for anything that comes across my path… and, of course, think to myself: "What a wonderful world!"
Sometimes, I think about my days of yore, and how long ago 'twas when I was young… or shall I say: younger. 'Twas a score ago when I had been wrought. Okay… I'm not that old, but I must say: I am older… older than I was before I reached a certain age.
When I was seventeen, it was a very good year. It was a very good year for small town girls… and soft summer nights; kind of like this year, and last year, and the one before. It will only be a matter of time when I start talking about when I was twenty-one, living below perfume scented girls whose legs open quicker than the bottle cap popping out of an effervescing Pepsi bottle. It'll only be a matter of time when I will start talking about effervescing champagne bottles.
Turning eighteen is a big deal to many people. In the U.S., you are finally given a taste of the freedom that a typical seventeen-year-old anticipates: marrying an asshole/bitch, divorcing an asshole/bitch, and suing an asshole/bitch. Okay… not exactly what most seventeen-year olds look forward to, but there are other things, too: joining the military, adopting a child, becoming a stripper. No? How about buying lottery tickets or paying taxes? Am I getting any closer? (Well, it's freedom, isn't it?)
In all seriousness, there is all of this freedom that everyone brags about once they turn eighteen. I used to look forward to being in charge of my own bank account, being able to vote, and having the eligibility to shop for porn. Of course, there are the people who completely take advantage of their liberties at this fine age by instilling "artistic" ink into their bodies, buy products bad for their health, and (literally) gamble away their life and end up in prison. However, with all these crazy age laws about what we can legally do, it creates all these ideas in our heads. It makes us think about all of the things we still can't do at eighteen. It makes us think about "aging" at an early age. It takes out all the fun of why people do the (then) illegal things in the first place. Seriously, do you know many middle-aged people or senior citizens who decide to pick up a cigarette and light it if they've never smoked anything in their life?
So… moral of the story: When making decisions as an independent person, live life dangerously while you can. Make life exciting, as life gets too boring eventually. (Coming from the wise and experienced words of a twenty-year-old who has lived out most of his life…)
Bless you all… whether you have sneezed or not.
References:
Papa Roach's "Forever"
Louis Armstrong's "What a Wonderful World"
Frank Sinatra's "It Was a Good Year"
Time is that thing no one can change. You can manipulate anything in relation to time
ReplyDeletePressure to go faster, resist to go slower, repeat it over and over again
but still, you are left with the same minutes that would have passed since you have started.
You are only in control of the accomplishments, in control of the mistakes – but not the time.
It’s strange that time, a frame of reference, can be used as a measurement that gives you priledges. What? When the whole concept is broken down to the most elementary level – you could say what the fuck.
The amounts of minutes, or days, or years that I have lived give me something?
Okay, they do.
They give you experience.
But besides that, they give you a license to kill? A license to drive? A liscense to smoke and to drink?
These laws scramble what the true ability of nature is-
You can get pregnant at fourteen, abort it by throwing yourself down the stairs. Will someone tell you you’re going to be chained up?
But you were chained up already, no?
-every time your grounded
-every new amendment
-every law that defies nature
-every time you were prevented from doing something in conformity with what is possible by the laws of science
The crazy aftermath of your eighteenth birthday is just a release bolting away from the law because now the law says it’s all okay
Maybe nobody would have that break-through-the-chains-reaction if they were never put in the chains, or aware of the chains
a can of beer, a glass of wine, a night of rough sex, vodka, and more vodka. Glasses and shots, and they all burn but you keep going. You’re eighteen now, it’s dark, and everyone knows but nobody can see
And there you go, your momentum cannot be controlled from that breakthrough . . . and
You fall off the e d g e .
I think the truth is, wisdom comes gradually.