Observations from a tremendously ordinary view (part 1)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
All of those thought combined into a short story.

More to come.

Submitted: November 05, 2013

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Submitted: November 05, 2013

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I never wanted to do nothing. It just comes to me naturally. I should explain that, then again, it might be pretty self-explanatory.

 

Looking around, though who can blame me? What person enjoys getting up at 7am, putting on their shoes and socks, brushing their teeth, having a painfully average coffee and getting dressed to do something that they don't like to do for the majority of the day?

If you do, then you won't like me. Then again, I don't like me. I like me a lot more than I like others. But it doesn't really mean I am happy with me.

 

Doing nothing leaves me time to plan everything. Leaves me time to realise how things really work. Makes me realise I never want to work. Work is the closest thing to a prison sentence there is. It will destroy us all. Now, of course there are people who have to work in order to eat. For those people, I feel terrible. I want to be the one who frees the motherfuckers down the below and lead them to make the cunts up above and overtake them. But in order to save the world, you have to save one at a time.

 

Or so I wish. Is apathy a good way to lead a revolution? A big group of people caring very little isn't the start to anything other than everyone fucking and killing each other. I do like fucking as much as the next guy, maybe even more than him, but as I'm going down on a chick the last thing I desire is someone to club me and lead me into a cave and burn me.

 

I guess I should tell you something about myself. I am a genius but nobody knows it but my mind. In my eyes, I'm the hero. Always have been, always will be. So when life hands me a less than important role, my ego twists it round into making it sound that had I not acted in the way I did, things would've not been okay. Had I not flipped those burgers, then those hungry kids would've not eaten. Had I not put that stock on the shop, then the people would have not bought their clothes. Had I not got coffee for those football fans, then the stadium would be half asleep. Its how I bridge the menial into the extraordinary. Makes life go by at a different pace.

 

I have lived my entire life content, often happy. Never legitimately upset, although maybe its past that point where the pain comes along so often that it idea of being caught in the most recent annoyance rolls into moving on to the next thing. The next woman. The next night out. The next house party. No point in dwelling on what happened in the past. The past stinks. It fucking reeks all the way to heaven. Where boring old angels sit there and make you feel guilty for smoking weed for wanting to fuck another woman besides your own. Or having fleeting thoughts or murder as your bully is punching you in the face for the 30th time in 40 days. People drag the past like is a bag attached to them thinking they need to suffer for their sins. They don't. Suffer for your art. It'll make you feel better.

 


© Copyright 2020 MiguelDeCastro. All rights reserved.

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