To be happy you need to drink. Just sometimes. Just a quick blast at the right time to jump over some of the wreckage. Only drink sometimes, because if you do it more than sometimes everyone will make you stop.
To be happy you need hope. But then the screens when you get on the train in Seoul are horrifying. Look at America, they’re testing a pre-crime detection system. 70% accuracy rate. The cops will arrest you for public urination while you’re still at the bar. Look at America, they’re running out of water. Look at China, their denim factories are poisoning the aquafers for the whole continent. Zero people are concerned. The collective plan is: stay top gear until we hit the wall. So what do you do. Hope this is a nightmare and we all wake up in another reality.
To be happy you need to sweat, watch the sun go down in different places, and you need to create. For free, and for yourself. To be happy you need family, you need them to be OK. But your sister is 19, she’s adopted, she’s a textbook sociopath. She already has a baby and she doesn’t feed him. Too busy Snapchatting. You need her to stop being this way, stop drunk driving through existence with the chemicals in her head mixed wrong. Stop killing our Mom with your stress. So what do you do. Tell her: feed the kid and change him. Coordinate your threesome after that. What do you do, make a request for intervention from whoever’s running the universe. Whoever it is answers sporadically. You’re sending spam to a full inbox.
To be happy you need friends. And you have them and with them you’re a good listener. But maybe too good. They tell you the same stories, three or four times. They forgot you were there the time before. You tried not to be such a grating asshole and you overcompensated and now you’re not memorable, you’re a low-impact presence. So what do you do. Well, who knows. To be happy maybe you need to be noticed. It’s hard to be ignored while you’re fucking. Text her, knock on the door at 3:00 A.M. Let me in. I don’t really even like you that much. And you keep telling me the same stories. But you have a tight pussy and being on your bed is like being suspended inside a cloud of stardust.
Wake up, back in that place where nothing you try seems to work. But to be happy you have to be too stubborn to quit. Which you are. So, onward. What do you do. Try again, try new things. Try ten thousand different things, if that’s what it takes.