I took $8000 to Vietnam and now I live like JFK. Up at noon, 11:00 a.m. if ambitious. Then it’s beer out by the Thang Loi Resort pool, then fucking my girlfriend in her tan lines. My mind can no longer simulate what an obligation feels like, it’s been so long. No stress except: write funnier shit for your blog. This is nice, this is smooth. Am I dead?
I don’t view all this as amazing, I view this as a baseline. Life should be like this. I’m angry that it hasn’t always been. And that I almost had this life from the jump. Was born one zip code away from the Illuminati cliff mansions. Almost made it. My goddamn stork.
But I don’t need to be rich to be happy. Actually, yes I do. Because fuck work. I am above it, you are above it, we all are above it. The concept is abhorrent; life is full enough without it. Earth’s sweetest cruelty is how rich and textured it is and how you’re never going to see it all. Temples on high peaks and fish in haunted reefs. You will never even see a trillionth of a trillionth of a percent of it. You will never have the time to find joy through woodcarving. You will die before finding the one book or foreign film that would have lit your soul on fire. Your only hope is that you one day trip over something similar to it. What lies before us all is an endless journey over an ocean of beauty. Then God decided to throw work into the deal. Suck up half your waking life, leave you too exhausted to do anything with the other half. That’s the best case scenario, that’s if you’re lucky enough to have someone pay you.
It’s all wrong. If God were a CEO, he’d be fired the first Monday. A king, he’d be guillotined. There are probably other Gods out there, who mock our God for mismanaging his pathetic planet of broken people so badly. He’s the Kim Jong-un of deities.
Quiet alley. Iced coffee while a guy powerwashes my dumb little scooter for eighty cents. A good book about coke smuggling in Bangkok.
My soul is healing after the stress of Korea. My job there with its suicide hours, the frantic drunken weekends. Now I do yoga. Safe hobby, now that it’s 2016 and it’s not politically correct for my friends to call me gay for it. I like being truly bad at something, then beginning to improve at it. I like the agony in my knees. The mystical breathing. It’s got me looking inward. Trying to evolve. One last, deep problem, the problem that only a comfortable person ever gets around to: how do I love myself, but without becoming a dick about it. This being the Far East, I Googled Buddhism. Apparently I have to rid myself of desires. Could take forever. What a pain in the ass. I don’t want to think about that journey, wrestle with it. Must be time to go back to work.