preface to bullshit

   I guess I have always been an outsider in mentality. I have never really thought of something as mine, I have been part of things sure but never really took ownership. To me ownership never really makes that much sense. The only thing anyone ever really has experiences and knowledge based on those experiences such as favorites, a way of looking at the world, a sense of good and evil which seems to be a personal thing. You have your own skills and aptitude, fears, likes but all of this can change over time. Claiming something that you have no control over makes no sense to me at all. If you have pride or take ownership of a place or culture I get that, you can change those things, you can move or change cultures like many do. I am not saying there are not things worth fighting for but those things are different to everyone as we have seen countless times through history. Many want or feel the need to fight which is a good thing and I am sure to them their reasoning seems pure, I don’t join anyone’s fight often unless it is in protection of someone close to me then again I trust in them to be able to fight their own battles.

   Maybe it is because of the area I grew up in, or being a loner to an extent, or countless other reasons that I have this current outlook. I am no god damned hippie, yuppie, dreamer, or idealist at least in my eyes anyway. I just have started caring more or even less, I guess it depends on how you look at it. I would love to see the bombs drop and end it all at the same time I want to see as much of it as I can while I can. The experiences and what we take away from them is all we are left with when it all ends or is close to ending.

   I have sat with bar stool profits, people that have seen themselves at royalty, others that don’t have two cents that they haven’t found on the ground somewhere. I would not trade any of that for something that could be held bought or sold.You do not need to own a book to get knowledge from it, you just have to have read it. I think that is what life is really, a book of sorts where each breath is another word on the page. I see no reason to have the pages filled with bought goods and trinkets but lacking substance adventure and pursuit of something even if you do not know what that something is all the time.A homeless man and a millionaire can both have compelling stories fraught with struggle fear and chances at death the main difference is where their stories might end. There is nothing wrong with comfort or security, and there is something to be said for discomfort and new situation, the lessons taught and the road less traveled.

   These stories are not told in the order they happened. It has been a while and I don’t remember the dates times, sometime even names, I usually remember places. Enough bullshit, time to start jogging down memory lane with a handle of rum for starters.


That’s right it’s uncle dipshit’s story time assholes.



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