You win some, you lose some.
Sometimes you win the lottery.
Sometimes you lose everything.
It’s anyone’s game.
You win some, you lose some.
Sometimes you win the lottery.
Sometimes you lose everything.
It’s anyone’s game.
They would never know the streets like him,
how the music of his MP3 player would blend into his environment,
this soulful movie would play inside his head,
it would be so real
and if you’d watch it,
you wouldn’t feel so alone anymore.
You’d feel understood in a world that never seems that interested in you.
They would never know the quietness of walking these streets after midnight,
with only the occasional car in the background
and you wonder where these people are going at such a late hour-
you wonder about the murderous missions
of men trying to hide the bodies
and men trying to hide themselves.
All these people you will never know
do know and if they’d only stop
and talk to you,
you wouldn’t be so alone anymore.
They would understand your pain if only they saw you,
stumbling around at night,
calmly walking home,
hoping your parents are asleep,
because you don’t want to talk to them,
you don’t want them asking about you,
all the things that are going on
and what the hell you are going to do with the rest of your life.
And you wonder whether these people have a destination
or are just driving around?
How many times have they driven around and found themselves returning to the same place all over again.
We run and go back.
We fall back to where we belong.
When we don’t have anywhere to go, we go back to the place we know so well- even though we’ve been trying to run away from this place for so long.
This would be such a great movie if people could only see it
but when you try to explain the plot,
people don’t know what to say.
Like your life it doesn’t really have a plot,
it’s just a series of moments.
”It will be great, trust me!”
and they nod and they would if they could see it
but you’ll never make this movie.
You’ll never have the capital nor the work-ethnic or dedication.
It was only beautiful then,
in these streets only you know so well,
when you were all by yourself
with the music playing your eyes,
and the drugs peaking
and slowing down the closer you came to home.
For one moment you felt understood,
in that one moment,
you were ready to face the rest of your life.
If only the movie would stop then,
fade to black
the credits roll
but life goes on…
we all have to go home
and go to sleep.
And when we wake up,
the streets will never be the same again.
Picture from: https://hiveminer.com/Tags/eneade%2Cman
There’s too much gore,
it seeps down through the floorboards,
and drips down
the new generation,
those who were told fairy tales
instead of history.
And even in the savagest of days,
it became obvious to the storytellers
that people rather wanted to escape
the awful truth
that is human nature
and the beautiful environment they destroy
in order to create their failing utopia.
They prefer stories of heroics,
turning ordinary men in biblical saints
and the soldiers into daunting warriors,
and people would shudder in their presence,
the quick draw,
the bolt of lightning,
the bullet carrying them into oblivion,
how they never see it coming,
the smoke billowing out of the revolver.
And they need these stories
don’t you see?
They need them or else they will lose their minds.
And it gets so dark sometimes,
when you look back far enough,
when you notice the gore from the ceiling,
when you notice it on your shirt,
when you see people scrubbing it off their clothes
and when you tell them what they are doing
they say they know,
and they shrug
and they say ”that’s how it’s gotta be.”
And they tell you to not worry,
the people won’t stand for it.
Eventually they will get of their ass
and fix their gory mess
and make it look like it never happened.
They will find a way to turn back time.
They tell you that the eaters of children
will eat themselves too,
the hunger is too great
and can never be fully satiated.
It’s too powerful and too meaningless
and we are not meant to cope with it,
it is meant to destroy us.
And when that happens,
the darkness will slither away
and the light will come through.
And once people see it they will travel to that place
and inspired by the light
they will create a better world,
a world that will never repeat the mistakes of the past.
Yes, yes, don’t you worry young man,
the light will always take over.
The light always takes over.
And the way to do this is to keep those kids
because in their smiles
you can imagine
the light coming through.
And it’s so beautiful,
you’ll forget about all the gore.
But you can’t stop it,
But it can’t last,
age will take away the light…
You remember the limerick an aging angel or demon once told you:
”There are things that are coming
and things we won’t see coming
and are coming anyway.”
Eventually you will conform
because that’s the sane thing to do
because living with open eyes
is a good way
to lose your mind.
So you will scrub the gore on the floor
and listen to the stories
and after a while,
you will even start to believe the stories.
They will give you hope.
They will give you dreams
about all the things you could achieve,
about being the main character in one of those stories,
to be an old man and look back with pride
and say to your foolish and privileged grandkids
”all you gotta do is work hard.”
And sometimes you had to be a little vicious
and cut some throats.
It’s the way the world works,
it’s the bloody game we must play.
And as you sit on your throne,
and look down on your kingdom,
you will actually believe you deserve all of this,
this kingdom where you have 24/7 cleaners who scrub away the gore,
making sure you will never see it.
A hundred years later they will make movies
out of these ordinary men and warriors
and it will inspire people
and the real subjects have been dead so long
and you wonder what they will think,
you wonder if they will us the truth about who they really were.
And if they would
would you even listen?
Or would you choose not to-
because the stories are so much better
and it’s easier to live with yourself that way.
Or would you simply tell them to shut up and start scrubbing,
because the kids will be home soon
and they will be hungry.
soon when they be old enough
to ask uncomfortable questions.
They will ask about the blood seeping through the floorboards
and you have to warn them not to upstairs and look,
you gotta convince them that it’s better to stay down here,
where it’s warm
the illusions are thick with glitter
smell like bleach.
Not everybody wakes up.
Not everybody can redeem themselves.
Not everybody gets a chance to become a better person.
Some are on the right path but die along the way
and their story never gets a happy ending.
Not everybody gets a happy ending.
Nobody’s even entitled to an ending.
Sometimes life just ends.
In the middle of a pop song- you should have been more careful, you should have turned to the right…
All of it,
the light in their eyes,
the struggles of the past,
the dreams for the future,
gone, goodbye, sayanora, go fuck yourself.
Like it was nothing, like nothing ever happened, like nobody was even there.
It can be so impersonal,
a big mean surprise.
It can be such a pitiful sight,
seeing the strong wither away into oblivion.
Even those that are considered lucky didn’t even get luxury of dignity
and were deprived the sanctity of their final words-
they forgot them the moment they wanted to share them
and when they remembered the words,
they forgot the meaning of them.
Some, perhaps even most, never got over their personal demons
continued in their darkened path of bad habits and misunderstandings.
The moments of enlightenment too brie
and too painful to linger.
I don’t want it to hurt,
I don’t want to it to be near,
I don’t want to go away
and I’m asking you this,
if you’re listening
though I don’t think you even have that capacity anymore,
to leave me alone for the next 200 hundred years.
I promise I will only waste 193 of them.
The rest will be time well spent.
With the awareness of death,
after the last comforting and terrifying word of scripture,
after counting all the stars,
after reading countless peer-reviewed studies
about the lack of human meaning
this dark room filled with stars and planets,
and after everything is said and done
after all the warnings ignored
and the future becoming increasingly finite,
Yesterday during kick-box training my trainer stopped during one particular exercisewhere I had to exchanged two punches to the other guy
and then receive two punches in return
and the trainer told me to ”take it easy,”
cos ”you don’t know it yet but your face is drained of all color. You won’t notice it until it’s too late and then you’re hugging the floor.”
I didn’t notice anything until I was on my way home
and I felt dizzy and tired,
and it wasn’t until I had a good meal inside me that I felt better.
None of this is something to be ashamed of I guess,
but that’s how I feel.
I should be tough and handle this training
but apparently I’m too weak.
And whenever I leave training,
my trainer always reminds me to ”take it easy”
cos he can see that I’m stressed out too much.
It’s been a tough week for me,
at my job I’ve received negative feedback
because I make sloppy mistakes.
On a personal note,
the boss also told me that my language is too coarse
and when I come into work,
I’m complaining too much
and my colleagues get distracted because of this.
cos more often than not,
I start about something negative
and it’s tiresome listening to some naggy motherfucker all the time.
This affects the work environment.
Naturally she has a point,
cos I know I ain’t easy to deal with at times.
I can feel how uneasy she feels in my company at times
and that she doesn’t know how to deal with me.
Same with my colleagues who’ve witnessed on multiple occasions how quickly my mood switches
from casual to jolly
I could be having a good time
breaking balls with colleagues
then suddenly I’m lost in a ruminating thought
I start hating myself
I feel embarrassed cos they didn’t laugh at one my jokes enough
I’m haunted by this fear that I did something inappropriate
and they’ll talk amongst themselves
saying what a piece of shit I am.
And I’m constantly checking myself,
watching my language,
making sure I don’t touch anyone,
cos that would freak me out,
would spur on my OCD
and then I’d fear losing my girlfriend,
the one I love.
I know I should challenge my OCD
and not recoil into it.
The more you recoil into it
the stronger it gets.
But it’s too hard
and even after a few victories,
one failure can put me seemingly back to square one.
There’s all these things I want to achieve:
I want to be a great boxer,
and I do a match one day-
become a decent amateur (despite the fact I’m close to my thirties and I’m just starting out).
I want to be a great writer
create multitudes of
cos there’s so many stories in my head
but I’ve wasted so many of them
and I never finish anything.
I want to be a great Buddhist,
be meditative and calm
and teach people how to approach life.
And all of these things are hard
and I guess I want too much
cos I also gotta go to work
and I don’t like this work but I gotta make money.
I gotta sleep on time
else I’ll be tired and cranky at work.
I gotta eat healthy too or else I’ll feel bloated
and my man-boobs will get bigger.
My girlfriend tells me
to just focus on having fun with boxing and writing
but I haven’t been having fun doing either of those things in quite some time.
I feel horrible when I’m doing it
and I feel horrible when I’m not doing it.
So I don’t do it as much anymore
and just mindlessly watch TV shows and movies
and dream about doing it in the near future.
And when I go to sleep I dream about this man I want to be,
even though I don’t think I can ever be this man.
I think it’s too late to be this man,
I lost my shot for being this man,
this interesting and inspiring artist.
I think it was there somewhere in the past
but I fucked up
and choose self-pity instead.
Cos that was always easier,
cos telling yourself you will always fail
is easier than working hard and
So now that I’ve gotten this out of the way,
I’m going to get some lunch
and after lunch it’s time to make myself some coffee
and do some writing.
But before I do
I’ll remember what my trainer said:
”take it easy,”
You got that?
I think so.
you gotta be sure.
Yes I’m sure.
I mean how hard can it be?
Just relax, take it easy, have fun.
Should be doable right?
So I was having a discussion with the girlfriend of a friend of mine,
a university student from America
finishing her masters in Holland
and the topic was ”white-privilege.”
A light-skinned girl, she’s intensely dedicated to the subject.
She tells me about the different experiences of races in society,
and how whitey got it easy on many fronts.
Even if whitey is poor with bad upbringing,
it could never be worse than a black man whose poor with bad upbringing.
There are hidden forces working against minorities,
they were forged from its colonial inception,
covered in the blood, sweat and tears of slaves.
”Sure things are better” she says,”but we are still behind, still make relatively less money, still have less people in high government, still get killed by gangs and cops more frequently,
cos history is against us.
Cos we haven’t completely fixed it yet.
Cos we got fucked in the past.”
it’s awareness that will heal us,
the white man needs to be aware of his privileges,
how much easier he’s got
cos he ain’t gotta deal with the bullshit the minorities do.
And there’s truth in all of that
but it ain’t the whole truth.
My issue with intersectionalists like her,
is that they tend to collectivize too much
and don’t grasp that suffering is more individual than collective.
Even if one group receives more shit than others,
it still doesn’t mean they suffer more.
Suffering is personal,
suffering is spiritual,
it’s in the mind.
And when you suffer inside your skull,
when you get lost in the mess of the self,
that’s the worst pain of all.
They talk about THE BLACK EXPERIENCE
and there is such a thing
but it ain’t as big as they think.
There is so much more
and so much better.
Each individual is different
even if they never had an original thought in their mind.
Some are offended more easily,
some have autism and therefore have extremely sensitive stimulus,
some were beaten by their parents
and are always angry but they don’t know why.
Some wanna change the world
others want to fix this one.
Some are scared every day
while some seek dangerous thrills in order to feel alive again.
We all suffer
and even if we got all the privileges in the world,
we can still fuck it up so badly,
we can give it all up for something ridiculous,
we might be blind to our own possibilities
and the possibilities that society can provide for us.
We might not be aware of our innate flaws
until it’s too fucking late.
We might never really know ourselves.
We might feel like we are missing something
but we can never grasp what this thing is.
We are all in one way
victims of society
but we are as much victims to ourselves
to our upbringing
to our genetic programming.
We are all deliriously fucked up.
But we are all human,
and some of us too much so.
the HUMAN EXPERIENCE,
and we come in different colors,
and so much differences
and most of them don’t matter
and most of them can be overcome
and most it can be solved by mere acceptance.
We gotta be aware of our differences
but we gotta be aware of what connects us,
we gotta be honest about the past
but we can’t wallow in it.
We gotta move on,
hold hands as we does so,
tell our brothers and sisters
that the road is arduous and long
and there are still many evil people out there
and so many misunderstandings
and so much brooding violence
and so much confusion
it’s so easy to get lost along the way.
And yet we gotta try
even if we don’t agree with each other,
even if we see people bumping into brick walls.
Even if all the signs point out
that the future is as fucked as the past.
We gotta do something about all this mess….
It’s quite something,
this HUMAN EXPERIENCE.
”Don’t you agree?”