You Can't Unring a Bell

Went solo trekking today. 75 mile stretch of barren hard scrabble earth. Just me my truck and my pistol. Its the dead of winter. Just me & my own echo. No one would know if I distintegrated out there. I swerve off road and slam the brakes in the middle of nowhere. Just clumps of dirt cloistering me- I step out barefoot, spark an unfiltered Nat Sherman & feel the gravitational pull of the world beneath me. I walk, I walk, and I walk.

It occurs to me that tomorrow is never coming. In the realest sense it’s not. Your dreams die when you fall asleep and you’re lucky if they reawaken with you by morning.

Delay is a weakening factor. The world would be at optimal function if even 1% of mother-fuckers refused to delay their dreams another nanosecond.

But fantasy is the fentanyl of dopamine. And boy do mother fuckers love a toke off their own supply.

It’s time to face reality. The women you dream of are all getting fucked by men who are manipulating the physical world. Disrupting their environment. The money you dream of making is being made by all the same.

A single delusion can Jack 50 years from you.

Enraptured semi-comatose in your own manufactured fun house. Dick still dry. Bank account still depleted. Influence & power still none.

“I’ll get lucky”

No you won’t. You haven’t worked near hard enough to get lucky. & waiting isnt patience. Waiting means you’re already dead.

Youve been physically informed.

& You can’t unring a bell.

Resurrect yourself, raise the black flag & get to mother fucking work.