i got this on the mail today.. i tought it was pretty neat..
My primary interests in life, at the moment, are moderated by my body. I want to eat, sleep, and I want to ****. Maybe that's because I'm young and male, or due to some freak sex drive and manic metabolism, but I feel no shame. I have plenty of hobbies, and a steady day-job to feed them the cash they consume like crack rocks in the projects...yet my keenest interests curve back to eating, sleeping, and ****ing.
There's precedent in this: Watch the Discovery Channel. You'll see lions eating gazelles, having sex, and sleeping in the sun. All the animals do on the Serengeti is eat, ****, and lay around for photographers kind of like porn stars. What's wrong with that? For all the contrivances in the modern world, what improvement do we really offer on that system?
It sucks for the animals that get chased down, but they, in turn, have their own utopia: munching on grass, then cavorting, then sleeping in the sun. Same thing, different diet. Fruit flies don't sleep. They have the greatest lives ever: they're born, eat several times their body mass, **** with abandon, then die without ever caring about more. Have you ever seen an unhappy fruit fly?
Our bodies tell us to eat and procreate. Since the advent of beer, mankind's thirst has skyrocketed as well. But what natural drive drags man out of bed to tie a Windsor-knot-noose around his neck and shuffle off to the office during the prime of his life, on beautiful summer days? And whose sadistic idea was it to prohibit inter-office dating to remove the last vestige of primal instinct from our daily lives? Take away lunch why don't you, finish it off.
If you're inclined to religion, look to the history of man: God gave man everything he needed: food and naked women (Lillith as well as Eve, for the zealots out there). Man needed no more, but soon ambition got in the way of euphoria, and men invented jobs they hate, to buy **** they don't need, to stroke egos the don't deserve. Look at your manager. He has no equivalent in the pride, pack, or flock. In the wild, they'd kill the son of a bitch, then eat his gazelle. The original balance of things was knocked off its foundation, and this leaning tower has grown more precarious with each new story history writes.
Every generation struggles with their questions of identity and direction. You are what you do, what you say, what you think. Our grandfathers had World War II, whether they liked it or not (and I suspect that few of them enjoyed it). Our parents had the cultural revolution of the 60s, which was nothing more than organized chaos...but in the melees of guns and bombs, drugs and music, people found themselves. In the sixties they also found a lot of drugs and had a lot of sex. Hence, us.
For ten years, twenty if you include the shrinking culture that continued through the seventies and then died in garages and basements in the 80s, people did what they felt inclined and compelled to do: eat, ****, sleep. They also wrote songs and painted pictures, traveled the world with abandon, and actually made efforts to find what truly matters to them.
A lot a helluva lot of bull**** came out of those years, and there's nothing worse than getting stuck next to a stinking hippie three weeks ripe from thumbing it around California. But, give them credit: they were guided by their instincts, the gut feelings that are never as wrong as the bad decisions you make when you deny your metal and kowtow to someone else's vision. They were onto something, something the lions and tigers and bears knew all along: happiness is a warm spot in the sun, an acquiescent lioness, and a slow gazelle.
Have we really improved on that formula?
My primary interests in life, at the moment, are moderated by my body. I want to eat, sleep, and I want to ****. Maybe that's because I'm young and male, or due to some freak sex drive and manic metabolism, but I feel no shame. I have plenty of hobbies, and a steady day-job to feed them the cash they consume like crack rocks in the projects...yet my keenest interests curve back to eating, sleeping, and ****ing.
There's precedent in this: Watch the Discovery Channel. You'll see lions eating gazelles, having sex, and sleeping in the sun. All the animals do on the Serengeti is eat, ****, and lay around for photographers kind of like porn stars. What's wrong with that? For all the contrivances in the modern world, what improvement do we really offer on that system?
It sucks for the animals that get chased down, but they, in turn, have their own utopia: munching on grass, then cavorting, then sleeping in the sun. Same thing, different diet. Fruit flies don't sleep. They have the greatest lives ever: they're born, eat several times their body mass, **** with abandon, then die without ever caring about more. Have you ever seen an unhappy fruit fly?
Our bodies tell us to eat and procreate. Since the advent of beer, mankind's thirst has skyrocketed as well. But what natural drive drags man out of bed to tie a Windsor-knot-noose around his neck and shuffle off to the office during the prime of his life, on beautiful summer days? And whose sadistic idea was it to prohibit inter-office dating to remove the last vestige of primal instinct from our daily lives? Take away lunch why don't you, finish it off.
If you're inclined to religion, look to the history of man: God gave man everything he needed: food and naked women (Lillith as well as Eve, for the zealots out there). Man needed no more, but soon ambition got in the way of euphoria, and men invented jobs they hate, to buy **** they don't need, to stroke egos the don't deserve. Look at your manager. He has no equivalent in the pride, pack, or flock. In the wild, they'd kill the son of a bitch, then eat his gazelle. The original balance of things was knocked off its foundation, and this leaning tower has grown more precarious with each new story history writes.
Every generation struggles with their questions of identity and direction. You are what you do, what you say, what you think. Our grandfathers had World War II, whether they liked it or not (and I suspect that few of them enjoyed it). Our parents had the cultural revolution of the 60s, which was nothing more than organized chaos...but in the melees of guns and bombs, drugs and music, people found themselves. In the sixties they also found a lot of drugs and had a lot of sex. Hence, us.
For ten years, twenty if you include the shrinking culture that continued through the seventies and then died in garages and basements in the 80s, people did what they felt inclined and compelled to do: eat, ****, sleep. They also wrote songs and painted pictures, traveled the world with abandon, and actually made efforts to find what truly matters to them.
A lot a helluva lot of bull**** came out of those years, and there's nothing worse than getting stuck next to a stinking hippie three weeks ripe from thumbing it around California. But, give them credit: they were guided by their instincts, the gut feelings that are never as wrong as the bad decisions you make when you deny your metal and kowtow to someone else's vision. They were onto something, something the lions and tigers and bears knew all along: happiness is a warm spot in the sun, an acquiescent lioness, and a slow gazelle.
Have we really improved on that formula?
