Quote:
Originally Posted by westopher
(Post 9168908)
Right about what at this point. I don't even know what you're getting at.
I agree the 2000s were better than now, but it's probably due in part to not having any responsibilities other than doing blow and going to shows.
I hope the Canucks still suck.
|
I spent my 20s and 30s like a pig in gilded shit, like a coke-fueled rockstar without the talent, like a fever dream of porn dollars and bad decisions, living like a fucking rap video, the kind where the hangovers last decades, like living the feeling of always having a lost wallet, or not knowing where your house keys are. After losing my mom to suicide, then making so much porn money and getting a Supra T78 Turbo at like 22 or 23, showered with attention and bitches like never before, it was fucking on for 15 years of sheer stupidity.
Then, the moment I held my daughter for the first time, her eyes wide, her hands impossibly small, gripping the shitty mouse-calloused finger of a man who had never gripped anything that delicate before. I knew, right then, that I had spent half my life chasing the wrong things, confusing myself, thinking that running away from pain was the antidote to fear. Mistaking the void for a friend, and indulging in a fucking buffet of drugs, bitches, parties... and, ultimately, suffering. But why? What is life even about?
And then I thought about my mother. The woman who spent her weekends driving my sorry, lazy 14 year old ass around, dropping off food to old fuckers I never gave a shit about. Sitting there in their dusty little apartments with their milky eyes and their brittle fingers wrapped around Styrofoam containers of whatever kindness looks like in edible form. Dropping off those bulk green containers, admittedly, those meals were fucking tasty. Sometimes, like 1/3, they did a full Christmas dinner style lunch at 11 AM, mashed potatos, gravy, turkey, cranberry, mixed peas and carrots, a piece of cornbread. I loved it when there were leftovers, which was more often than not. I saw how my mother dealt with those old fucks. She smiled at them. Cared about them. Cared about people she didn’t have to care about. It took me years to realize how rare that is. How fucking precious. Because when you’re a teenager, the only thing bigger than your ego is your ignorance. And I was no different. I wasn't any different until I pulled the plug on my porn business and threw myself with reckless abandon into poverty. Only by not giving a fuck, did I learn to give a fuck.
And now here I am. A man in his 40s who spent years breathing in the rot of Gastown, riding the shit-stained edge of the DTES, watching the city I once knew as a place strangers truly cared about each other, dissolve into a slow-motion apocalypse of drug zombies that were once human. Who knows, maybe even once they had a RS or IC account. And it’s worse now. Worse than I ever could have imagined. The kind of worse that doesn’t just happen overnight, but rots like a corpse in the sun stuffed with a rotten salmon full of beer and cabbage farts, a little more decay every day until the maggots pour out of a green and brown wound. You walk down Hastings and Main and you see it, shitty human suffering in its most distilled, purest form. The kind you can't look away from unless your soul is already gone, or simply numbed by your wealth and your easy life. The people in charge? They let this shit happen, they probably profit from it! They took a city carved between mountains and sea, an emerald full of anti-nuclear weapon hippies who gave nice speeches at Edith Cavell when I was in grade 7, a city with no excuse for ruin, and they turned it into a meat grinder where wealth meets meat and produces a Slaaneshian dream of exploitation and pleasure.
And the mainstream media? Fuck them. Fuck CTV, fuck Global, fuck CBC. They take a billion-dollar check (600+ million if I'm wrong in 2018) and do a song and dance, but the real news, the real fucking horror show, you gotta get that from some former cokehead on WokeScene who can't even feed himself, running through the HTTP warzone like a 'tard in his tighty whities dodging bullets of poverty. Because the real truth is dangerous. The real truth gets you fucking banned, gets you called crazy, gets you stomped on your balls by the invisible boot of people who pretend they're wearing a silk slipper.
I know I don’t fit in. Fuck I was already banned here and I didn't even do a threat, or any hate speech, or nothin' that bad! I don’t dress my age. I don’t act my age. I don’t live my age. But why the fuck would I want to? To trade honesty for comfort? To pull a sheet over my head and pretend the monsters aren’t real? This world we're in right now, is not the warm fuzzy world I grew up in as a kid. This cold, hungry, dagger-tooth grinning world, wants you numb and watching hockey and listening to Trudeau speak his absolute bullshit. It wants you perfectly sedated. And hey, if you're rich, why should you care? The world wants you obedient, take that COVID vaccine, don't ask questions.
If you wake up, if you say, “Wait a minute, I have a few questions,” they’ll throw you in the pile with the rest of us fucking losers. Call you crazy. Call you stupid. Call you mentally ill. And then they march on with their incredible wealth and social status the system provides for them.
Walk over the bodies.
Build the towers higher.
Sleep like babies in silk sheets.
While your fellow Canadians rot in the streets below.
