THE LIE

We lean toward the future like it owes us something.
The most disrespectful thing you can do to life is put it off.
It tells life you expect more, while doing nothing with what you have.
While no one is watching, you’re rehearsing the posture of someone who waits.
You want tomorrow to save you while you squander today.

THE EMBODIMENT

I sing opera in three languages while making breakfast. Four, if you count the one that doesn’t exist. The best yolks are round and plump, like basketballs. They don’t lie flat and I swear they could bounce. The blue flame ignites beneath the steel skillet. I belt sounds I’m not sure are any good, but I do it anyway.

Somewhere between terrible and Pavarotti, I exist. And sometimes, I exceed even the best, because I am embodying one of one.

I give it a rest.
The audience applauds.
I flip the golden yolks over with one hand. I don’t know anyone like myself. I’m not trying to. I just watch my life between the rhythm of invented music and a body in purposeful motion.

This is the difference.
Most people move through the day without personality.
Annoyed. Distracted. Offended by the gift of the morning.
This is it.
Like it. Hate it. Love it. I don’t care. Just know, you are playing the tune. You are the lights. The camera. The action.

I clocked in once. That was all I needed.
No invoice. No payday.
I cash in every second and I’m not waiting for a check to be the man I respect.

That’s the only difference.
I can’t make excuses. I went all in.
I am the director, the star, the crew, and the damn janitor.
You fuss because you keep saying you have to.
I don’t. I do it on my terms.

You just happen to be alive you ungracious motherfucker.

THE CLIFF

Have you thought about suicide?

Have you honesty sat down and considered it? Oh, is that appalling to consider? It’s appalling not to consider. It’s the only real alternative to life. It’s a pretty good deal for someone who is perpetually miserable.

Seriously think about it. If you don’t, you are hiding from reality. You can live life, dodge life, or just stop. And kill yourself. Because death is the only reason to live now.

Death is the only offer that takes away your financial problems, your childhood trauma, and your fat stomach, forever. There’s no offer like it. I’m coming up with a new bumper sticker idea right now:

“Still fucking around? Ask yourself about suicide.”

And you still think this is just an unpleasant blip in the article. If you’re squirming now, convinced this part doesn’t apply to you, you haven’t looked. And as long as you refuse to look, you aren’t alive.

Figure out why you shouldn’t kill yourself.
If you got nothing, there’s two options:

1. Find a reason fast.
2. You guessed it.

You’re so sensitive to death, you just want to keep it in a closed box, six feet underground. We like that so much.

Do yourself a favor, think about it, write about it, stand at a cliff and ask yourself:

Why shouldn’t I jump right now?

And for all of you clenching your ass and calling this inappropriate, you can be sure you aren’t alive, because I know you have never looked. And as long as you keep yourself safe from peering over the edge, you will always know you are as good as dead.