Being here helps you think like it does me. When I don't have anything to say I go back to life and read from it.
Everyone is a manager, we are all bosses. Freedom vitally makes us bosses of our life, we manage it with the decisions we make. You made a decision to come here, you are your own boss. You make a decision to stay here if you want to, you live the life you choose cause we live where freedom thrives.
I am also free to stay here, or free to pick up all these words, print them out, bind them, then keep them under my bed and view them at every ten year interval. See, how my thinking has changed, observe how my observation of the world is different, or how the worlds observation of the world is different.
There was a time when adverts read "my doctor smokes embassy" cigarettes then were a healthy snack. Look at the current worlds opinion of them? There was a time I posted crying for more viewers, now I want less for reputation reasons. What is really set in stone in this world?
I love the dynamism of it all, I love to observe it, I love to analyze it, I love to think about things, and that's what am doing. I might be wrong, I might be right, everyone might accept that am right, until some other writer comes along with new statistics and I become sort of a laughing stock. My wrong ideas are frozen in ink.
"Bobby, don't lie to us, it is here, in 1997 you wrote..."
And some journalist quotes me. Discrediting me for all am worth. You know what I will tell him?
"...no one is perfect, but there are people who strive to be perfect and those are the ones that end up winning."
I come here, I talk about the 'embassy smokes adverts' and it forces me to go back to where I love to be the most, my books. Am I making up things or are these facts supported by content.
I have written quite a bit, I have written questionably obscene things, which no one ever speaks loudly about cause of that fact. I have written angelic things, which is how I intend to live my life, cause to me as much as it is living life like there is no tomorrow, there is tomorrow. Party tonight, plan for tomorrow.
And I hope someone out there, that knows me for my words, has been through them and decided that, things can get tough, life can be a bitch, but we keep on, we don't jump over balconies when we try to blog, or do something and it doesn't work. We hang in there until we realize the top seat.
I hope someone has came here, decided that there is no charm in changing lovers like underwear, changing lovers like underwear is rooted on a deep desperate need to be wanted, to be loved, to prove ones worth or to live up to a shitty reputation.
If at the end of the day, I coin a story, have a little drama here, you know... something to entertain, but by the time you are at the last paragraph you decide that, hey what I am doing is good but it is not enough.
There are people out there who don't eat, there are fathers out there who are afraid of going home with nothing to give their children. And that sons father is the one that cleans your car. And if you had given him a few more hundreds then it will go a longer way than it would when you decide to buy pointless symbols of status that only massage your ego.
Not that massaging your ego is bad. But their is more to life than hanging your nose up high to smell fresher air than the one of the dust on the soil.
We are humans, our systems are human designed, the whole idea of government is ours, we could be wrong, I challenge the very foundation of it. And if I am wrong so be it, if I am right I might be able to stumble upon an idea that will change the way we love, the way we share, the way we care, the way we live for the better. If I don't I will know I tried.
So I write here, cause when you share your ideas publicly you are questioned, you are commended, we talk, you make friends, you make ties, we think together, we enjoy together, we become humans and not rats that are put in a rat race, to act like machines and not people.
Sometimes I want to go back in time, reorganize the ideas I had in the past to fit the present demand, but I don't.
Cause if just one person went back to the history of all these, amongst learning that nothing really ever happens over night, my past imperfections might be the small voice that whispers
"...try again"
Whilst the world tells him
"give up"
