Be. Like. Your. Fellow. Man. Use the same catch phrases. Watch the same television. If you are women, have synchronized periods. Enjoy the same music. Heckle and disown friends of yours if they don’t like Ariana Grande to the same extent that you do. Heckle your friends that don’t wear the same skincare products, that don’t own the same underwear, that don’t like the same boys. And if you heckle a non-conformist, non-tribal fellow girlfriend to suicide, make snide jokes about it while applying makeup together in the communal restroom. Listen to Jake Paul. Support Monsanto suicide seeds. Say “That’s what she said.”
With the grain. That’s where I’ll stay. Floating downstream, I maintain with the grain. Get a job, it doesn’t matter what, as long as everyone else is doing it. Be unhappy, because then you can commiserate with your coworkers. That is how human bonding is done. If you enjoy your work you will be seen as a leper, and you will be exiled with stones and sticks and rightfully so. The only joy to be had in work is the complaint of work. If you complain, you smile and delude yourself into thinking you are above your work, meaning you never have to consider leaving your work, as you’re more valuable than your work. You are a big fish and you don’t even need to care what size the pond is. All that matters is you’re floating above it.
We are working hard or hardly working. Yes, the rest of the world toils in a relentless grind so we can live in relative luxury with at least four different brands of farming simulator video games. Over-consume our finite resources. Yes, factory farmed animals’ lives are planned from birth to death, not for need of survival but our palate. If we were in their position we would want the same for ourselves. If animal species live their life in bondage and abject slavery, it means they are being culturally enriched by our harmless and wholesome sexual predilections. To deny this is to say see things in binary instead of 50 shades of prime grade.
Become part of the same church. Wear the same shirt. Watch the same shows. Believe the same things. You’ll get laid. You’ll have identical homes. Suburban sprawl with finished basements. You’ll pay 5,000 more for your SUV than the Joneses. You’ve made it. Have the same hair dye, and the same kids die. Have the same tattoos that prove how unique you are in the same spots. Enjoy the same positions to create the same children with the same 25 most popular American birth names. Then Lucas and Caleb can have the same lives and deaths their parents did. Have the same death bed experience, the same funeral, the same flowers, the same diseases venereal.
You may think that this is some grotesque savage satirical take. I mean every word. Sure, risk-takers move society forward, but mostly they die. Become rank and file. Jesus said give me convention or give me death. He was a great soldier of the 21st century. He was crucified on a white picket fence and knew the greatest way to experience life is not to be present. It’s to be confused. Predictable and defanged enough to be loved by another. People say they like surprises. They don’t. They threw a party for me on my birthday? Holy shit, who could have seen it coming. No surprises unless it’s fiction. We feel the same way about death and illness. We want to see what’s coming. It’s controlled demolition by way of life and wife that’s ball and chain. It’s complaints about insurance and car payments. No violence, no threats, and your reprieve is red screens which mirror this.
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