Hughman Flaws

At times, I feel like a convict. It is difficult for to participate in the daily push and grind like I used to. Well, back then when I was younger, with a better metabolism and boundless curiosity, I felt I had my future in front of me. Of course there is no exception that I was to have taken those years for granted, as is the charge for most people. Now that I’m older, the word cholesterol incorporated into my universe, and most of my questions answered -I have to live. Life now feels like a sentence I must serve from a fraudulent conviction.

I’m not angry nor am I depressed. I wish I were sometimes because of the fun pills they give you. But like most citizens of my country, I don’t have health insurance. There’s always the odd Mary Jane facility scattered around Los Angeles, but Mary Jane was never good to me. It was never an enjoyable experience when we were together, so I split. Then there’s the street pharmacist that’s got the upper hands. They’re dealings are more frowned upon because movies made them out to be villains almost all the time. Funny thing is most of the actors in those movies usually had the upper hand. Until the 1920’s that stuff was more like cognac and caviar.

I know what it is. It’s the masses that bother me. They really stress my sentence more than necessary. These days everyone’s goal is to get a degree, doesn’t matter which, to convey that they can take orders and think inside their specific box of expertise -just so they can enlist in the army of managers, as Huxley once quipped. The taste of power is begets an even worse addiction than any pharmaceutical debaucheries. They steal the best years of everyone’s lives, and that’s somehow okay. Okay. They call it capitalism or something and say it’s a right. Or was it a privilege, I forget.

I really don’t mind, though. A life is only worth something if it is lived for someone else. To the enslaved workforce they’re worth something to the managers, but to the slave they’re worth something for their wives, or husbands, or kin. Just for the right to live. I don’t think it has to be that way, but I didn’t enlist anywhere, so my words have no clout. So they say, at least. I don’t mind because I don’t really have someone to live for. Not even some thing, like a cause or whatever. It wasn’t a choice for me. Then again, it really isn’t a choice for most. Until I find someone, or some thing, I will live with decadence until death because it truly is the only way to respect one’s own livelihood. Who knows, maybe decadence was the intention for humanity all along.

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