Why I don’t vote

PART ONE. PLACE BALLOT HERE AND WE’LL BE SURE TO COUNT IT. (MAYBE)

First and foremost, please allow me to begin with the obvious facts.

Am I an idiot? Could be.

Do I think you’re an idiot, no matter who you are? Most likely.

Is the world one massive idiot stew? Yep.

Will the polar ice caps melt and destroy large parts of the populated world as we know it? Well, that seems to be the question, now, isn’t it?

It is a lovely summer day out here in Berlin Germany I must say. Great place to wag the dog and forget about your first world troubles, or better yet, sip a coffee and complain about your first world troubles on a computer run by a chip some third world child was forced to mine out of the Earth for little to no compensation.

Yes, yes. Problems. And just how to fix them is anyone’s guess.

“Hey, let’s vote!” said the dumb ass American, because yep, you guessed it, it’s good old presidential voting time. So, once AGAIN, because I ALWAYS have to have this stupid discussion, over and over, here’s the reasons I’ll most likely never vote in America.

1. Electoral college.

If someone could please explain to me why this beats popular vote, I might think about it, but then again, I would either be registered in California or New York, neither of which are “swing states” deeming my vote “worthless.”

So some say, “register in Colorado, or “trade” votes with someone in Florida or Colorado,” to which I’ll point out, that’s kind of taking away from your whole point of voting. It’s cheating, you might as well tell me to get a job at the polls and deny black people from entering by claiming they aren’t registered.

If you’re too dumb to see what I’m saying, what I’m saying is that some people are far superior at cheating at this shit than you are, you idiot, they’ve been cheating you out of your thoughts and freedoms since 1776(9).

It’s a CON SPIRICY I TELL YA. (That was a joke, kind of.)

2. Separation of church and state.

What a fuckin joke. You separate church and state, and I’ll think about voting. You stop making me say “one nation under god…” and I’ll think about voting. There’s no reason right wing religious nuts should be allowed in politics. None. Leave politics to humanitarians and scientists. People who can’t use words like, “God’s will” and “manifest destiny.” That shit is scary as hell and gives anyone a blanket to say dumb ass no brain having shit like, “If it’s God’s will let it be done, we don’t believe in global warming because why would God even say that, and furthermore it’s in the Bible that God is gonna destroy the Earth, so dump this toxic buket of shit into the ocean, oh yeah, I like little boys buttholes.”

FUCK THAT.

3. 2 party system.

Fuck this. Fuck Obama. He’s still the same old corporate shit bag. OK. He doesn’t love machine guns, but don’t think people aren’t dying or being tortured or whatever and the money machine is marching on and we’re all supporting it blindly. It’s bigger than any country, it’s about THE WHOLE FUCKING WORLD.

Look, I get it, lesser of two evils. You’re absolutely correct in thinking this way, but I’m different, If I wanna dance and there’s only two shitty parties that night, I don’t wanna go to either party if they both suck and sometimes I wanna go to the really bad party just to watch the really bad shit so I can say, you know what, fuck parties, I need to stay home and sleep.

I only wanna vote for someone I can really believe in, not some guy I hate because I hate him less than that other guy I hate more, even though they both play golf at the same country club and both own stocks in the same damn companies. Two sides of the same shitty coin.

FUCK THAT!

And don’t give me that bullshit that people “died for my right to vote.”

They died for my right to not vote as much as they died for my right to vote. Fuck that. And don’t ever say something to me like, “If you don’t vote, you can’t complain.”

What? I’ve never voted in my life and see if I can’t out complain you on a sick day, asshole. Make complaining an Olympic event and see if I don’t crush all voters down to nothing. I’ve never voted and I’ve been complaining since I was born.

I came out my mother’s womb, like, “Daaaaamn, something smells like fish.”

ON THE OTHER HAND…..

If anyone needs help building a school or a highway or anything you wanna DO YOUR DAMN SELF WITHOUT THE HAND OF UNCLE SAM let me know how I can help, I’m pretty damn good with a shovel.

Other than that, good luck America.

How to do what you want artistically.

PART ONE. How to write a book.

Do what you wanna do.

I’ve been having the most amazing revelations lately and intense rediscovery of myself I’m actually starting to believe what my late great Nana told me years ago when she said, “life begins at forty.”

I miss my Nana. She passed away last year.

God rest her soul, I mean, provided there is a God, he doesn’t hate Jews and souls are real of course.

I miss my Nana, and being thirty nine, I wish I could let her know how excited I am to actually begin my life.

Now, that being said, here’s everything in the world I know about life and being an artist, all wrapped into on big fat self indulgent sentence.

Fuck em all.

I don’t mean literally of course, although that would be quite fun, but I mean in the artistic way.

Do what you want. I mean it. Whatever it is. Do it. You can’t please everyone and if you can please anyone, even one person called you you’re doing art right.

That’s what art is. What ever you want it to be, it’s not even a debate.

What I mean, and this is not limited to artistic opinions about your work of course, is, take people and their opinions with a grain of salt.

Half a grain these days.

Skepticism is one of my favorite words. It allows ones mind to develop and grow on its own and in its own time.

You see friends, when I was young, and in what I often would describe as the institute for learning how to be a part of the institution, also commonly known as high school, all the teachers of this so called learning machine tried their hardest to keep people like myself from daydreaming. Luckily, through my ever present, even at a young age, natural skepticism, I gave the teachers a big fuck you sign in my mind and kept dreaming of a world where a guy like me, un interested in sports and not very good at following orders could survive by making fart noises or telling stories or playing video games or eating chocolate.

Daydreaming was so frowned upon in school I quit at the age of seventeen and never looked back except occasionally in my mind when I return in a limo, me and a bunch of babes to go back and say, “Hey teachers, leave those kids alone.”

Bye bye.

At age thirty nine, it’s all coming together as I embark on a mission to write my first book by writing one thousand words a day.

Strangely enough, it’s not a problem for me, I mean look at this, I already wrote my thousand today and I’m writing you this little reminder to listen to people selectively.

Grain of salt, people, that’s what the message is.

Because today, interestingly enough I’m learning about writing and some great advice I read about recently from a published full time author was, wait for it, get ready y’all, wait, wait, ok, ready, aim, FIRE, that’s fuckin right genius’s,

DAYDREAMING!

Now I know the guy who wrote the blog isn’t on a high level that a high school teacher is on. I get it. He’s not really qualified to tell us anything, because all he is, is a writer with a few best selling novels. I mean, come on, I’m pretty sure any of my English teachers in high school could have pumped out one or two or four books a year like this guy, because, let’s face it, anyone can daydream.

Fuck that. It takes real skill to follow orders and do what they tell you and work your ass off into debt and take what they give you and shut the fuck up and don’t rock the boat and be thankful we’re even calling you, you’ll take what we give you and what’s wrong with Red Bull and every other cancerous energy drink and listen, I think if you just (did this bullshit thing that white people think is edgy) you’d do way better, and have you thought of using this or that or him or her, or DO WHAT WE TELL YOU TO DO YOU ROBOT SHIT BAG BECAUSE THIS IS WHAT WE WANT FROM YOU.

SELL SELL SELL SELL SELL SELL!

No thank you.

RAPE RAPE RAPE RAPE RAPE!

PART ONE!

WAIT A FUCKIN SECOND!

It’s hilarious when it’s Vanilla Ice gets face raped by Satan

And when Louie rapes Hitler, and when (fill in the blank) BUT IT’S NEVER FUNNY WHEN…..

I don’t understand it at this point. What the hell are we even talking about?

I’m not fucking defending Daniel Tosh and I’m not defending rape or even rape jokes.

I just think it’s about a no body whoha who even admits on the blog post she wrote that she could give a dick about stand up comedy, getting offended and now its OH MY GOD, HOW COULD YOU???

And suddenly, I’m the bad guy because I’m lighthearted about the whole thing?

I gotta feel bad about something that hasn’t changed, something that’s been the same since I myself could have went to college if I was dumb enough to waste my time and money on that bullshit Jager bomb, follow the leader, get in debt forever bullshit system.

Someone actually sent me a message that said, “So you think rape is funny?”

Excuse me? I don’t see any of this as a pick a side issue on if rape is cool or funny or anything. When have I ever said rape is awesome? I think rape is insanely horrible right up there with child pornography, trafficking of humans, child abuse, and shall I continue?

I see it like this.

In my real life, I’m someone you probably have no idea about. I’m a guy that might sit up late at night with a girlfriend and hug her and listen to her as she muscles her way excruciatingly through the story of a brutal teenage experience that she’s never in her life told even her parents. I might cry my face off, because real life hurts, and I might let her give me a tattoo with a sewing needle, while she shakes and drinks vodka to try to squeeze the pain out. I might have even shared my own horror stories of a late night hitch hiking experience I had with a girlfriend where we ended in a seedy room with a guy we thought was cool, until it was a bit too late and suddenly, the cool guy turned drunk and lonely, dark and violent and to be honest I wonder how I even got out of there alive because that guy said right to my face, “I could slice you up right now and do whatever I want to your precious little girlfriend” like we were in a movie with a rape scene.

But you see, this conversation has nothing to do with real life. NOTHING.

This is about stand up comedy, and art in general, because while I know that one in four woman have experienced rape, I HAVE TO BE A DICKHEAD HERE and ask, of that number, how many rapes have happened in comedy clubs, by a comedian, while the room is full?

Ok. Extreme and insensitive, but my point is this….a comedian’s job (especially one as non intellectual as Tosh) isn’t to save the world. If that woman, who by the way could be Mitt Romney’s daughter for all I know, went to a comedy club to save the world of violent crime she might be in the wrong building.

A comedian’s job is, well, shit, that’s another debate.

It’s really simple, and people say it all the time. “Oh wow, it must be really hard to be a stand up comedian.”

Do you mean that when you say it? Do even have any idea how hard it is? I’m asking this to people who love comedy of course. If you’re just here to judge me on where I fit in on the “he supports rape-o-meter” don’t answer that question.

Sure, havin a laugh here and there is easy, but to make the world laugh, this shit hole of a dark place, full of slimy shit bags screamin “JAGER BOMBS” and fake tits and “who’s your agent” and “how much you make per gig” and then of course the intellectual assholes ripping apart every sentence ever said by anyone with their classic, “Well, Louis CK, blah blah blah” but if you knew anything about the great Louis CK, you would have seen that he already addresses this in an episode of Louie that I think sums it up perfect.

The heckler heckles Louie and Louie then says she should get AIDS and asks the crowd if anyone has an AIDS infected dick they could rub on her face to get her started.

(AIDS is NEVER funny by the way and of course Louie had to use a woman, as if woman don’t get enough shit in this world.)

That said, Daniel Tosh isn’t my favorite comedian, and I’m not fucking defending him, but my favorite comedians would have no problem making jokes about rape and sexual harassment at work and doing it well because WHO FUCKING KNOWS WHY SOME PEOPLE ARE FUNNY AND SOME PEOPLE AREN’T, but like Bill Hicks said,

“…..I want someone who plays from his fuckin heart. “mommy moomy, the man Bill wants me to listen to has a blood bubble on his nose” SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO HIM PLAAAAAAAAAAY!”

I’m not defending rape jokes, but I’m certainly not taking the side of some non comedy loving, most likely very cool and friendly because I don’t even know her, cunt with a food blog.

0 RAPE RAPE RAPE RAPE RAPE!

Berlin used to be cool and that’s just how it is.

PART ONE.(FIFTY)

WHY?

Here’s something I don’t get. Why does every single person have to be like every other person when it comes to prices of things?

Like if you’re selling something, why do you do what everyone else does?

I mean, people are so quick to rattle off that timeless saying, “I mean, that’s just how it is.”

I was at the market yesterday, and believe me, it doesn’t even matter WHICH market I was at because they’re all interchangeable, identical twins, with the exact same bullshit for sale for 10 euros a piece whether it’s a shitty photo, a shitty t shirt, a shitty print, a shitty postcard, and so on and so forth.

But hey, when it comes to markets in Germany, “THAT’S JUST HOW IT IS!”

Anyway, I’m at the market, and of course, a coffee, is now 2 euros a cup. Of course, Right? I mean, “ THAT’S JUST HOW IT IS!”

The funny thing was, the prices are jacking up so fast, they couldn’t even find the time to print out a new price list, instead they just took a black marker, put a line through the 1.50 and wrote 2 next to it, because god knows, the minute they take three seconds out of their sweet time, to press print on their Iphone, allow a few milliseconds of their precious day to slip by as the infrared beams shoot the latest price list into their printer and then allow seconds as well as pennies worth of hard earned printer ink to shoot out the latest prices in a clean sheet, well, we all know that by then a cup of coffee will be 2.50, because, let’s face it, “THAT’S HOW IT IS!”

Wait in line because, “THAT’S HOW IT IS!”

Bob and weave between chairs and tables on the streets, sidewalks, sides, curbs, and anywhere else these Indian/Asian/AsioIndian restaurants feel like putting tables and chairs because when it comes to 5 euro (now 8 euro) crappy “ethnic” food, because people love to dine in the open air, and “THAT’S HOW IT IS!”

It’s a fuckin war on my street. Chairs and tables versus space and chairs and tables are kicking the spaces ass.

It’s hard to breathe on my street without literally leaning over some hot Swedish girls dinner and breathing right onto her neck ever so softly and whispering, “I live right over there.”

Is it me, or did I wake up and suddenly, ultra cheap Berlin has now become, slightly cheaper than London Berlin?

I know, I know.

“THAT’S JUST HOW IT IS!”

(Thanks to you assholes* who sell shit.)

*Of course I’m not referring to the asshole who sold me THIS TUXEDO for 12 euros! That asshole was alright!

My book introduction.

CHAPTER ONE. Introduction.

It’s been a dream of mine to write a book for sometime now.

It’s still a dream, because I haven’t written anything yet.

But hey, dreams take time to manifest.

Dreams cannot be fulfilled unless they are fought for, because if a dream is givin to you, then of course it’s not a dream, it’s a gift.

Gifts are for giving and receiving. Dreams are to be chased and conquered.

Dreams are like dragons. Often living on a mountaintop far from our small tiny village of a life. They must be sought after, hunted down, fought, captured, tamed and then sliced up and boiled into beautiful dragon soup to fill our souls with nourishing vitamins that only the finest free range dragon meat can provide us with.

The feast of a conquered dream is like no other.

I dream of writing a book someday because books are the best way to randomly blow some strangers mind with philosophical ideas.

Books are the best way for my epic ideas about life to live on, to one day be discovered by a completely random (provided you don’t believe in destiny) stranger who happens to pick up my book at a flea market and read it years after I’ve already died!

Kind of like THIS BOOK I found (or, that found me, depending on if you believe in destiny or not) that is blowing my mind these days.

Of course I will hide my deep philosophies within the parameters of a good entertaining story, because humans like to be entertained much more than they like to be educated, so that also means I will hide my philosophy within the borders of the most entertaining story line to every human, which is this one.

Boy meets girl, boy has sexual encounter with girl, ect.

The ect of course equals a lot of good things happening, followed by bad things happening and so on and so forth.

This of course isn’t my favorite story of all time, but you know what they say, sex sells.

Humans like sex WAY more than they like to be educated.

My favorite story of all time would be the one about mankind and his inability to get along with himself.

Great storyline filled with success and failure and failure, and more failure and battles and killing over an imaginary man in the sky who can bring joy to the world, but sits back and watches the world kill itself, even up to the point of total annihilation, because lets face it, if there is a god, and he created us, then us killing ourselves over stupid shit would be WAY more entertaining to “him” than anything else.

So, yes, the only ending to the story of man is the same ending of that epic story of the dinosaurs.

Complete extinction.

I bet dinosaurs were just like humans. They probably thought they had quite a grip on life, and existence and being the number one species on the planet.

They were the hot shit at one point. Much like Humans are now.

I wonder if they had an Earth Day and worried about global warming and the “destruction of mother Earth?”

Either way, fuck em. They’re dead now, and man will be too at some point.

Man could learn a thing or two about the dinosaurs, but hey, like I said,

Who wants to learn?

High School Reunion!

ACT ONE SCENE ONE. THE INTRODUCTION!

WOW. Joy.

I just found this old program from a play I was in back in high school.

It’s filled with all kinds of “break a legs” and “great show” and “you were awesome” and all that soft core, good vibe, bullshit that theater nerds share.

Anyway, amidst the puke of childhood theater, which is not so far from the puke of adult theater, was one message reading, “Hey Baby, you are gorgeous” Lennon.

Thanks to the cast listing, Google, and the fact that everyone on the planet now has a Facebook, I was easily able to find her, and hopefully let her know how much her note meant to me.

WISH ME LUCK!

ACT ONE SCENE TWO……THE LETTER.

WOW!
LENNON ****AROSE!

I’m so excited to live in 2012, just for this very moment!
Remember Garnet Valley High School?

OF COURSE YOU DO, but do you remember being in the play “Give My Regards to Broadway?”

Well, if the program, which I just found stuffed in a box next to dusty bowling trophies is correct, you weren’t really “in it,” you were in the chorus.

Anyway, long story short, I don’t really remember much of the show, but I’m sure you were awesome, and all that, but the real reason I’m writing you is because you signed my program, “Hey baby, you are gorgeous” and I just wanted to say thank you. That was a really sweet thing to say and you know what, “You’re gorgeous too. I think. Actually, I don’t remember you at all, but hey, I can lie, that’s how I got this far in life.”

If you’re ever in Berlin, and aren’t ugly as hell, hit me up.

By the way, if anyone from high school asks, just tell them I’m really successful and happy, I never cry myself to sleep anymore and no one has locked me in a locker since 1988!

(I hope you can lie as good as I can!)

Anyway, it’s been a BLAST catching up. I mean it. A real hoot. It almost makes me wish we could go back to Garnet Valley because I can finally afford Reeboks and I probably wouldn’t even fit in the locker room lockers even if they tried to shove me in one, PLUS, I could fuck a 17 year old up these days!

Write me back and let me know which guy from school you ended up having children with, and let’s stay in touch and of course
GO PANTHERS*!!!!!!!! (*It’s really Jaguars.)

Your favorite marching band nerd of all time.

David Deery (Would have been class of ’91)

Ode to MCA.

Here’s a little story I got to tell……

What can’t a white, middle class graffiti writing, bass playing, skateboarding, dj say about the Beastie Boys?

This post could go on as long as the legacy of the man I’m trying to honor.

It’s endless.

The more I think about what The Beastie Boys have meant to me, the more I realize how much I, and MILLIONS of us owe to them.

So much of my life, and my style and choice in music is directly related to The Beastie Boys.

DIRECTLY.

The 73 Fender P bass? The Beastie Boys.

The tight jeans, jean jacket, Ray Bans, mustache, livin in NYC style? The Beastie Boys.

Listening to Eddie Harris, Funkadelic, Sly, Roland Kirk, The Meters, Joe Tex, and on and on and on.

It all started for me personally in 1986. I was standing by a launch ramp in a typical Philadelphia suburban neighborhood, holding onto my Kevin Staab mini and wondering how this guy just busted a backside 360 with such ease when a kid looked at me with the utmost pretentiousness and said, “You Like The Beastie Boys?”

Without hesitation, I responded, “Hell yeah. The Beastie Boys Rule dude.”

And off I went to try to figure out who the fuck The Beastie Boys were.

It didn’t take me, or the rest of the world long to learn the name. In a time when bands needed years to get their name out, the Beastie Boys shot onto the scene like shaken Budweiser from a keyhole.

I lost a true hero of my childhood. An icon. A musical master. What other group, especially in hip hop, has put out at the very LEAST three ALL TIME CLASSIC RECORDS.

Those first three Beasties records are undeniably classics.

NOT good.

Not amazing.

CLASSICS.

Mother fuckin legendary.

Who else in rap music is bending the genres like The Beastie Boys.

Fuzz bass pioneers. Straight up.

I went to Bottom Of The Hill in San Francisco somewhere around the time when Check Your Head came out because rumor was The Beastie Boys were bumrushin a punk rock show.

OF COURSE THEY WERE.

They did a punk rock show with 9 other bands as me and 2 million other people stood around outside wishing we were moshing to Cookie Puss.

DAMN!

FUCK. I’m all fuckin teary eyed. I’m pissed. I feel like I did when Tie One died. I feel like I lost a friend.

But you know what?

Long live MCA!

We know what we gotta do now, right? We know. If you’re confused about what I’m talking about it’s because you’re a fuckin poser.

Real artists know what time it is. It’s time to get that feeling back in art and music. It’s time to fight for our rights again. It’s time to check your head and get intergalactic.

Don’t let Adam down. Breathe. Build your inner temple. Meditate. Receive the visions of the gods. Accept your path. Walk straight. Master your high.

Expand.

Stop sayin the word faggot.

Stop saying the word faggot.

Yes. I get it. I just pulled a major oxymoron and said the word that I’m going to tell people to stop saying, and honestly, I don’t like doing that and I don’t like saying, or writing that word.

But I need to make a point, and here it is.

Comedians need to stop saying the word faggot.

I’m of course talking specifically to untalented, open mic comedians who aren’t gay.

They actually make a point of telling the crowd they aren’t gay, two seconds after saying a word that is usually preceded by, “hey,” and followed by, “we’re gonna kill you.”

I’ve been meaning to write this for a while, after being in San Francisco of all places and hearing literally every other crappy comedian use the word in almost the EXACT SAME UN FUNNY SEQUENCE OF,

a. Comedian tells dumb story ending with a random guy in story saying to him, “Shut up, faggot.”

b. Comedian then explains that he’s not gay, but everyone thinks he’s gay because he wears cardigan sweaters.

c. Everyone in the audience thinks, “I don’t think your gay, I think you’re a horrible comedian.”

Fuck that. If you’re a comedian, you don’t get a free pass to say ignorant shit because you’re being “ironic.”

This article addresses that point perfectly, but with racism.

Now, I know what you’re saying, you shitty piece of shit un talented shitty comedian trying to defend yourself. You’re saying,

“LOUIS CK DID IT!”

And yes, while Louis CK, and George Carlin, and Lenny Bruce have said things that push the boundaries of language, that point right there is the reason you should leave it alone, you moron.

There’s an evolution in comedy.

You start with fart jokes.

Then you tell stories about getting drunk/high and having sex/ mother in laws/ airline food and every day stuff that everyone has said a million times.

Then, if you’re really good at all that stuff and can legitimately understand what people laugh at and how to manipulate a situation with words, well, shit, if you think you got something witty to say, go ahead and crack a Nazi/ genocide/ rape/ racist/ incest/ religion joke.

But it better be intelligent. Because there’s nothing worse than people trying to use shock value to get the attention away from the fact that they suck at writing.

Hey mister/ miss crappy comedian,

If you know so much about comedy, you should know for a fact that you’re not that good at climbing the basic little hill called “my parents raised me bad,” or “my girlfriend sucks” jokes, how the hell are you going to the top of the “make homophobia funny” mountain?

Listen folks, I know as well as anyone, homophobia can be funny, but let me also say, there’s absolutely NOTHING funny about homophobia.

Marinate on that.

MY 100TH BLOG POST!

trophy 513x385 MY 100TH BLOG POST!

PART ONE HUNDRED.

100th blog post!

This post is only for people who believe the universe is infinite. If you believe there is an end to the universe, please click this blog post closed, pick up a science book, and come back when you’re intelligence is over that of a 7 year old’s.

Here we go FRIENDS.

Buckle up and get ready for the ride of your life, because one thing’s for sure, I have no idea who’s reading this and there’s a huge chance that I might not even know you or you might be the guy who sent me a death threat recently, meaning we’re not actually friends, and if the greatest ride of your life is reading my blog, you’re a loser, and finally, this is way more than one thing, this is the third thing, and also 100 blogs is not really an achievement worth celebrating according to my scientific research that I will now break down.

100th blog! I wrote 100 blogs! Whoop dee diddly doo.

Put your shotguns away red necks, no need to shoot the air, even though you’ll shoot the air for nothing.

Shit, some of you red necks’ll shoot a person for nothing.

And this is nothing. Nothing I haven’t said 99 times before this.

Unless you’re getting paid minimum wage, STOP READING, because I’m not saying anything, I’m trying to get through this, so I can brag about doing 100 blog posts, because in this life bragging about nothing is totally acceptable and encouraged.

So allow me to continue to smack these keys, and string words together into a giant nothingness necklace, not even wearable.

I’m gonna muscle through this like a vegetarian in Ghana eating goat stew, only instead of convincing myself this stew isn’t loaded with goat, I’m gonna convince myself that this blog, and in turn my life means something, when the facts prove the opposite.

The facts prove, scientifically, that this 100th blog is valued at nothing of relevance.

After 100 blogs, I can’t quite be certain that this blog isn’t irrelevant, and here’s a fact driven investigation into why, you, me, your art, and especially my 100th, that’s right, 100th blog post are absolutely filled to the brim with nothing of value.

Now, with that being said, and believing that the universe is infinite.

Close your eyes. Ok. I get it. Dumb. But play along with me and close your “eyes.”
(But keep reading, THIS IS MY 100TH BLOG!)

Now, to the best of your ability, imagine infinity. I know you can’t do it, but take a second and try.

Here’s how I do it. I close my eyes. I imagine a circle.

Then I imagine a circle inside that circle.

Then I imagine a circle inside that circle.

Then I imagine a circle inside that circle.

Then I imagine a circle inside that circle.

Then I imagine a circle inside that circle.

Then I imagine a circle inside that circle. Then I imagine a circle inside that circle. Then I imagine a circle inside that circle. Then I imagine a circle inside that circle. Then I imagine a circle inside that circle. Then I imagine a circle inside that circle. Then I imagine a circle inside that circle. Then I imagine a circle inside that circle. Then I imagine a circle inside that circle. Then I imagine a circle inside that circle. Then I imagine a circle inside that circle.

Keep doing this for, let’s say 5 minutes.

But wait, what’s five minutes to infinity?

Ok, so do it for an hour. Do it for a day. Do it for twenty five fuckin years and you’re still NO WHERE NEAR the mass absolute deafening reality of how small you are, let alone how little impact your art has on this planet, let alone the universe.

You and I and everything we think is valuable, is petty.

So yes. 100th blog.

YAY ME!