You may find yourself in a beautiful house...

...with a beautiful wife. You may ask yourself- how did I get here?

I'm driving from greenwich to newport in someone else's father's car. I am drinking rum at an expensive private beach. I act like I'm used to it, but I know I don't fit in- I can't fit in, it is not organic. But alas, I am there. These are my friends. This is not me. This is me. This is life, and to this point this is how the world has turned and this is where I am. Caught with one foot off the merry go round- whipped around weightlessly/feet planted firmly to the ground. My nose is broken after being smashed by a series of opening and closing books; and when I look up nothing makes sense because they're not words; it's life and people and water and sand and alcohol and the words mean nothing. I remember the words and sip slowly because I want it to taste good/ And it does taste good so I breathe deep and close my eyes knowing that there are more books to read. I promise myself these bullshit lies will end and I'll fucking do it, just do it- I swear I will. But god damn that chair is comfortable and those little kids are adorable in their little J Crew madras bathing suits/ and their mothers are fucking gorgeous because they don't work, but rather look good. At least I know I'm in the drivers seat/ but when you're drunk and have been sunning all day, you typically ride shotgun,..-I typically oblige.


You may ask yourself where does that highway lead to. You may ask yourself, "am I right, am I wrong?" You may say to yourself- "My God! What have I done?!"

I am the epitome of a lazy generation with too much of their parents money and subsequent low expectations. White= Advantaged. Money= Priveleged. Male= Never recieve prejudice. These blessings are daggers hanging from strings on the ornate ceiling above the throne of the Greek King I learned about in latin during my liberal arts education which is important to supposed to know. If only I were a poor mexican day laborer picking grapes in salinas, my ideas would mean something- because they would be all I have. But my American dream is one not yet constructed, for Horatio Alger and my father already lived out the one we all know.

Same as it ever was