I’m not quite sure what to make of those three guys in the local McDonald’s a few nights ago. There was a lot of boorish slurring at excessive volume about a stubborn defiance against sin as a social construct, against the ironic shame of sexuality in an increasingly perverse society. One of them had a
horrible not-quite-there-yet avant-garde haircut. Real men know that swagger doesn’t come from the store in a bottle of hair product.
The world is a mysterious place sometimes.
There has been some serious negligence in sitting down and getting my thoughts in order. Several wonderful things are still unfolding across everyone’s lives, whether or not we choose to acknowledge them. This space still remains my place of meditation, and my avoidance of sitting down to hash it all out does not signify the lack of anything interesting to ponder on.
I love balls.
I’m now in the lounge of America’s Armpit (LAX), en route to another Manila-Guam debacle. With a steady supply of beer and late work nights on the horizon, perhaps we’ll come across some new insights and better perspectives on how to make sure 2012 goes down in history as the year that we grab our balls and actually do something with them. Fuck chivalry, no one gets out of life alive. Each day we aspire to to be the best person we can be, is a day spent conquering the world.