Some facets of our lives are meant to be short-lived and loved— the mystery of a mayfly, drippy sticky popsicles on a hot day in July, a single season of Firefly, maybe a kiss; others short-lived and hated— the initial pain of a paper-cut or a pet hamster (those fuckers suck).
Remember when everyone freaked out about Paula Cole’s armpit hair or when people felt extra cool listening to Tom’s Diner? Now, Gaga is everyone’s thing.
In the 90s every 3rd grader’s dream was to be an astronaut and every couple’s wedding DJ asked the crowd to dance the Macarena. Now, NASA is a joke and people still think the fucking Macarena is fun.
Why do shitty concepts stay and awesome dreams go?
New things are happening in my life. Some exciting, some not, some a lot more short-lived than I initially expected, but I’m growing and I have a hell of a lot longer to figure it out. So long as some conspiracy doesn’t come true… oh you know ‘em all, the ol’ Y2K, some shit Nostradamus predicted, the Mayan calendar, a zombie apocalypse, or maybe some terrorists will finally lash out with some nuclear weapons. Somedays I wish I didn’t have to think twice about any of that.
Oh to be a mayfly with the a sole purpose: to fuck and to die.
The thing is I’m not sure how good it would feel to fuck or die without having the capacity to understand all the other malarky…?