On Silly

I just want to be silly.
Nothing more, nothing less.
As if it’s such an unachievable task. Some people make it seem so idiotically easy. There are certain times of year that make silliness shine and I feel frankly left out.

Friday, the weekend beckons, girls making their plans.
Costumes, all the encumbrances that accompany. Mindless and incessant chatter about what each other’s respective children will wear, utter and debilitating silliness.

Silly is that quality I can’t conjure from the sludge-filled depths of my strict personality. How can I convince Them that I am not (really that) serious? I am not. But I come across as one serious, somber Mother-effer.
I can’t help it. This is how I’m wired.
I find no amusement in Halloween and all its attendant foolishness. I find it difficult to treat this Friday as anything more than a normal work day. A normal day. I forgot this weekend was Halloween and the way they went on about it was frankly a bit startling if not dismaying. Dressing up, acting flip, strange festiveness in the air, some people taking the day off or leaving early, not sure if it was directly related to Halloween, but the sense in the air was of Silliness. Obtuse goofiness man. I just wanted to work. They were carrying on about Star Wars, and I thought Princess Leia and Hans Solo were lovers. Had to be corrected about that decidedly unromantic relationship. Fuck, I’m supposed to know this shit? It’s silly, damnit.

Star Wars is silly, Halloween is silly. It’s all silly shit because it isn’t life. It’s all phony fake fantasy that distracts from the ball.

This is why I am not silly.
Because I can never take my eye off the ball.

I’m a dour anchor who drags fun-loving erratic culture down with me into the joyless depths of gravitas. People revel in stupidity and aimless buoyancy.
I don’t get it man. Women especially love this bullshit, this plastic and meaningless cultural filler that adds nothing but diversion, and provides an urgent reason not to deal with life’s bitter edge directly. I’m not silly, I can’t humor silly. Life is silly enough without us having to try and up the silly ante, because seriously, you, me, every other miserable cretin, is incapable of replicating the silliness that life’s dark twisted charade can spit out its gooey orifice(s).

Costumes are silly, fantasy is silly. Mindless chatter is silly.
How do I be silly?

Surely it must be easier than it seems because most people display it splendidly and thoughtlessly.
Is there a silly pill?
A silly class?
A silly online course?
A silly forum?

I need to divert myself and find pleasure in meandering trivialities and idle chatter and groundless ineptitudes.

In order to be silly I need to “lift” something.
I need to be able to lift a sense of comprehension and variant disbelief; snub distrust and go against my better instincts.
I must be silly and I must forsake rhyme and good reason. I must wade in this pool.

I must be silly.
Will it bring happiness?
I think not.
Will it dispel this alienated anguish?

Life is a good time, bastards, and there is nothing to disentangle because we take the route cleared free of psychic entanglements.

oh god