Square peg in a pussy world


Ahhh, so today, something transpired in my mysterious private work life you don’t hear about too much. Something happened. “Unfolded” is perhaps more fitting. It was not a random event, or even uncalled for. I asked for it. I really did. I always ask for shit. You know, I can sit here and try to “over-cred” my asocial, bad boy quotient. Lots of guys do that in the blogosphere. This blogosphere. They say just enough to get you thinking…hmmm. Maybe this is one bad mother-effer. But still, you have reservations. You realize that most likely, this bad-ass who gets laid by hot new girls daily and has a 7-figure income is really some slovenly dweeb who lives in his parent’s rear room. You never know. I try to be upfront about my limitations. I have nothing to prove, and definitely very little to live down. Seriously. Why the fuck else would I post that ridiculous video of me on (and off) the skateboard the other day? I’m great. I’m a joke. All in one fell swoop.


So today you see, once again, I incurred the wrath of my tomfoolery. Something happened and when I came out of it, the reality clobbered me because I have not faced my self-induced wrath since well before I began blogging. This put today’s experience into a fresh perspective, and context, based on everything I spew on here. I saw things differently because I…am different. I’ve done the identical shit I’ve done all my life but now my viewpoint is sufficiently broadened with maturity and seasoning that I can now appraise what I do from a new perspective.


I realized one thing right away. I’m now, and always have been, a square peg in a pussy world.


I have rough corners. I’m cold and abrasive, but this world calls for a soft, smooth and slimy touch. It’s a woman’s world and if you can’t accommodate the pussy, YOU IN TROUBLE, BOY!


Today, as I walked from the office and sat quietly on my bus- and train-ride home, I mulled over this shit a lot. I’m the most insensitive and Zen guy on the face of the planet, so I react to discomfort and antagonism with retreat and silence. I listened to my Ipod and I thought. I didn’t blame or hate. I merely thought and experienced. I remarked upon myself. I unfolded and de-layered this enormous rotten onion that is me, and this life. I re-examined This, because I am far from perfect, and in fact, rather destructive, to self and others.


I’m a reactive, persistent force that has never cared much for convention. I’m precarious. Everything I do is tinged with the potential combustive nature of a stick of dynamite sitting on the gas station floor. I’m not suggesting this is the mark of honor. I am suggesting it is only the truth. When I get called out on my incessant crap, a sense of serenity settles upon my bones. It’s psychopathic the way I retreat into a subdued sense of affect when I am in trouble. My behavior is inversely proportional to the dire calling of my predicament. The incident I refer to today did not have legal ramifications. Just so you know.


But there have been “legal” situations in my past which left me astounded for the amount of calm that came over me in the face of doom. I’ve always been blessed with this preternatural “skill.” When I get swatted down in certain arenas, calming down is a cinch. Some people, most people, are stupid and don’t deserve my worry. Which is most people. So I got swatted down and I deserve it all. It’s tough being the square peg because my perspective is so much sharper that I assume everyone shares it. And dismay kills me when I realize and learn that they don’t. And furthermore, when I die a little more for this fact.




I thought about my life and how it’s always been just like this. Nothing changes, narratives repeat.


I can absolutely not ever fit in. Never, not in this modern contraption called civilized life. I’ve devised a formula which allows me to milk civilization of its spoils while still sticking my hairy ass right in its face. I’ve always adjusted to this maze they call the rat race and life but I hate it with a passion. Ferdinand’s masterful post the other day about why “marriage makes men stupid” affected me on one simple level: #2. If you read it, you will note I am presupposing that I am making great contributions or innovating. Of course I’m not. However, I do strongly concur that I reject all social conventions. I gave up fitting in long ago but yet, my brazen nature still leads me to the edge of happy existence, repeatedly. My brazen existence calls me out continuously. During duress, when I should be worried, I calm down and lucidly explain myself in the most articulate manner possible. When I’m speaking in a normal daily situation, I never speak so well. I stutter, mumble, cross words up…but when I’m on the grilling pit, I turn into Cyrano De Be Bergerac.


One day I suspect I will run out of luck.
Perhaps it’s closer rather than later. Besides, what is luck other than wisely placed opportunity?


The key is to not worry. Everyone is worried. Worried for their predicament which they constructed and financed themselves.
No one lives anymore. We fucking subsist on our own dreams and illusions.


Lead a life that frees you from worry. Don’t hinge your life on contiguous elements that are innocently poised to save you. Fuck them.


Save yourself.