I can’t have nice things.
Well, I can.
But they just have to be durable nice things.
Like a Jeep Wrangler or a water buffalo... things like that.
Things that are seemingly difficult to fuck up.
I can’t have tea cup collections or jewelry... things like that.
As a kid I was a bit more materialistic. I didn’t seem to have a choice in the matter. I saw everyone around me wanting and grasping for very specific items and name brands, shouting at me for mistreating precious purchases and not having enough respect for “stuff.” It was drilled into my head to care.
Then respect your stuff.
And don’t touch my stuff.
It’s as if we were all given this mental catalogue of things to pine after. And from all the options available we each chose our own “wants” and “needs”.
Here’s eight boy bands.
Choose a dude and go plaster your bedroom walls with his face and fight over him with other little girls in the schoolyard. Go.
Here’s sixteen different high end vehicles.
Pick one and tell the world you’re going to own it one day, start saving those pretty pennies, and frown upon those who’d choose any other car. Go.
Have a look at all twelve of these flawless photoshopped starlets.
Decide which one will be the one you have a conniption over, because you look nothing like her and can’t afford her style, then be the best version of her you can be when you start University in the fall. Go.
Now that I’m older and can think for myself, I know what I truly want and already have all I could ever need.
My attitude reeks of:
“fuck materialism man!”
Maybe my beef’s not with materialism, maybe it’s with what it does to people or what people do to each other for it. I dunno. All I know is it pisses me off. And when I’m pissed off, I put that attitude to use. I also put my money where my mouth is and become a perfect display of:
“fuck materialism man!”
I do to “stuff” what Kurt Cobain did to guitars.
Years ago I was fortunate enough to afford a brand spank’n new top of the line computer. And now I’m unfortunate enough to have to stare at its smashed screen every time I need to use it.
We live in a bachelor apartment these days. So when people visit, all of our belongings are on display. Including my top of the line, bottom’d out computer screen. I’m haunted by the question:
“Oh my God what happened to your computer?”
I guess that’s my Karma for not respecting “stuff.”
A few nights ago a guest sat down at my desk. As I awaited his screen crack, he looked at the computer and said:
“Wow, I miss having a big beautiful screen like this.”
“Ha! Beautiful.” I scoffed.
The wheels in my head began to turn. Then they turned faster. My computer screen is still beautiful. It’s just currently a little broken. It’s still awesome, I’m grateful that it survived me, and to tell you the honest to God truth... It’s never really bothered me that it’s busted nor has it stopped me from creating all my creations.
I smash stuff when I’m manic.
Only when I’m manic.
I’m not throwing lamps when I stub a toe or they hike bus fares.
We work on it but sometimes you still have to duck.
But I’m still beautiful. I’m just currently a little broken. I’m still awesome and I’m grateful I survived me, and to tell you the honest to God truth... It’s never really bothered me that I’m busted nor has it stopped me from creating all my creations.