Thursday, May 24, 2012


Why can't life be simple — you know, like a Weepies song?
Can I get up in the morning
Put the kettle on
Make us some coffee, some "hey" to the sun ...
I want only this, I want to live
I want to live a simple life.
Or, in the words of the Beach Boys: wouldn't it be nice? Everything easy, without strife or bickering. No sharp elbows or glances, no hurt feelings, no melancholia, no anger. No uncomfortable truths, no looking back, no guilt, no anguish. No worries!

It's probably the best way to avoid the furrowed-brow wrinkles of life. If you don't fret much about the complexities of life you don't run the risk of having life smack you upside your pretty head. That, in turn, should pretty much guarantee anyone a long shelf life.

Because if you don't look reality square in the face, your mind stays uncluttered, right? It's like Barbara Bush saying, back in 2003, that she didn't want to hear about "body bags and death" during wartime, because "why should I waste my beautiful mind on something like that."

Just free your mind and the rest apparently follows. Why, oh why must it be this way? Because it's not cool to traffic in reality anymore. That only leads to the aforementioned uncomfortable truths, you know what I'm saying?

I have friends (no, seriously, a couple friends, at least) who struggle with the notion of life when it's more than a two-dimensional sitcom. To them, it's all supposed to be black-and-white easy: this is good so embrace it; this is bad so shun it. What's so wrong with simple? They usually end up getting hurt even more when their Dreamtime goes to shit and they're faced with the call to wake up — but they're remarkably unfazed within days of any obvious trauma. I envy their ability to be so outwardly placid.

Bad shit happens to me, it goes down to the bone, sometimes causes an infection that leaves a mark. Bad shit happens to them, it's like it never happened. Why can't I do that? I often tell friends (really, those people exist in my life) that they should let worry roll from them like water off a duck's back, but I can't take the same advice. Perhaps it's because I don't like stinky fowl.

Or perhaps it's because I believe too much. For such a cynic I'm such a sap. I actually take people at their word. I trust, too much. I believe in the better angels of humanity. Yes, I'm an idiot.

But I want a simple life, too. I crave a simple life, an easy life, not like Yeezy life. I may not know how to get there just yet, and I may let troubles trip me. That doesn't stop me from having hopes, wishes, dreams. Even the bollixed-up boy has dreams. Sweet ones, at that.

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