That guy in the University

Last night, Bukowski came into my room. It was weird, he exhaled the smoke of the cigarette right into my face, held me by my neck, with eyes as firm as they could get, and said, “You, you little kid disappointed me”.

When Phoenix was a little kid, he had really big aspirations. He and his brother used to fix a big bowl in the middle of the bed, adjust a bottle by its side, write names of different places on a copy, and there it was, the Express Bus, with two promising prodigies.

But there was a catch, he was the kind of guy who wouldn’t study but would pull off the third position anyway. As all things, his circumstance changed when he was labeled as the “studious-intelligent” kind of kid. Well who wouldn’t have? He was doing really well in his academics. It felt like a handjob and sadly he got addicted to this label. You know, we have the minds of apes but temptations that they never had to deal with.

Our labeled prodigy found the taste of success to be so sweet that he became impervious to rules that everyone should follow. He started giving in to his temptations and became a dickhead in the process. Lost his senses by following his shadow and forgot how banal life can be for people like him.

But the thing is being a dickhead requires you to have a involvement of two existent characters, you and a dick of course. Our labeled prodigy was more concerned with saving his forced-upon identity than actually enjoying the process of studying. Well, following this same train of thought you could probably call society a huge dickhead too. Well that’s for another matter.

And not so surprisingly, he never lived his life. On a quest of becoming the best, he just failed his EST character altogether. That was not going to stop there, what started as a trickle of boats had turned into a torrent of airplanes.

Once you think about it deep enough, you will realize that our “hero” of the story never actually came close to living his life. On a quest of becoming the best, he failed his “EST” character altogether. His story doesn’t end here, however. What started as a trickle of boats had turned into a torrent of airplanes.

Amid the jerk off, and the wannabe he was, he suddenly struck his head with some real nice thing, you know a thing there is, ah yes “Life”. “How Obnoxious” were probably his initial thoughts. He jumped off. Fell off the cliff. Having nothing but scars to show, he wept at his indescribable agony. His mind became clustered with only one thought: “If I can’t be good at something I was always praised for, What’s the point of living?”

But, before that, let’s discuss, what could have driven him there? What could be the reason? I see loopholes in our society. The positivity driven fucks that we are becoming is irritating and I just want to punch these positivity driven idiots. Because, no I am not a guy who would believe that your daughter could become a theoretical physicist just because she got A grade in primary level science, please.

So there comes the culture of praising. Oh my son got 3.25 GPA in SEE, what’s up Zukerburg, now the entire Meta-verse will know what my son has achieved. I get it, that your sons and daughters have an opportunity to win the battles that you couldn’t even fight. But that doesn’t mean they should fight.

That’s not the point of the conversation, the point is that we have just sold ourselves to the “Modern Culture” and pushing positivity dummies who at the age of 4 are watching rabbit porn. “Yeah, that’s probably Sex Education, it’s probably good for him”.

Has everyone lost their minds? Think about the child’s future. Robbing him of his innocent childhood. Monsters, each and every one of you.

See, what I am trying to say is, if you praise someone for what they are, you will ruin their potential. Oh he got 92% marks, he is a smart ass. No he isn’t. He is just good at memorizing things and replicating it in a piece of paper.

We are evolved in a way where we love connecting dots. And sometimes it goes as far as, putting out the implications completely in the wrong direction which takes forms, forms much more devastating than the pain of not being able to connect dots.

The brilliance of research papers that have been published till now, can’t be obsolete, can they? So, if we go by them, they pose a better way to look at things, which might seem much more cold and displeasing but can be much more beneficial than writing out “Sabin, you have beautiful smile, don’t forget to share it with the world”. Because self-help apps, I have looked at the mirror quite a few times and trust me you wouldn’t want to share it with the world.

See, sometimes you might take a look at your poop. I am sure you have. It looks oddly good sometimes, have you noticed? Now, you don’t want to sit there and say “Poopy poopy poop, you are damn beautiful”. What would happen if you do so?

Maybe you might enjoy it for a while and after a few cheezy pickup lines, it starts getting into your nose. Your nose, apparently, is only good with air and mucus fellas.

So, what you need to do is take care of your digestive system. Once it is in it’s place, good poop starts appearing regularly. And once our mind adapts with that figure of our daily endeavor, it craves for better figure.

Now, is the craving good? It indeed is.

You will approach it as caring much more about your digestive system and getting in it’s healthiest form. What we have been doing till now is playing with the our obsolete pristine, which is only pulling us down with it. And once we are in a place full of shit, we wear shit glasses. And and and and, we become assfaces.

When you start praising the shit itself, what happens is, you try to twist it, turn it and want to make it beautiful, so that you can impress, I don’t know, your friends maybe.

You know even I was one from the Phoenix’s pact, I say I was, because I really don’t want to associate with that thing anymore (yes mofo, that’s why I am writing).

I had this odd feeling, that if I am good at studies, I must be good at sports, that should come naturally no? But, as stupid as it sounds, this thinking kind of ruined the shit.

See this is what we call a “fixed mindset”.

The same sinister thing that Jesus talks about, oh sorry no. The root of narcissism, victimhood culture and definitely the saviors and self-proclaimed god-gifted shitfaces with all kind of phrases that kinda, you know make you smile with a “Ah, mirror you are the best, look at those eyebrows my god, Dwayne Johnson would be proud”.

It’s not about not praising anyone, it’s about why you are doing it and how. Most of the people might say, “Oh!, if I say the truth she might get upset”. Yes, that could be, but with possibly the most cheezy “oh, honey”, you have probably ruined her possibility of improving.

If you want something good for the people, try appreciating their efforts, not them. See, the bladder pain when you want to pee so bad also will get normal when it realizes, shit he is traveling, I should be empathetic. Then why can’t your friend be okay?

But as I write this, Bukowski is still not happy. He is upset with me. For trying too much. For trying to add so much stuff in an article, for I have developed a need to impress, maybe 12 readers that I have. He thinks I am a hypocrite. I am questioning the whole culture while blending in it, while crafting my own shit, and writing this article with those same shitty hands.

Where could this possibly lead me? Will I be the next Phoenix? I see myself following the same path. Should I bother myself about this? Should I feel obliged to make Bukowski happy, when I know he that just doesn’t give a single fuckity fuck fukcs? That he was just trying to bring ecstasy to his dead dome by puking out the smoke, and maybe I was deluded? But what brings me to this cascade of remonstrance? What’s that which has locked me in this penitentiary, which has me like a lobotomized crap, who is exempt of courage? What brought me to this was my obsession with the shit itself, not my digestive system.

Maybe, one ego booster from there and a fellatio, and a loving eyesight and and and, here we go same damn place with slightly less body hair.

It’s getting too vague, now. My point is, the labels we identify ourselves as, makes us victim, and entitled to victimizing, and that we eventually end up becoming narcissistic.

Coming back to my sports point, I still masturbate to the last minute goals that I score for my country, to a billion dollar contract from Real Madrid and what not.

But I might be someone else’s Bukowski, too, if we are really going to dig in. We all might be judgemental, we just might be plain narcissists.

So, Bukowski, it’s fuck you I guess.