Everything I thought it would be

It is everything I thought it would be. The music, the lights, the perspiration and slobber, food trucks lined up (don’t walk behind those things) and wasted potentials and inhibitions served free. It’s a wave upon a bigger wave, and when your house is built on sand, it will truly and awfully, fade away.

There are small carrions left-over after. Always. You find it littered on the grass: a cigarette butt, torn cupcake wrapper, the curve of a behind on a supposed to be inflated balloon screen. There was never an if, but a when, in every single generation.

I would ask myself questions about righteousness and poor choices a disregard to a higher calling; a life driven with purpose. I do not mean it in the long-term since most have put down their feet and have entered collegio to dream, but what of the now then? Isn’t the now an affectee of the future? Aren’t we ambassadors of ourselves?

But isn’t that the great non-mystery, the human soul, restless and afflicted, torn apart by ravaging wolves of the heart. Who to be, what to be, how to become like them, when to act and where do it. There is no common misconception.

It is a matter of who you are and who you stand for. Will you outflow or will they pour in?

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