What I Like About Life: November 2016

NONSENSICAL, Chapter 1 Did u know that when the great mystery of God saw Satan, Satan, as it goes, said Way too much. He, uh, says ton. And it's sad, as the devil and satan, being the same person, never were perfect, but at one time, in history, as history might be, were angels. 2 angels. that dropped. But hell, me being a simple writer, I still don't necessarily believe in an upper or lower divinity, besides the troubles we confine ourselves to on Earth. One may call it our Sandy Box. We play games down here on Earth. All fighting each other to get more money and to buy more time to live here on this great hell hole. The funny thing, to me, is that Heaven and Earth, one once told me as they heard from a friend, are all a mindset we carry, and Heaven and Earth and Hell might all as well be found on the ground we currently walk upon. Imagine a straight road, and you have to walk down it forever. You are with 4 of your closest friends. Who would those friends be... would you be content, walking down this road forever? My name is Young Yensen, I am homeless now. I had a home, but I left it. The only places I stop now down this lonely road with my four other friends are gas stations, record stores, coffee shops, and book stores. No, I don't get anything at record stores. I just like being in them. To look around, and see what there is in store, what people are actually listening to these days. It is so interesting to see that music acts as a lunatic's prophecy and most people don't realize that they actually are not completely so off track of finding some insight into their own life's stories and where it begins and ends when they listen to the music they do. Popular music made me sad. Sad music made me happy. Personally, I found that to be an interesting concept. It must mean my world must have been switched up, or maybe that's how people constantly worked, bending together the ideas of sadness and happiness so that they feel stable and balanced on the earth they tread upon. At gas stations, I just buy cigarettes. At coffee shops, coffee. At book stores, poetry. Why did I begin this story with something about Satan and God. Mine as well have started it with Adam and Eve, or the Devil's Boy, supposing they might as well have had a kid, or a Crystal Ball, or Bradley Nowell or Kurt Cobain or Tupac or BigE or a 1969 feminist. It's all the same. Every single person has a concept, is a genius, has a beautiful story to tell. I am just Young Yensen, I come from Tahoe, I sit on a rock by myself reading Walden by Thoreau, thinking that I might be walled in by circumstances I have all but myself created. I put myself into a self inflicted pit. Only to realize that the bottom of a whale's spout, the bottom of a ditch, the inside of an Elephant's trunk, might hold more secrets than one might have originally thought. It's good to be walled in, to be tortured by your own mood swings. Maybe we are our own worst advocate at times. Sometimes it is better to get on a swing and just be happy about going back and forth, up and down. I wish I never got off that swing when I was younger, wearing some Gap sweatshirt, the swing being made of some rubber tire bottom, me feeling like the captain of my own kid's ship, my own kin ship with me and my mom and my sister and the rest of my family ties. But here, I sit, approximately 18 years later, 22 currently, with 2 packs of cigarettes, a large cup of coffee, a pitted stomach, and a dirty pit with a comfy chair, a bike, and a couch, and an ash tray, and approximately 42 to 43 ashed out cigarettes, all pitted. It's all pitted. Waves come crashing down on me. But, instead they do not. Right before that, my father, dressed in a black suit, runs up and picks me up and saves me as I look straight into the eye of the wave. I have had that dream many times before. I have had many dreams before. One time I dreamt so hard that I ended up actually driving my car straight into a pole in real life and ended up in a holding cell for four days. Day dreaming is a real struggle, when people want you to stay awake. The holding cell took me in. I was still dreaming. I saw an office space. Everyone was working on something. It was Christmas time. The phone where I was did not work. I dialed different numbers probably a thousand times. I banged around. I sat around. I saw a sign and a person nodded at me. The sign read something. I couldn't read right from my lefts at the time. I just waited and banged around some more, thinking if I make enough sound, I might just create something. Nothing ever happenend. It's funny how being a dreamer ends up nowhere sometimes. Nevermind those four days though. They're over. The war in Dresden ended too, supposedly, as the brilliant Vonnegut once noted. I am really glad I am alive. I have to pretend I am someone I am not now. A living individual, as I work on a little ski town. Writing. No one cares about magic. About genies, gypsies, vampires, fairy princesses, beasts, wild things. Dead beats. Crazy. That's what they would call them, the demons. No one believes. Well, I guess I do. I guess they do. Let's just pretend it's real for the sake of story telling. I have a dog named Spot. I let him smoke marijuana sometimes. Second hand of course. But I don't smoke. I just hover around people who do. I smoke cigarettes. As I mentioned earlier, my name is Young Yensen, but I prefer to be called Steezy D. Probably because it rhymes with Saint Eazy E, and I really liked Eazy E, the way he didn't think he was a rapper, just like Eric didn't think he was a DJ in Sublime, but they always went hard. Anyways, I am walking down a road still. With my dog Spot, my friend Monty, my friend Mike (who is really into Hendrix), and my other friend Louis (who likes all kinds of music). 4 friends. A dog being the best one. Maybe we will see a pack of girls while walking down this road. That would be dope. Here we go. WOLF PACK, Chapter 2