Mike Doughty, not a philosopher, "Lifting me up like a garage door, I need to feel it when the drug starts coming on" and I have to nod my head despite the fact that my heros are sometimes hipsters, often lazy, wearing costumes derived from derivatives scorned by the thinking free world. North Korea ain't got nothing on my hero worship, and I transfer my weakness from my spine to the strengths of men and women too steel to maintain. John Wayne. Johnny Cash. Utah Phillips. Hunter Thompson. Rosa Parks. Francisca Flores. Zapata. Too many to mention.
My own protoplasm, my biological thing so at once in place yet hurtling through this with fierce velocity, I can't quite ever find comfort in it. My own stupid biology, time limited and scarred. Pegged to this soil. We do what we have to, we do what we're told and when those times come that we move with purpose, we stretch our foundations but never falter in our steady support. I provide, I complete, I work my ass off and I do it sometimes without mercy, often in places that I cannot talk about, doing things I can divulge and here it is: I copy shit from A to B and thats it. I ensure the success of ones and zeros as they cross a wire or a platter or a lens.
But there are times when I move with purpose. Head up, eyes clear, horizon defined, I move and make things happen that would normally fail to happen. Sometimes it is easy. Often it is not.
We don't suffer the small things. We don't sweat the method, I can't explain how I do what I do any more than anyone who does something un-graded can. I solve a problem, sometimes I use my dreams.
I use my motivations and find paths where you wouldn't. You might find them where I do not. The end course is the same: we push these buttons, shove a little bump into the momentum, change the ripples.
Make the world turn a little faster, another bright dot in the fabric, just working toward some gathering dawn.
You and I, this thing we are, we're going to meet someday. Drinks and whatever. Find our selves. Lose the rest of it.
My own protoplasm, my biological thing so at once in place yet hurtling through this with fierce velocity, I can't quite ever find comfort in it. My own stupid biology, time limited and scarred. Pegged to this soil. We do what we have to, we do what we're told and when those times come that we move with purpose, we stretch our foundations but never falter in our steady support. I provide, I complete, I work my ass off and I do it sometimes without mercy, often in places that I cannot talk about, doing things I can divulge and here it is: I copy shit from A to B and thats it. I ensure the success of ones and zeros as they cross a wire or a platter or a lens.
But there are times when I move with purpose. Head up, eyes clear, horizon defined, I move and make things happen that would normally fail to happen. Sometimes it is easy. Often it is not.
We don't suffer the small things. We don't sweat the method, I can't explain how I do what I do any more than anyone who does something un-graded can. I solve a problem, sometimes I use my dreams.
I use my motivations and find paths where you wouldn't. You might find them where I do not. The end course is the same: we push these buttons, shove a little bump into the momentum, change the ripples.
Make the world turn a little faster, another bright dot in the fabric, just working toward some gathering dawn.
You and I, this thing we are, we're going to meet someday. Drinks and whatever. Find our selves. Lose the rest of it.
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