When We Were Young

We didn’t feel our hearts beat when we climbed the hill. And we were idiots. That’s about it, kids, in a bloody fucking nutshell. Otherwise, there’s hardly a difference between being young and old. Experience makes you a tiny little bit wiser (a really, really tiny bit), and your body isn’t blessed with adamantine health anymore. It’s not better, or worse, it’s just different. You’ll still be a fool. You won’t have less problems, or more. You won’t love or hate yourself any more or less than you did… if you’re lucky you’ll be faintly aware of why, but only faintly, because you will also have realized that it doesn’t matter. All that, or you’ll end up a grumpy old cynic like myself.

Going Overboard

Like, in the sense of, doing too much, like hey, no don’t… no! Too late. You already have.
Excess leads to wisdom. The problem is, when you’ve excessed enough to get that far, you can’t spell wsdion anymore. You’ve gone overboard. You no longer know or care what wisdom is. Perhaps that is the quintessence of wisdom? No, it can’t be. At the very most, you know the morning after what wisdom is: don’t drink more than you can hold.

The funny thing is, excess has other advantages as well! It allows you, for instance, to forget all those wonderful women you have been acquainted with… at least for a while.
Now, I don’t want you to think I am a misogynist. I really like women; sometimes I love them. Some of my best friends are women. Heh. But they do seem to have a penchant for hurting me, and they always manage to make me feel like it’s my fault in the end, even though my reasoning part tells me that this is not the case. Perhaps I just haven’t found the right one. Perhaps my reasoning part is just a complete idiot and doesn’t understand a fucking thing.
Listening to Babubudu, from Leningrad.