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September 29, 2022
The people rise. They run, they walk their dogs, and I watch. I enjoy a cup of coffee from the comfort of my window, maybe three. Undoubtedly three. I've been drinking coffee for a long time. I need three to feel alive again. After that, I'm ready. I can function, run, and walk the dog, but I do neither. Instead, I irritate my neighbors with music too loud and too early. It's the right thing to do. Besides, my tastes are palatable. I assume everyone likes the music I like, the egomaniac I am. It's the right thing to do. It's the right thing to do because I can do it. I do the things I do because I can do them, and I want to do them, which makes them right. Right for me, maybe wrong for you, but I don't care.
Some people reach a meditative state; whether mowing the front lawn or tripping on mescaline, it's all the same to me, where everything is perfect. Starving African children, divorce, marriage, Jamie Diamond receiving his yearly bonus; it's all happening, and it's all perfect. I don't have to spend years meditating to achieve this state. All I need is three cups of coffee, and occasionally I'll have to masturbate. The latter is dependent on the weather, I presume.
I enjoy watching people running, walking their dogs, and getting over their ex by watching the waves crash into the beach on a fall day. I watch them like Nietzsche watching the horse being beaten to death. "I understand you," I cry silently. But I'm not them. They all have their lives, and I have mine. We don't understand each other. We could understand each other with the right amount of dedication, patience, and effort, but this won't happen. I'm an observer, watching people who don't know they're being watched.
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