People in academia piss me off. They stimulate their brain with respectable ideas for the purpose of making concrete changes in the world. I’m jealous. I prefer to investigate the motives of people’s drives and the reasoning behind their morality for no reason than the stimulation of it. There must be something missing in me. Most logically, I didn’t play well with others growing up and the belittlement made me avoidant and angry. Academia nerds were treated well, so they give back to the world—I will too, but not anytime soon. For now, I’ll belittle domesticated travelers because they’re too square to fit into any experience other than plane tickets to two-week spectator trips—far away from the assimilation of any true experience. They would rather walk through sterile streets and gaze from far distances instead of getting their hands dirty. You’ll never see one of these weak assholes driving their car across the border into Tamaulipas, no, they’ll be isolated on Cozumel instead. There are also the people locked within a fifty-mile radius inside of a continent that spans a thousand miles. These people’s minds are such a prison that their county line acts as a river of sulfuric acid threatening to destroy their paradigm and subsequently leading them to fits of schizophrenia and psyche shattering if they dare to cross. And I sit in the middle, neither committing to changing the world through refined worldly paradigms or holding my own weight by shoveling coal to support the local community. For now, I’ll sit on the outside choosing not to be too connected to the mundane world; however, we all wear something on our chest, because being alive and human means having an ego. What I carry on my chest is sanctimonious superiority for choosing to live for the experience of life instead of the recognition and validation that comes with being a part of a community.
Sublimation for My Turmoil 