Ben Bonkoske

I think, in all ways besides literately, I have become dull. I am like a nub of a knife that is as round as a spoon. We can only sharpen for so long before it ends up doing damage. The point is weakened by over-explanation so to say. I am so stable I ought to own a horse. In fact, if you were my enemy, by now I’d imagine that you are forecasting a psychotic public hysteria. And if you were really my enemy, you wouldn’t listen to one more word. I think the problem with being good at something is nobody wants to believe it. I doubt myself quite often, but deep down, it has proven to doubt others just as much. Even if you were my friend you might be surprised that I haven’t sabotaged something recently. With America ready to outlaw abortion, I’m not doing so bad. Aldous Huxley wrote that the future slaves will conform willingly because they will believe in the philosophy that takes away their liberties. I suppose if you are going to get anywhere you have to eventually stop failing. We can learn more from failure, but success is a sign of growth. To be honest, I wouldn’t have trusted myself a week ago to not binge watch smut and cough up a lung, but today, after overcoming the spot in the mud where I usually slip, I might go another few weeks or months without getting dirty. Try harder, fail better. Fail at all the progress I’ve made to literally nowhere. It is possible that I am finally letting go of the notion that I am so much better than everyone, or better yet, that people are confined to contrite comparison indefinitely. My mind was like an angry goldfish tonight at dinner, ready to throw up all of my congested sporadic thoughts, irregular notions, and intrusive flashbacks. I suppose my mind couldn’t get off those annoying topics as a quiet dinner guest, but I am outgrowing narcissism. There is nothing wrong with having a healthy exuberant identity, but it crosses the line when you think you ought to be recognized for no other reason than who you are. A good person, even if you and them both know they are better than you in every way, will humbly admit their revelations, epiphanies, and achievements. The best will not even mention it. Instead of being angry by how accomplished others are, and my how wonderful I am at executing frivolous ideas, and noble adventures, I am happy for other people rather than being happy in spite of myself. It’s rather freeing. I don’t have to be what everybody expects me to be. I really don’t want to be that guy at the party who doesn’t enjoy anybody’s company. I usually walked away from those situations convinced that nobody wanted to pay any attention to me anyway (or I had to be the center of attention that people go home talking nastily about). That, my friend, comes from a premature egotistical lense. Maybe it is just because I am so far away from anybody my age, but I really haven’t felt inadequate for the past five minutes. The older the people that I surround myself with, the more I am liable to accept myself, because it is a reminder that everybody is not perfect, but can still be happy. I hate people my age. I hate the culture that surrounds youth, and America. I truly hope someday to transcend the narrative that berates people for being ugly.