I reside in one of those little communities that have character, and thankfully, no corporate cancer cells disguised as McDonalds, Walmart, or Macy’s. I fall asleep to the sound of beach music. I wake up to birds chirping. We get our fishin’ straight outta the river and our chicken straight from the coop. I walk roughly five miles a day (if you include my 2.5 daily run/jog/who am I kidding…walk) in the forest. I am hidden among the trees and close companions with deer and squirrels, although I have had a lot of trouble spotting the elusive fox. I swear, one of these days my karmic energy will be affirmed by the patronus of that red bastard. I attend weekly bonfires. I have an office that has a beautiful view of a crawl space and a disquieting furnace. I cook. And I’m taking the necessary steps for a bright future. What I’m trying to say is I’m afforded time, quiet solitude, and peace. However, for as far as I am away from the noise of the city, I sure hear a lot of the gossip, smell a lot of the trash , and feel as important as a Manhattan megalomaniac young man. Do you want me to be honest? When I am surrounded by people all I can do is compare, degrade, and raise my nose at everyone I meet. I don’t know why I have such a capricious opinion of everything. At least I’m humble enough to know I’m not better than anyone else. Doesn’t matter if they are poor, ugly, stupid. I love those people. It is the ones who think, are beautiful, and unforgivingly rich. What is this called? I’m sure it is a syndrome.
I classify myself as “the best of the worst.” My friends tend to be some of the world’s worst degenerates. I am an honest con man. A swindler at best. People sometimes whisper to me that I shouldn’t be so hard on myself but life is most meaningful when it is hard, difficult to understand, and unbearable to overcome. To be honest, all the hard work vanishes the second I find myself in a physical “altercation” i.e encounter. All the books I read. Useless. My routine. Irrelevant. My writings. Meaningless. For some reason, humans, or more specifically, my perspective, just feels so damn sexually driven. I am cognizant, peripherally perceptive, and mature enough to recognize that cognitively we aren’t necessarily sex-crazed animals and we abide to a social contract of romantic relationships. However, instinctually, I just feel like we can’t help our impulses when we look at someone who is sexy, even if they are with another man, especially if he is shorter than me. I really don’t want to. I find myself holistically praying for their relationship and that nefarious nymphomaniacs like me don’t intervene. However, today, that is just the way I saw it. That is what happens when you are secluded in the country for the better half of a year and go into a concrete beast, window shopping.
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Ben Bonkoske 