The good doctor once wrote;
“Myths and legends die hard in America. We love them for the extra dimension they provide, the illusion of near-infinite possibility to erase the narrow confines of most men’s reality. Weird heroes and mould-breaking champions exist as living proof to those who need it that the tyranny of ‘the rat race’ is not yet final.”
Indeed it’s not. Well, not yet anyway. But it seems all too hard for the majority of us poor souls to really break free from that daily grind. God knows I’ve tried. But no matter what I do, I never make sufficient headway. Not for me that is.
I can’t help but think the whole system is rigged against us. “Work hard”, they tell us, “and one day you’ll get that pot of gold.” But the realisation that it’ll never come is all too late. You’ll have already lost your soul. It vanishes in daily instalments, a part on the commute, another piece in a four hour meeting about shelves. And whatever you get for it, the price is too high. The City breathes in ambitious, optimistic, young people full of energy, vitality and hope; and breathes out old, haggard, disillusioned zombies.
The only thing to do then is reject the whole sordid system. Cast away its traps – the mortgage payments, car payments, council tax, and gas bills, and live like shining, happy, free people. Stay up late, go wild, drink rum and live fast. With the only worries on your mind are having fun and falling in love.