When you're feeling lazy... be lazy!

And now, ladies and gentlemen, wiffout any further ado, I give you.... (drumroll) .... something I wrote ages back (just because I'm too lazy to write anything new, thus the title of this post)!

Here I lie, behold me in all my glory

A windswept beach at sunrise, the sun just about breaking over and above the horizon. An altogether too familiar scene. On the beach lies a wretched wreck of a human being, muttering something so softly as to be almost unintelligible….”perfection….. must strive…. I…. must try”. The mutterings of any drunk homeless. Ignorable. Safely so. Thus is society. Those that don’t contribute, don’t matter.

I am K. This, very predictably, is my story. Born an only child into an orthodox family, I was raised bigoted, opinionated and chauvinistic. I was taught to believe in God. I was brought up to believe he was a good God, a just God. Some things were right and some things were wrong. Some people were right. Some people were wrong. Hate the ones who are wrong! They are the evil ones! Stay away from them! They will mislead you. They believe in false gods, the blasphemers. Lead a good life. Grow up, get a job, get married, have children, raise them as we did you, live a happy man. If God did indeed exist, and if he wrote our fates, it would’ve appeared as if my fate was a well plotted course, laid out clear and obstacle-free in front of me by my parents, acting on behalf of god. All my job was, was to walk down that path. And a lifetime of drilling to think as I had been trained to would ensure that I would walk down that path as complacently and obediently as a sedated dog on a leash.

Sadly enough, my parents were not God. Some things that I’m sure He would not have looked over, my parents did. I decided to think. God forbid, he thinks for himself! What will ever happen to him? Well, there was a contingency plan just for such a situation apparently. The answers to all my questions always seemed to reaffirm everything that I was taught to believe, everything that was diligently drilled into me by my loving parents. Believe. Don’t think. If you must think, make sure your thoughts wander to exactly where we want them to. In a perfect little fascist world, this would’ve worked just fine. Unfortunately enough, though, the world is far from either perfect or small. Fascist, perhaps, but not the other two. And so I kept questioning, but I kept a few questions to myself, safely stowed away in a cubbyhole at the back of my mind, there for the asking when the time was right.

And so the years passed, dull, mundane and utterly forgettable. And then came my first whiff of what I would later mistake to be freedom. I went away from home, away, away to university, for a further education, for it was deemed that in order for me to get a good wife, my resume would have to be buttressed with a good college education. After all what woman could resist a young thoroughbred of a man of good upbringing, with a university education no less? Look ma! Look at all the tricks it can do! It jumps through hoops, it drools when you ring a bell and it talks! But best of all, it has a university education! I want that dog, oh ma, won’t you get me that dog? Pavlov would indeed have been proud of me, had he had an opportunity to know me. A bleak past and a seemingly even bleaker future. Life was joyous, or at least I was told that that was what it was meant to be. So, obedient as ever, I went to university. Oh how they wept the day I left! Looking back, I rather sympathize with them. After all, after I’d left, who’d’ve been left for them to instill into, their skewed morals and ideals?

I was ill prepared for what awaited me. Scratch that, I was, in fact, not at all prepared for what awaited me. I took me not long to immerse myself diligently into all the vices that I had been shielded from all this while long. I was soon the resident drunk, and a dope-fiend to boot. Out the window the morals of a lifetime of upbringing, in everything I was ever taught to keep a distance from. The leash had been taken off, the sedatives worn. Somewhere along the line, I realized that making up for lost time was not the same as what I had become. And as the realization came, so did thought. Ah, the joys of unrestricted thought. The truest freedom there is. And all those questions came to the front again. All those questions that I’d been to cautious to ask of my parents. I was free to ask these and more. Many, many more!

But wait. The answers came, but not as I had thought they would. Where I had expected truly unbiased answers, free of all my opinionated restrictions, I found but other answers, equally biased as I would have expected of my parents’, albeit, a different bias every time, but always a bias. Was there no truly free mind? Was there no one who could answer me, give me the truth and not a perceived truth, distorted, by whatever the belief might be? If there is indeed a God, I imagine Him to have been sitting up there in his heavenly abode, having a jolly good laugh at my expense. What a young fool. What did he expect? Did he really expect to find a viewpoint that’s unbiased? Fool. Still, he is but a mere human. An imperfect image of me. Imperfect. Does he not know that such a thing does not, could not exist? That is perfection. That is me. And you are not me. So at least I concluded that if God existed, He was perfection. And that was an ideal I had to strive to achieve. No matter what the cost, I had now but one aim. Find God, or become Him. Free my mind. Unclutter it. Erase the bigotry, the near unshakeable beliefs of almost a lifetime of upbringing. Not an easy task, But I had to try.

It has now been ten years since I made that decision. I was booted out of university, disowned by my parents, and shunned by the world at large. I wander aimlessly the streets all day, lament my humanity all night long. I have long since become resigned to the fact that I am but human. I am imperfect. I was biased, I will always be biased, hard as I may try, I am but human. To be human is to be imperfect. To be imperfect is to give up, and despair our wasted lives. If there is a God, He must really be laughing his head off at my pathetic attempts at perfection. And me? A chauvinist to the bitter end. I still think of God as Him. Why not Her? Why not It? Because I am human.

So I am now an undistinguishable part of that faceless mass of humanity, the homeless. I have often been told by my many of my homeless brethren that I have a tendency to mumble incoherently when under the influence of alcohol. Something about striving for perfection, they say.