January 18, 2014 by vinylburns
Life is hot.
And often uncomfortable.
I’ve lived in, at, on and around all manor of climates, altitudes, humidities, philosophies, luminoscities and states of regret.
It’s a wild ride, but we are survivors.
The human instinct to survive will, with eventual inevitability, overcome almost, actually literally any physical or psychological environment.
Except Kenya… I don’t know what to tell you about Kenya.
As we bob, weave, wiggle… Dodge dip duck dive and weave our way through the contrived chaos of life, we find a whole slithering array of unpalatable grotesqueries in our way.
Sometimes we can address them directly and methodically, through a rich and positive process of contemplation, confrontation, negotiation and violence.
With the right tools, we can eliminate a pretty healthy portion of life’s little issues, or at least push them discreetly into someone else’s workflow. That’s a solution, in my book.
Often though, when the evils of this crazy world are out of our hands, in the forefront of our minds, all over our shoes and right under our noses… There ain’t nothing nobody can do about ’em.
Except me… Because I know the secret.
A lot of people have witnessed my zen like Jedi flavoured acceptance of frustrating and unfortunate circumstance, and many assume that I actually invented this brand of extreme sociopathic tolerance in a deep sea bunker, fifty fathoms under the arctic ocean, where I also keep my fantasy Santa suits and manage my Ice Midget Work Camp.
This is a common misunderstanding, held by people who bought copies of the original pressing of my 3rd book, entitled “The Made Up Frozen Ice Fantasy Fiction Stories Of Vinyl Burns, Disco Genius and Pretend Santa Clause”, which was mistakenly released, under the title “The Authorized True Life Story of Vinyl Burns – A Real Man, And That’s The Honest Truth”.
One tiny slip-up at the printer, and suddenly I’m spending 7 weeks in The Hague, watching power-point presentations about slavery.
In any case, MY methods of chill time and life diversion, are much more down to earth. You see, I realised a long time ago, that once things start to go bad, you should hope for them to go all the way South.
One night in the sexy Volcanic paradise of Hawaii, I’d missed my connecting flight, taken a dozen wrong turns and, in accordance with CIA guidelines for this situation… I’d eaten my boarding pass, and punched out a cardboard cutout of a stewardess.
Some time later, finding both my luggage, AND myself, outside on the tarmac with few other options, I constructed my camp bed and set about making camp in the engine bay of a neglected DC3.
Through no real fault of my own, the day that had begun with a stubbed toe and spilling a week’s worth of Antibiotics into my Burbon Spritzer, had ended with a SWAT team asking for an encore of my acapella version of “My Kind Of Town”.
As with most of life, the details are unimportant… Just know this.
When it’s been an awful day, and nothing seems to be going your way… Hit The Town!
When you’re broke, bombed out, distraught and depleted… Start another petty fist fight with the nearest sporty type flat-head meatface you can find.
Nobody likes a half-arsed, panty waist try-hard turtle shiner wasting their time… Go Big or Get Back.
Raise yourself above your bitter boned lemon scented failures and run naked and screaming into the hot, heaving jaws of awful, ruptured fiasco.
It’s a story.
And It’s always gonna be a better story, than it is a bad experience.