Every man's life ends the same way.

It is only the details of how he lived

and how he died that distinguishes one man from another.

I question that quote now, more now, than any time before. I suppose theres
a multitude of ways going about analyzing that quote, but to put it simply, I disagree
with it.
Imagine, if you will, for a moment: an open field, rid it of roads, any sort of
technology, or for that matter, any humans and anything human affiliated. Its a hot
summer day with the sun beating down upon the ground and anything exposed to it.
Even the shadows cannot escape the heat, the ground in which the shadow is casted
upon is warm with heat waves radiating off of it. This on-going heat wave has
caused a drought, which has starved any plant life of their necessary subtenants,
causing the field to grow green with brown patches. All in the while, a minor breeze
will come by gently swaying the blades of grass to and fro like a wave crashing down
into the beach and quickly retreating back. The wind only makes it hotter, carrying
hot air and gives a falsified anticipation for a cool breeze.
Nonetheless, birds still chirp, ants still march, and cows still graze the starved
plants. To the cows, there is no heat, no dead grass, and no lack of water, they
blissfully continue with their daily functions. For them there simplyis. Their daily
functions continue, but more and more common are the deaths of family members,
but they keep doing what they must: eat, sleep, shit, and fuck. The cognitive ability
to perceive a sense of disturbance of such deaths would only cause chaos and thus,
intrudes on the continuation of their species. Those of which that choose to care die
out immediately and are eradicated from existence. Not even a memory.
Generations pass and this function of reality ceases to advance, any idea of
progression is not progression at all in this natural selection. A higher level of
understanding and have a consciousness of the world around you is detrimental to
you and everyone around you. A cow that lingers upon the death of another is
unable to eat, sleep, shit, and fuck; and would an impossible breed of cow. How
would one have the nutrition to fuck? What would they shit? How could they sleep if
they cant fuck? So the cows graze upon the field and are unaware of what they eat,
how they fuck, what they shit, and why they sleep.
I stand in a field of cows watching them eat their dead grass as they continue
on with their pitiful lives. I take a seat in the nearest chair to me as I watch
conversations flow, waiting for my time to watch someone die, which, I suppose,
would be my inevitable death. Drinks are passed on from one to another, and for
what? I suppose to deal with the lack of empathy, or creativity, perhaps? Perhaps its
time for my own, Ill need something to masquerade myself in this room full of fools.
Which brings me back to the man who spawned the earlier quote, Ernest
Hemmingway. Not only did he say what was previously quoted, but also there was
another quote from the man (Surprising, isnt it? The man said more than one
thing.) An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend time with his
fools. Id have to say hes correct, but to add to it, perhaps an intelligent man is
sometimes forced to be drunk to act like his fools. In which, I say cheers.
So I take a careful look at the selection of medication presented before me,
but the damned bartender is staring at me from the corner of his fucking bar as if
Ive started some type of ruckus, which makes it harder for me to focus. I begin to
stare back at him and he starts to wipe down his already clean cup as so he could act
like hes busy or some bullshit. The man is a young and built, clearly, because he
chose to shop at Baby Gap so he could show everyone in the bar his muscle
definition. It almost looks like the shirt is about to rip or hes simply going to hulk
out of it in some type of roid rage as he scrubs the cup. Maybe hell get angry about
the lack of dirt in it and accidently grip it too hard causing it to break in his hand. I
could see it now, Baby Gap Bartender with glass in his hand, blood gushing and
shooting in all directions and the cows mooing in disgust. Hed run around the bar
looking for something to stop the bleeding, but nothing will help because the glass
has already hit the artery and he will be too much of an imbecile to call the
ambulance. No, hell just try to apply layers and layers of paper towels, but hed be
making a dam for an ocean. And still, his shirt wouldnt rip. Its impossible. I dont
understand it. So the fucking guy goes about washing this clean dish and I continue
on with my endeavor to be able to deal with his existence. A few shots, or perhaps a
few beers in and Ill be able to bear him, hell, give me a god damned pitcher and his
shirt will even look nice. To hell with that, itll fit him perfect!
Bourbon, I gag at saying the word. I look furthervodkatequilano, none of
those. Id prefer not to have the sting of hard liquor lingering in the back of my
throat like what acid reflux causes. The beer selection surprisingly is quite limited
here, judging by the amount of people, the city its located in, and the style of the
place, youd think that theyd have more. My assumption is that theyre trying to go
for that whole minimalist idea, but to me theres no logic behind something like
that. I get the idea of having twenty shirts with ten different styles in a clothing
store, but its just to make them look more valuable because the lack of quantity
they have. LIMITED STOCK, BUY NOW! Which is bullshit, by the way, if you were to
ask me. Give me a store with a thousand of the same shirt and ten different styles
and Id still feel the same way, but Id probably think that the store requires a higher
stock due to the demand of shirts. I guess this goes back to the whole cow thing. So I
go on judging which beer to choose: default beer number 1, 2, 3, or 4?
It almost seems as though theyre choosing for me at this point so I motion
for the retard at the end of the bar. He almost acts surprised or caught off guard
when I motion him over. The man was so fixated on cleaning that glass he almost
forgot he had customers, what a concept! He trots over, and plants his hands on the
bar making him look like hes about to do a push-up or something.
What can I do ya for?
I dont get where phrases like that come from. YeahuhI just want a pint
of beer number 1.
Fuck. I slipped. Too late to fix it now.
He just laughs, hands still on the counter, head pressing against my personal
space, my bubble being penetrated by this beast. His look no longer nervous, I gave
him the higher ground (not to mention that his head is also only slightly above mine,
looking down at me). Was he even nervous before? This new confidence now
defeats my observation, a kind of paradox. Was he actually just cleaning the glass
and happened to look away as I turned my focus to him? A question unanswered. Is
Beer 1 PBR, Stella, Newcastle, or Blue Moon? he asks.
I now begin to get nervous. I know why, and he knows why too. The cocky
Baby Gap guy is now in my face with his sarcastic tone, he has a reason to be alpha
male and he definitely wont pass up the opportunity. Thats my pass at trying to be
social for the night. I say PBR and he ends the conversation with my total, not even
asking if I want to leave the tab open.
The pint, now sitting before me, has foam filling half of the glass and almost
escaping the confined space its held in. I wonder if he did this on purpose, was I
staring at him? I had been told by one of my friends once, that I stare at people.
Every now and again I catch myself actually doing it, but isnt that somewhat of a
normal thing? I guess she wouldnt have brought it up if it were. So I guess I was
staring at him and when I finally beckoned him over he thought it would be a great
idea to demonstrate his male dominance. Sure did scare me, with his foam and all.
I once read this article about male dominanceor maybe it was a
documentaryor was it in one of my psych classes? It doesnt matter, the point is
that the struggle for dominance (or power hunger, which ever you prefer), is usually
associated with being a sociopath or having some type of mental disorder, but thats
only regarding the need for power. I find it interesting that whenever we see
someone struggle for the need for power, whether it being manipulating, killing, or
some other means that we often make a quick go-to blame like mental disorders. It
seems as though the modern day witch-hunt is just a fight against anything we
might see as a flaw. Normal behaviors like the one I just experienced are now
described as something negative and off-putting because hes this sociopath or
whatever other disorder you want to label him with. When checking the numbers of
the people with all of these disorders it seems quite curious as to why half of the
population has something wrong with them and only a tenth of those people are
seen as bad guys. If someone with a mental disorder such as dyslexia were to be
exposed to the public, the public would immediately be there with open arms and a
welcoming environment. On the contrary, as soon as someone was to describe a
sociopath or some type of disorder accompanied by manipulation then we must
shun the person and have him or her arrested. Male dominance is no more than
manipulation and physical dominance. You can see it in the animal kingdom all of
the time: a pride of lions will have their male leader contested through his own
decisions and those that protest him. The pride has no room for a weak leader and
must maintain their group as best they can.
In my case, the male saw his dominance in question by another man. As in
most animals, he immediately acts defensive and retreats to cleaning his glass. Being
called over by the man, he is now aware that he must decide: either accepts his fate
as a less dominate male or take action. The bartender chooses the same route that
the pride would: contesting the leader. Unaware of such a thing going on, I fumble
my words and he acts prideful in his intimidation. He can now continue taking
action as a man, proving he is the one in control, he takes my drink and pours me a
foam-filled glass and probably a little bit of spit while I wasnt paying attention.
Unfortunately, this is a daily regimen for men and their lack of confidence.
They constantly have to prove themselves one way or another. I guess its just
something we have to deal with, but its fucking annoying.
I take a quick look around the bar. The place is lit up as if it were supposed to
be from the future or something, as are most hip clubs. The floors are made of glass
and have this strange block inside of them, where the edges have something that
looks like the ocean, a wavy kind of form. Outside of these blocks are lights that will
blind if you if you decide to look directly at them. They radiate blue light that
pollutes the area of the bar. Each block of glass has four of these things, surrounding
the blue wavy block inside of the glass. Outside each block of glass is small grey
filler, not sure what it is to be honest. Im not exactly inclined to go out and touch it
to see what it is either. The bar sits just below the dance area; to me its a
representation of who is lonely and who isnt. Just a few steps will take you to the
dance area. Inside the open bar space are a couple of filler-type of high-rise tables
along with their high-rise chairs, which make it impossible to sit on.
The bar itself extends forty feet, Im pretty sure. I cant really tell though, Im
bad at guessing those types of things. It contains enough seats to go around. The
rest of the place I could give a shit about explaining; Ill only waste both of our time
describing the small details that dont matter. Now you know where Im fucking
sitting at least.