A 1/4 of my life has past, its expectancy a romantic trace. I wish to live to 100, when there are pills that instill superpowers into Human beings. Where death is only a means to quit the tremendous beauty we have built. Or rather life tilts to a point playing God is robbed of seriousness and we actually assume a teleological role in existing. To make a difference, to cause a dramatic change. That allows Human beings never to witness life the same. Despite the tens of thousands of years, the billions of peers who have sown their cultures into this contemporary life where we might dabble in centuries of ideas in a 10 minute YouTube video. The intense pace of knowledge overflowing already full minds, who find novelty in knowing and not showing change. For consumption is the mark of a strange Capitalistic life, where without notion or material you might just die out. Fizzle out like a cigarette, remaining a squished butt embedded into the pavement, becoming a plastic burden. Whilst your moment swells in the minds and lungs of those who consumed you, as every cell in the body reorganises and your moment to provide goodness to someone fades into nothingness. A memory amongst a million impressions on the growing Human mind.
I am entering my 25th Hour, with a sour feeling. The pace of life picked up in contrast to the buzzing 90s, where the day was ready to be captivated by my brimming mind. Unwinding to a TV show you know everyone else will see, opposed to a dozen categories of awesome works you haven’t seen. To fit in and feel green, high off collective endorphins. It is more hopeful than the 00s, where paranoia and trust rushed to dance between the rise of a strong identity. Black youth, diaspora and power moves that saw cultures and communities rise through honest graft. Witnessing chances be gained and missed, pissed without a laugh. For our teachers and peers doubts were vast, the Black Boy died at every turn. Blackness began to churn psychosis, the media would lean to such ideology. As a young mind unravelling during such times hope and ambition climbed into hiding. Not many would encourage one to do it, to achieve or live beyond your means. Hence there was no plan for this 25, in the 10s where social clout bouts with word of mouth. Living in a numbers game which quickly rises one to fame. Depending on who what where and how, the important sounds of networking to succeed. Living in heed of the capitalistic greed of those who want to use you.
Have you ever seen 25th Hour? It is a fantastic film, starring Edward Norton and my ex wife Rosario Dawson. It offers intense dialogue, an inner voice if you will – that depicts the accumulated negativity of New York livelihood. The conditions of people, their assumed drives and intense stereotypes make you question your own perception of things in such a life. It speaks volumes for this stage of adulthood, where one expects so much yet is stained by the need to be realistic. Though an ideal in this film which also stuck is the fact your situation is built by your own persona. The accountability of how one sets up their own self. Living in hope of the great escape, for the sake of movie like life where everything falls in place, conveniently without a soulful effort. Edward Norton is one of my favourite actors for his ability to capture the personality, his accent may be rigid but the range of belief in his performance speaks volumes. It is this rant that caught me and at this stage of life with the gathered ideas I have of people and things, it is truly relative: