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I won't lie to you, I'm an adult. There is no question about it. I have adult responsibilities; a business, a marraige, lines of credit and promises that I'm held to. I accept it gladly, I'm ready and capable and I understand that just as my decisions shape who I am, who I am has shaped this shell of civilization's raiment. Fine. Good.

But, as the saying goes, it seems only yesterday that I was 18 years old and about to be released from the prison of high school, as free as air- a mind full of ideas and limitless time to explore them all. The world my playground and my only true responsibility is to find a way to subsist until tomorrow. To a great extent I have made a good start of that mission in the last decade. I intend to continue making my best effort.

But how easy it is to put oneself in a box!

How many people, no younger or older than me, examine their limitless possibilities, and decide that they have had enough of wonder and joy... that the point of view they once had where they were curious and uninhibited was no longer the person they strived to be. Instead,

(for some reason)

They decide that, if they are to feel safe and happy, they must make a number of exchanges:

- playing in the name of discovery is replaced by work in the name of subsistence
- time without objective is forbidden. You must have a goal at all times.
- innocence traded for cynicism
- trust traded for mistrust
- joy traded for satisfaction
- sensation traded for controllable numbness

It's as if the part of them that was most alive when they were children has died away, and what's left has reformed itself into an organism which is stoic, old, dead, shriveled up, dessicated.

They make the decision to put on the gray sansabelt slacks and wear the square toed shoes with the decorative buckle over the top. They decide to smoke cigarettes in public, they buy a ranch house way out in the suburbs and put late-model 4-door sedans in the driveway. They reproduce so they can prove to everybody exactly how grown-up they really are. They stop appreciating things for their inherent beauty, and begin to evaluate everything only by monetary value.

Oh, yes, we are all very impressed. Impressed by your lack of wonder, your ability to dull your senses with watery beer and two-dimensional conversations about your fast-track cubicle farmer career. Impressed by your desire to cultivate a love of mother-fucking golf. Impressed with your death-obsessed, rat-in-a-cage sports bar life of quiet, pointless desperate emptiness. Can I be just like you? Can I vote republican because some part of me likes seeing brown people get killed with machines I helped pay for? Can I forget everything that used to make me laugh and feel wonder? Can I pretend to enjoy the taste of black coffee and the feel of a suit and tie? Can I hang a successories poster on the wall and believe what it says? Can I be an integral part of next month's sales campaign? Can I forsake the wind and sunshine for forty years in buildings where the windows don't open? Can I chase after an endless succession of shiny, useless baubles? Can I buy into the dream? Can I invest my god damned 401(k)? Can I refininance? reinvest? requalify? reapply? resign? resent? regurgitate?

Can I, huh? Can I? Can I? Will I? Should I?

FUCK no. No, no no no no no no. I will NOT be that person. I will not kill my inner child. I will NOT abandon inherent good in people, inherent beauty in the world.