To reach for a higher consciousness has always been something I thought I’d get only at or during when that one bottle of Rhum starts kick in and take over the gray matter. C’mon, whether you like to admit it or not, it is only when you’re drunk that you get to avail that luxury to philosophize. Minds meet and collide, all hell breaks lose, and some Dalai Lama takes over your body to connect all that shit to some certain forces we could not fully fathom for we are nothing but just mere human beings in this world. But then at that drunken moment you think you’re right you couldn’t care less about the world and the heck what’s going on in you’re surroundings because that’s just how it is. You’ve just reached a mental state only a few have achieved so consider yourself lucky. My friend at that very moment you became The Philosopher.
Imagine you and your buddies boozing it, performing meeting of the minds with each shot, and getting numb and high in some intellectual dispatch when suddenly you feel something off. Your synapses are sending messages that something’s just not right. Could it be the Rhum? Or is it just the temperature? Are your pants wet? No. Then what could it possibly be? Ohmmm. Ohmmm. You start to channel John Lennon’s soul from his LSD stoner years. Yes… yes… You get signals… gets a little choppy. Oops, wait, don’t move. It’s getting clearer. And them bam, you realize that that something off, that something’s that’s just not right, that bleep in your radar is no other than that trashbag that had tagged along in that Rhum-sponsored incoherence-inducing cerebral summit. Ladies and gentleman, meet the Hater.
Now isn’t that an introduction.
Chances are you’ve had close encounters kind in one way or another. You probably have dealt with them some time in the past and how you handled the situation leaves so much to be desired. I, even personally believe that the best way to do it is to avoid them like a plague. But then, life’s just like not that. No matter how hard you stay away from and pray for God to get rid of that plague, life has just certain ways to pull a joke on you. Et voila, next thing you know some hater is on your midst.
Once, or thrice I’ve hung out with a certain trashbag who couldn’t really offer anything on the table other than snide comments on things I’m sure she didn’t have at least half the grasp of. She has just got to have opinions on things. Not only that, she had made things worse by talking shit behind my back as if I wouldn’t have noticed. I’m like, “bitch must be craaazzy.” Seriously, who does that? Being the most welcoming person I am in that sacred Rhum watering hole, the guest my friends and I accommodated so well just couldn’t deliver the manners we expected her to have.
They come in all forms and sizes. They could be that now-douchey classmate of yours back in the days who’s now got a really promising (oh puh-lease) future, or that lecturer who considers him/herself so busy and yet has the time to call you out on your tardiness or whatever it is he/she can call you out on for the sake of it, or even that friend of yours you considered a friend. The plague is everywhere. Worst case scenario, it could be that person in your mirror.
Naturally, of course being eternally drunk in the past (I have changed my ways since. Sobriety’s once in a while is cool – my mantra.) I ask how could I not fathom this like how a drunk should understand the connection of the earth’s movement to the stars and whatnot or even just rise above just like what a Dalai Lama ought to do. But then again, intelligent we may think we are when intoxicated I know my IQ’s not 130. I wish it were but then it’s not. I am not a genius. And be like Dalai Lama? LOL. Just LOL.
I maybe wrong on this one but trashbag probably was just crushing on me and was trying to get my attention. Obvious. And that lecturer probably was, too. The rest are nothing but insecure schmucks who, like Kanye, according to Kelly, weren’t hugged enough as kids.
And so I end this with words from a hated person and who recently get bad reps for being just, well, privileged. By that, we mean, a trust fund kid, have loads of cash because of daddy, and now carving a rapping career indirectly because of daddy. Gawker once reported that written on Chet’s social networking page were the words “Keep on hating while I’m celebrating.” Amen to that. Now who wants to hate when we can just celebrate? Stop hate people. And just celebrate yours or other people’ success. Believe me, it does wonders.
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