I Never Want to Grow Up


step-brothers-movie

I decided today that I’m never growing up.. at least not for anyone else. I’ll still be 23 and I’ll still have the energy of a 23 year old while maintaining the mentality of a 70 year old Buddhist Monk silently meditating underneath a snow-covered, sloping rooftop.

But I’ll never grow up. Never.

I’ll never want to know what the 9-5 feels like. Been there, done it. I’ll never want to take things seriously, although I find myself stopping at the bright red light, blinded by responsibility. By time. But only briefly.

I want to be the perverted R. Crumb and hungry Hunter S. Thompson all rolled up into one. I want to rip fingernails up from finger beds to see the dirt underneath. I want to piggy back on Amazonian women with big tits. I want to ride on laughter for as long as possible while contemplating the constant sorrow of life on a line with a string of beads sliding from one end to the next.

I want to ditch this and go on to the next. I don’t want to be contained. I don’t want to be nice. I want to fart and burp and poop openly (not in public though, for I’m familiar with just a little bit of decency). I want to brace the body of galloping horses and motorcycles and bikes and trains and planes. I want to remain awake during the dark and sleep during the day. I never want to go to the gym. Just wanna dance the age away.

I wanna make puppets. I wanna learn what sound looks like and how to manipulate it with my mind, my lips, my fingertips. I wanna sleep with dogs and cats and sing loudly in whatever space I decide to consume.

I wanna be a scientist – a three year old scientist. Remember those Grossology books? I coveted them all. I used to worship a plastic splatter of puke with remnants of corn and something that looked like green peas stuck, forever, in that playful green pea bile. I used a pop-up book of phobias to conduct a science experiment on fear in high school. I don’t remember the grade I received because I didn’t care.

No more niceties. I want to love like a Tasmanian devil. I want to feel like I’m on a roller coaster forever. I want a partner to go bank robbing with. I want to let it all the fuck go. I want to spread my legs really wide so you can see every bit of me in floppy, fleshy folds. And I want you to go down there – no flashlights, no polite knock at the door – and love it all up. A slick cave of wondrous bliss.

I never want to grow up. I want robots, zombies, cartoons, and cats. I want parades and musicals and games and gun showdowns. I want cowboys and a frontier, a big fucking frontier. I want space aliens and unexplained incidents. I want ghosts and monsters and lions. I want nap time. I want cookies. I want it all of the time.

But I never want to grow up.

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