"Engulfed with hatred, anger, delusion and greed, you charge against the world; but, you are not the matador, you are the bull." » Y G H M®: the stories, yo
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“Engulfed with hatred, anger, delusion and greed, you charge against the world; but, you are not the matador, you are the bull.”

“Engulfed with hatred, anger, delusion and greed, you charge against the world; but, you are not the matador, you are the bull.”

I pause; this is DRA-MAT-IC af.

“The world is watching.”

The writer pauses;  I didn´t know he had prose in him–mad prose to you, dude.

I take a sip of coffee; I set the taza down.

“So what I´m saying”, I continue as I recline in the chair at the cafe by the beach, “is that watching you is like watching a pendulum–swinging back and forth between extremes.  As long, as I don´t attach, and react to the perpetual rhythm it is sedative–like a meditation; it is a constant silent meditation to be around you; observe how you cling to this position, then that stance; you have the stability of a wave on the beach; you rush in as a force, collapse on the beach, then receed, only to return to the start and crash again into the beach; fixated on the chaos, but not in it, we, you and I, feel in control; the best way, besides to ride the waves, is to stay out of the break–to keep distance, but to be close; getting out of the way of the charging bull, but not losing focus on it.

For the moment that you take your eyes off the rushing animal, you get the horn.”

I pause; I think there was a better way to say that last part–but, it still sounded good.

I pat myself on my back.

“Can I pat you on the back?”, the writer asks as he sets down his taza.

“Oh no! That would be strange, right?”, I reply as I lean forward and turn my head to look out the window.

“Surfing”, I start to say as I pick up my taza and take a sip, “is harmony with a feeling.”

The writer pauses; wips out his notepad and starts writing.

Harmony with a feeling.

“The ocean is in charge of the ocean; you are in charge of you; when the two bodies come into harmony, alignment, then the energy of the wave propels a human, right?”

He pauses.

“What are you saying?”, he asks as he shifts his eyes from the beach to me.

“Find your harmony, your sense of harmony in the world.”

I take a sip of coffee; I put my hand in the air; the waiter comes over; I ask for more sugar.

“So are you going to hire him to write more books?”, HR asks as she puts a handful of digitalpapitas in to her mouth.

“You know”, I reply as I take a sip of soda, “the whole incident with Susie and his sub-par writing–we´re just going to take a break.”

“Valor says that discernment means not doing what you want–and, instead doing the right thing.”

“But”, HR replies as she puts another handful in to her mouth, “what is the right thing–the moral thing and ethical approach?”

“You know”, I reply as I recline my chair in the kitchen, “you just know–you have a feeling on what you should do.  It is about trusting that feeling–if it´s not delusional or based on anger or fear.  The best action for an alcoholic is always to go straight to a professional or sponser; a drug addict or any addict should go stratight to a competent, qualified, and experienced professional, first, before taking any other actions; when you are not thinking clearly, even a simple or small act can be wrong, and, ultimately, cause more headaches then help.”

“And if you can’t help them, at least don’t hurt them.”


“I told the writer one interesting thing, however–

Find Your Harmony.”

I pause; I take another sip of soda.

“Find the person that you connect with–the intuition matches; a good relationship has telepathy; when their eyes are tired, you trust your feeling that they are going through something; when their eyes light up, you understand what that means–words are for acquaintances; feelings are for friends; connectedness is for lovers.”

“I think that you have been watching too many digitalnovelas”, HR says as she takes a sip of soda.

“Speaking of which”, I remark as I grab a handful of palomitas, “I noticed that you have been recording the show Humphrey Gives Headaches. You been watching that, too?”

“Yeah”, HR replies as she reclines her chair, “it´s my girlposse´s fav show in college–we´re a band of female fatales.”

I pause; I don´t think she said that right?

“I think it´s actually femme fatale?”

“Don´t correct me”, HR snaps back, “in front of my new boyfriend.”

I turn my head to him.

“Oh yeah”, I reply as grab another handful of palomitas, “she´s always right.”

“Thank you!”, HR replies as slides the digitalpapitas over to her man companion.

“Are you staying for dinner?”, my wife asks as she sets the platter of over roasted digitalpollo on the table.

“Oh no”, he replies as he stands up at the table, “I have to get back to prepare for finals–looking at law schools for my doctorate.”

“Oh wow!”, I reply as I turn to look out the window then back to him, “seems like you have ambition.”

“You should know”, my wife says to the young man, “we´re mostly just pretending to like HR–a parent´s love is conditional, and although not completely pretend–you know.. think a little bit.”

I pause; oh man… did she just go there?

“Yeah HR”, I reply as I lean forward and pick up the lata of soda, “you should know that we only love you if you do what we want–you should know that now that you are an adult, and soon will be a parent.  A parent´s love is conditional that you get the job that they want you to have, in the city where they want you to live, and save for the house that they want you to live in–basically you have to do everything that you parent´s want, implied and not directly expressed, to have their unconditional love–the alternative, and this is what I suspect people do–just keep the pretend going that it´s a big happy fucking “uncondiontional” love convention.  You know like Halloween back on Earth–like we´re pretty sure that the dude dressed up as a mummy is NOT ACTUALLY a mummy but you have to be like

Oh wow.. what a surprise… here´s some candy! How scary you look.

Then, when they leave you get back on with your life because you were, and probably not, actually thinking that it was a REAL mummy. It´s called pretend–make believe.  It´s why the socials work.”

I pause; maybe, I´m a dick?

“HR until you do everything that we want, implied and otherwise, we´re going to ONLY pretend to love you unconditionally–the alternative is to buy our love.  I would go that route for your sanity.”

The young man takes a step towards the hallway; he turns around.

“Well”, he says as he turns back to the hallway, “it´s been… umm… nice meeting you guys.”

“Come by anytime!”, I remark.

“You´re always welcome here”, my wife says.

“I´ll walk you to the spacejet”, HR replies as she stands up.

Moments later, we hear the front door close.

I turn to my wife.

“He seems like a real keeper.”

“Yup”, she replies as she scoops the digitalvegetables on to her plate, “so anyways… dinner is getting cold.”

“That´s a first”, I remark as I chuckle.

“Yup”, my wife replies as she rolls her eyes.

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