The Libido of Life

You dare to do, that is why I love you

I do love people who are cockily full-of-themselves, who dare to dream of more than they've got, the no-bullshitters, the want-to-do-it-allers, the I've-got-no-time-to-wasters. A pen, some spare paper, and a laptop that's been physically abused by the tap of fingers much more callously than the dainty dance of an 80's secretary typing her MD's letters. Yet they've got her sweet talk, her demeanor, they've got it all - especially with audiences who deserve it. They're well-rounded with all the right points, vertices of excellence, that far surpass the ordinary hard worker, they are a polymathic sculpture in progress. Those who risk it all, who sleep with Adrenaline (she makes a killer girlfriend, I know!) Anyone can think-- that is easy. You dare to do, that is why I love you.

It is not easy to be, to see oneself as a wheel that needs to be reinvented. To eat your old, your flaws, your clogs, to eat your end like the Ouroboros. But there is a certain marvel in this journey. Like the Hero's myth that Campbell talks about, the kind that wakes you up with a sense of incompleteness, that greatness is missing - and greatness is not this nice goal to achieve; greatness and glory are the only reasons you have breath today, and you'd much rather have death than mediocrity or dishonor. There is a light, and it is not at the end of the tunnel. It is this light when you're lucky enough, that flutters a couple of times a day. You know, it glows from within your bones. And it is so bright and powerful that it numbs you momentarily. It's like a little reward, a break from the hustle. This light hits you in your moments of success, or like a slight product update when you've done something right. It comes and goes like the cries of a baby at night. Just the right amount of dopamine, at all the right times, like a little telegram delivered from God Himself. It is painstaking because it pushes you to be there, to be present to give more, very much like a lactating mother with a young suckling.

So much speed, so much to do, so much to gain and so much to lose. Some days it feels like there's plenty of time, most days, memento mori. But the only thing that grows apparent is that time is silly. It's a drain if you're a lazy, unproductive bastard. It's a rollercoaster if you wrestle with the lions. There isn't forever, there is just nows and what you make of it. There is, however, selection. The finest silks, the succulent steak, wise, pleasant and witty company, and the lover with a voice of chocolate. There is excellence and assurance. There is company, and there is content. Hell is not empty, neither is Heaven, nor the journey to any of these. And the chicory debate is back, methinks and the people I like, that expensive coffee is perhaps worth it.

The real libido in life is to be someone, to do something. To have a spine. To be something extra-human - supernatural even. To strive for ascension, and perfection, to be a walking dome of excellence.

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