Listless Advice on Happy Living

Step one to a happy life is forgetting expectations and seizing the real—what’s there right in front of you. Too long do we clamor for something that is approaching, something that is just over the horizon, waiting for it to appear long into the twilight while the world spins on, and on. Triceratops waded in the marshes under an eerie, approaching glow, bright as phosphorus, casting a glare through choking air—and they thought about another meal, but gagged on hellish fire. Quartos etched in tear soaked ink incorrectly prescribed courtly love to satisfy the heart’s desire: a little known fact, it killed Poe and left him in a ditch. Quinceaneras everywhere crown the budding beauty, unfinished prequels to white weddings and honorable endings that may never come. Sex offers a brief inquiry into the possibilities of happiness but finishes in sweaty defeat, giving up ones seed in exchange for magic beans. Severance from the notion that we can predict the future a priori ensures a bright future of aimless bliss—the fool, though who dances in the field naked, eventually burns his skin. Ate, Adam did, from the apple and fucked Eve over, siring life coaches, financial planners, therapists, and preachers, ready to lead the blind. Finely mix advice with will and live with lungs full, alive. Tense living begets worry, and tomorrow has enough worries of its own.