Give me the true, the harsh, the lustful for life. I prefer the company of those that have broken noses, twisted ankles over the company of the careful and safe. I feel sorry for the people who spend a half an hour looking for a helmet when they could ride a bike. This is a take no bullshit world and reality reaches out to bite us in the ass. What joy is there in the Grand Canyon if you don’t stand on the precipice?
To those who were too careful to walk in the mud, too timid to climb a tree, I feel nothing but the deepest pity. To be above it all is to deny it. Denial brings nothing but a deferred pain. The lollipop lickers, rainbow chasers and heads planted in the clouds are always disappointed.
But we, who breakfast on diversity, welcome the cuts and bruises of defeat; we rise again. Our metamorphosis is that of the moss rather than the butterfly. Our cocoon is not one of silky threads and warm comfort; rather it’s the ropes and chains of society that would bind us. We are beaten down but then we rise. Beaten down again only to rise again. We are husband and scarred, sharpened and honed. We are wiser and more determined.
Our nemesis is the one who takes comfort in their chains. The one that depends on the State for its moral compass, the one who feels the State is not doing enough to ease the discomfort of hard living. These are the leeches. Their socioeconomic status does not matter. They suck the life-blood out of humanity with taxation and regulation.
I choose to live in liberty. I choose to take my own risks, suffer my own bruises, to fight my own battles. I will nurse my own scars and recover. And if I don’t recover I will die free.