My Dear Country
It's funny, how your childhood dreams differ from the ones you have right now.
I've said it before: This is not a place for me. And really, it's evidently so as each day passes. I picture myself driving through the freedom highways of California, where i'm cruising in my Maserati, going over 100mph, the wind blowing against my face, tearing the facades of the day. Driving, while the coastline twinkle with the reflection of the stars high above. Me, in my Armani suit, with some broad seated on my right, dreaming of how the next party is going to be like, bearing no thought that she's like the many I've shared a drive with; Desperate, needy, clueless, material.
Driving back to my mansion in Beverly Hills, overlooking the ocean. The pristine beaches of the day turn into wallowing, sneezing bastards. In my backyard, the Hollywood sign is clear for all to see.
I sit in my chair, thinking, of how deep this city is. The history, the richness of it's ability to destroy lives and careers. Yet, ambitious people try to make it here, try as they might. And I sit there, thinking of it's filth and disaster and depression that has attracted me to this place. The freedom it holds here is incomparable. After all, I have all the money in the world. Personal happiness can always come later. Right now, I got my own million-dollar loft, 3 super cars in my garage, each for a different occasion to boast my superiority and status, a blonde who turns into a brunette, or a redhead, after every few nights, my own designer brand. And I sit there, thinking, this ain't that bad after all. Boo-fuckin'-hoo to those who complain about the invasion of privacy from the prying eyes of the paparazzi. Every peasant wants a piece of the rich, the middle class fuel this desire for more "invading' stories.
I sit in my chair, sipping on some vintage Scotch, while she teases me with her lingerie. And I just smile, thinking, how did I reach these dreams I created? I was supposed to be a doctor.
&I sit in my chair, and smile. Cause I've made it. I'm livin' the dream. I, am blessed. Personal happiness? It's all the same thing.
I've said it before: This is not a place for me. And really, it's evidently so as each day passes. I picture myself driving through the freedom highways of California, where i'm cruising in my Maserati, going over 100mph, the wind blowing against my face, tearing the facades of the day. Driving, while the coastline twinkle with the reflection of the stars high above. Me, in my Armani suit, with some broad seated on my right, dreaming of how the next party is going to be like, bearing no thought that she's like the many I've shared a drive with; Desperate, needy, clueless, material.
Driving back to my mansion in Beverly Hills, overlooking the ocean. The pristine beaches of the day turn into wallowing, sneezing bastards. In my backyard, the Hollywood sign is clear for all to see.
I sit in my chair, thinking, of how deep this city is. The history, the richness of it's ability to destroy lives and careers. Yet, ambitious people try to make it here, try as they might. And I sit there, thinking of it's filth and disaster and depression that has attracted me to this place. The freedom it holds here is incomparable. After all, I have all the money in the world. Personal happiness can always come later. Right now, I got my own million-dollar loft, 3 super cars in my garage, each for a different occasion to boast my superiority and status, a blonde who turns into a brunette, or a redhead, after every few nights, my own designer brand. And I sit there, thinking, this ain't that bad after all. Boo-fuckin'-hoo to those who complain about the invasion of privacy from the prying eyes of the paparazzi. Every peasant wants a piece of the rich, the middle class fuel this desire for more "invading' stories.
I sit in my chair, sipping on some vintage Scotch, while she teases me with her lingerie. And I just smile, thinking, how did I reach these dreams I created? I was supposed to be a doctor.
&I sit in my chair, and smile. Cause I've made it. I'm livin' the dream. I, am blessed. Personal happiness? It's all the same thing.
posted by Ravinder Singh at
02:19
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