Become the Waves to Surf Existence

Nicholas Viglietti

Reality is harsh, out there...hang-loose and don’t get ripped by the tide...from wherever you take

shelter, and I’ve felt its foul force on my chill-suited skeleton for longer than I care to abide.

Declarations made from pride, and they always fizzle out faster than 4 th of July sparklers, or like

Love – always give it a try; it’s the whole damn point in being alive. Even compassion, too,

through this mortal strife – we can be a rotten bunch of desperate fools; taking decisive action

from fearful, self-preservation prayers – you start to appreciate people more when you live

extensively in the wilderness, avoiding being gnawed on by bears. It’s a shame, or maybe, it's a

pity...our ingrained, act tough bravado. That clogs our hearts and slows the flow of empathetic

care through the tubes to the brain like processed food clogs our numb and sedentary frames –

perhaps, we harden because the powers-in-place, treat us like necessary cattle, and never really

consider the chasms that we straddle. I won’t say, I’ve never been that way – we are all liars, in

some capacity, and you gotta spill it real; when your spit meets the grit, at one of the big braddah

deities, after dirt submerges your grave. No...I’m not good at much, on this cruel heap of a

swirling planet; the one where the people judge you when you’re down, but slapped your back

when you were up, buying most of the rounds – which come in various forms, and nobody sticks

around when you’re on the low end of the pole cemented in the damned ground. It ain’t their

fault, though, in this get-it-or-get-got, existential plight. I’ll admit I’ve been evil in my time (who

hasn’t) but, at least, I can admit it. Sure, there are some thick beauties that will attest to the fact,

because we are all jaded from the scars inflicted by the world, and we were never taught that you

can split; chill-casually, and laugh at the feverish brains frightened by what they can’t control,

and the way society unfurls. Those ladies will always be delightful in my mind, and for the while

we engaged in time. It’s a weird way to form your empathy, but humping various shapes and

colors of older babes, in a strange way, developed mine. And I’ll give them credit, they’ve

enhanced my style as my soul moves down the living aisle. I suspect I’m somewhat broken – too

many head cracks, lessons learned, and bloody losses – mostly received from inside neon walls

that didn’t like the configuration of my grin. Although, I reckon, we all are to some

extent...however, I do mean it – more than most...I value what I was taught, the smile splattered

on my face by what I overcame, and the joy of every rough mile brutally carved into my brain.

Rarely do we admire the off-beat psyches that slide down the unusual avenues; to feel it all on

the living cruise...we are scared to have our principles confronted and embrace the truth which

exists, unchanged. Survival is inherently vicious, stupidity is genetic, and enlightenment raises

your notch in humanity. Don’t get upset by this world, its people, and their ignorance. You aren’t

beholden to who you were, where you are, or the thoughts of brittle brains who won’t spare the

inch of a minute to learn the view of your common sense. Give ‘em a hug, we are here so little,

and Love is the only gratification that matters, once our time gets spent.

Nicholas Viglietti is a writer from Sacramento, CA. He started writing in high school. After which, he served in the Americorps – two years rebuilding houses on the gulf coast in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, and one year working on a trail crew in the Montana/Idaho wilderness. He graduated from Humboldt State University. Now, he works for the cheap and attempts to get words published under his name. Nicholas is a Hawaiian-shirt aficionado, a pina-colada connoisseur, and enjoys hot, lazy days by the pool with his wifey.