So I wrote a small book about dating. Did some research before hand, met about 30 women over the span of 2 months.

I learned something important; I am disgusted with the contemporary woman.. But not women in general.

See, there is this arrogance in some contemporary women, that suggest they can dictate how other women live. Fashion, love, material gain.. Almost as if the real contemporary women just worship the contemporary woman.

This same.. Worship, happens between the contemporary artist. We have reached a point, where we think we can learn to become an individual while sitting among the masses.. Brazen, are the words that fuel these ideas, that you need this or that to become something greater than you were yesterday and to even suggest otherwise is considered unintelligent.

Then, we have the biggest idol of them all, the worshipped god, similar to Jesus.. The contemporary woman who dabbles in the arts.. Thinking themselves an individual covered in material shit.. Not understanding that all material shit is the same, not different.. I don’t see the ink on your skin, I see a self pain.. I don’t see your jewelry, I see your insecurities. I don’t see your piercings, I see the holes in you, that you think they fill.. In truth, I don’t even see you, don’t care to, I look all around and all I see is you, in everybody I meet and I am disgusted by it.

I am sitting in a Tim Hortons, a man just walks in and is so concerned with what is on my laptop screen, that he swipes the air 3 different times, trying to find the handle, so unconcerned with his own time.. Or maybe I’ve got something going on here, something electric? Something worth your time? His time? Dare I say, even my own? Maybe, we all just long for the individuality we search for, only to find that individuality wasn’t worth the time we invested to find it, so instead, we worship those who did find something worth their time. Questions of worth.. This is what the masses are plagued by, so leave it at the door, all of it and if your lucky enough, some poor soul will take it off your hands, thinking they’ve struck gold.

Yes, the contemporary woman, is plagued, because they traded their burdens for something more. The artist, traded their burdens, for something more material. My burdens, I traded them away, for something heavier and I quantify that weight against yours, because I’m not focused on mine, but yours.

So go on, do what you want, all of it and leave me to do the same, until our lists fill buckets and still manage to find an emptiness within those buckets, even when filled to the brim.

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