"Make money but don't let the money you make, make you"
For what seems like the entirety of an eternity, time has been money and every single second seemed to be what can only be considered as a very thorough and concentrated effort of making consistent change to accumulate the amount of change that would shakes and rattle- the most satisfying and pacifying of jingles- in the pockets of my jeans on my the way to the store.
I've idly watched my idols, rich, famous, dangerous, and more, drop their wallets, dead on the floor.
rock is dead. radio is dead. Kurt Cobain is dead. Jim Morrison? he's dead.
Maybe riches aren't the ecstasy of life, maybe media is the worst place to place my idols. Maybe money can't buy everything, maybe happiness isn't a fish you can buy on credit. Maybe time is just a clock, maybe it's okay to have holes in your socks. Maybe it's okay to patch your sweater with old pieces of thread, maybe you're better off being poor than you're better off being dead. Maybe it's cool, maybe it's not. Maybe it isn't really what we all thought. Maybe it's stupid, maybe it's lame. Maybe money's not important, just a big game. Maybe it's worth it, maybe it's worth it all, maybe you can make the decision, maybe it's really your call. Maybe I'm somebody, maybe I will be, maybe I'm nobody, someone you'll never see. On your TV screen, the fortune the fame, we're all faceless, but never the same. On the radio, buzzing through the air, rocking the set, shaking my long hair.
I wanted to be famous once.
I wanted to be a famous something. It didn't matter it was. I wanted to be famous. I wanted people to know I was famous. I wanted, something else. I wanted something other than what I knew and what I saw and I thought maybe fame would solve all my problems, because it seemed like famous people had fleeting problems. Less concrete, highly dissolvable fleeting problems. And if they were steadfast, stick to my shoe, I don't really know what to do - problems, they could just buy new shoes
Instead, I found myself on the road of normality. A dollar sign has been assigned to every tangible and intangible asset to everything in my life. Whether or not I agreed with the idea, I still signed my name at the bottom of the page in the prettiest and boldest of ink. I pay a premium for my car, my house, my life. I pray my premiums cover my costs, ensure my insurance leaves pennies for my wife.
I pay to protect, and I pay to survive, but I pay so much that I have no money left to feel alive.
Maybe it's okay to patch the your sweater with old pieces of thread, maybe you're better off
^^ I think there is a typo in the above " to patch (the)<--
I like how I get absorb reading hmm I am unsure if to call this prose? Or slam poetry? I guess is more of slam? I am unsure ha! But money isn't everything, but it can help life be more easier... Not necessarily more worthy.