Living on Dopamine and Other Enduring Flights

“Whoever wants music instead of noise, joy instead of pleasure, soul instead of gold, creative work instead of business, passion instead of foolery, finds no home in this trivial world of ours.” Hermann Hesse

Spending weeks and months in bed trying to write, ending up opening a bottle of red instead, having given up on any type of amusement already, only thinking of time – how soon was soon enough for strangers to meet again, why did we trust we would lead a long life, why weren’t we afraid of missing out on sharing our desires in a moment of weakness or strength and all the pouring out of our deep insides to someone who was curious, someone who didn’t give a damn; we weren’t afraid of missing to absorb or at least notice the scent and desire of another person, covering up the world as we saw it until we became unrecognizable of our own self, high on the brief dopamine moments that we let go for nothing.

It wasn’t a coincidence we liked the pleasure of one another, we took our pain to endless flights, we hid and opened up behind screen shots, believing that we had time to show who we were, but even if we did – the times of not fully looking into the mirror in a nervous moment, not being totally blunt and expressing our embarrassment or pride, our pursuit for understanding – those concrete times of being real were already gone.

We calculated and collected future possibilities of success, family and a good life, passing through the day like the present had nothing to do with the future, scrolling left and right all around the world, in a single and quiet room, getting busy, going crazy with or without wine and random company – always carrying the same soul without excuses for any broken promises and the consistent ignorance of other people’s different and idealistic interpretations of timing.

That was it for a life time – foolishly rushing to get to a dopamine stimulative kind of moment bound to vanish quicker than the finishing ecstasy; hoping for a long life span, ashamed of our sentimentality and enduring our vanity.

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