Friday, August 27, 2010

Fleemasonry: Exodus 101

Some people questioned my mentioning migration to other countries. Interesting. I did it before, no one made a sound.

My stand with migration is simple. No matter where I go, that place would be cool. Hip and happening. So it doesn't matter to me.

I am just reminiscing all my friends who left or are leaving. Most of us know people who are very dear to us, and they have left. Made a life, a career, a name for themselves in other places.

These are people I worked with, grew up with, got drunk (with life) with, cried and laughed and shared many moments together.

They're gone, and most probably won't come back.

They're not dead. But they're gone.

I do sometimes feel like the last man standing. My peers are scattered across the globe. These are people who mostly share the same sentiments and ideals I do. That's why we get along well together.

I don't have to explain myself. Justify why I did this or that. They have full confidence that I have always stayed true to my beliefs. Which are Truth, Freedom and Independence. My versions, of course.

They know I won't rape babies, hate people for no reason or be a snivelling little weasel. I have my rules, and I follow them closely. I have no regrets at all. And recently, I learned how to shake off guilt. So no one can control me.

I don't have to tell this to them. Didn't have to.

I do miss them, really. Stupid motherfuckers who took Purple Skunk - a weed variant - and passed out on the stairs of an Amsterdam hostel. Insanely talented and socially awkward artists. A Greek yaya in training. A poster-boy for Chinese supremacy, now selling shrimp off a truck in Melbourne.

They tell me stories. They send word. And they send their love.