ode to the settled man

We may scorn at the settled man with the job, the wife and the kids. We may consider him as a subject for our movies depicting the dark and depressing side of suburbia or for our books where we claim our “freedom” above all. Our so called intellectual superiority and scorn is nothing short of jealousy. The pursuit of dreams and fantasies and “living” disguised as existential angst is nothing but our inability to function as normal human beings and be content, for once, with the multitude of things that have been given to us. Artistic expression is pretty much laziness. I dream of the life of the settled man. Content man. The one that doesn’t conclude he doesn’t exist through a bizarre train of thought, right before he enters his office making it impossible for him to work or communicate like a normal person. You may laugh and point the finger but this is his world and we are nothing but the annoying buzz of a fly near by. We are not even the fly.

I’m kidding of course.