Life – slow the fuck down.
I don’t know why, but time speeds up when you get older. I have watched countless documentaries on time travel, and how they say that it is possible but will be very, very difficult once it is. I disagree. From 3-16 time goes slower than Stephen Hawking reading War and Peace; you’re just itching to get old enough to do the fun stuff. From 16 onwards life starts going faster, but it’s still maintainable, you can still go home and game on your PS4 if it all gets a little too much. Time after that is dependant on whether you go to university or not, but past the age of 25 (maybe earlier if you didn’t go to uni), time really does ‘fly when you’re having fun’.
Little do you know that the fun comes grinding to a halt when the real world steps in and beats the crap out of you with bills and responsibilities. Your years turn into months, months into weeks and weeks into days and you’re left stranded thinking “When did my life switch from masturbating and watching TV into working 12 hour days to pay rent to some arsehole?” I’m only 29 and already I’m thinking about what song to play when I take my last breath. Oh and just to prove my point: it’s nearly February, how the fuck did that happen?
Mother Nature is mankind’s only real predator, she lurks beneath us, and all of a sudden a tsunami hits and takes out thousands of people, or a new disease spreads, leaving doctors frantically testing meds on rats to see if they croak before injecting it into ‘the master species’. However, despite how tragic the countless millions of people who die from Mother Nature, a lot of the time it is out of sight out of mind, and therefore a lot harder to get attached to nameless millions which died – insanely harsh, but kind of true. But in 2016, Mother Nature went full beast mode and started taking some of the worlds best-loved people: Bowie, George Michael, Alan Rickman, Prince, to name a few. It’s like she was gorging on some of the finest talents we have, guilty of gluttony to the highest order. Now 2018 has arrived, she has to be hungry again. I’m hoping this year she might be hungry for psychotic world leaders, such as the two holders of the worlds smallest micro penises from North Korea and the USA who seem hell-bent on making this world even less tolerable; she does kind of owe us. If you think me hoping for the demise of these two maniacs is wrong, just remember, both of them would be happy to push a nuclear button and wipe out our insignificant existence, so why should I hope for anything different for them?
As mentioned earlier, getting older has changed my mindset considerably to the point that now not only am I happy to pay a days salary in a nice restaurant, I actively seek out these restaurants to hand over my ‘hard’ earned cash from sitting in front of a computer for 10 hours. For some reason, I have it in my head that I don’t need to go to a big night anymore with great bands or DJ’s elevating my mood and taking me somewhere only music can, instead I look for Michelin starred restaurants, replacing pills with smoked salmon amuse bouche and replacing mushrooms with, well, a mushroom risotto, but with wildly different effects. I hope that someone starts a night somewhere where I can have the best of both worlds, hors-d’oeuvre as you walk into Fabric, a lengthy set from a techno DJ from Berlin, finally ending the night with a good cheeseboard and some port.
Simeon Evans is a contributing writer at No Majesty.