The Result of Being Lazy

That's what these literary outburst of ignorance are; the result of my being too lazy to work around the property laboriously, and maybe also no money for materials. That means no money to eat out, drink in bars, ride my motorcycle, cruise aimlessly around being bored or travel… none of the good shit. So I write to occupy my time. But even that isn't easy.
Another result of being lazy is I lack the vocabulary it takes to fully express my deep, complicated, often emotional perspectives on the world around me. As I said before (I Can Write Too 12Nov07), although my vocabulary is not in the league of a senior classman at Berkeley. It dooooonnn't matter, I should practice ‘PLEASE’ and ‘THANK YOU’ more (and place less emphasis on ‘aahhhh fuuuuuuuck it’ and ‘it don't matter’).
But it does matter. You could put my vocabulary inside my sons two or three times now. They taught themselves everything they know, academically speaking, over the last twenty years while I was lazy. Now, grown, intellectual, educated, possessing reflections on the world capable to those with great minds, I can only hope to understand them and converse on their level.

What is the African Proverb?
When the sun rises in Africa the fastest lion knows that he has to be faster than the slowest gazelle otherwise he ain’t going to eat.
When the sun rises in Africa the slowest gazelle knows that he has to be faster than the fastest Lion otherwise he ain’t going to live.
In other words, it doesn't matter, Lion or Gazelle, when that sun comes up, your ass better be running.

In the human world though, with enough food and without the fear of being eaten, one's conscious becomes the a slow old lion. And that sun still comes up every day and, academically and intellectually, I've been lazy for twenty years. I don’t rest easy to my sons eating me alive, now. But its the consequence of being lazy.
Another result of being lazy is not being well read enough to expertly and authoritatively expound on my ideas. Like this morning I was drinking coffee and thinking about St. Peter at the Golden Gate, then I realized is all I could remember is he stands guard at the Golden Gate (not in the Bay Area (don't be silly)).
So... I googled ‘St. Peter at the Golden Gate’, and sure enough there it was; every website mentioned guarding the Golden Gate. And that's the part that got me to thinking...
It would seem to me that if there wasn't any way to sneak into Heaven, they wouldn't need a guard. Therefore, since there is a guard, you must be able to sneak into heaven. And that opens up all kinds of avenues of thought.
Remember the saying, ‘May you be in heaven a half hour before the devil knows you're dead’? Well, maybe the Irishman that made it up knew something we don't. Like there's a little lag time between this world and that gate where a guy could get ‘lost’. Or, maybe if you can beat your files there, you can slip past ol' St Peter before he finds out you don't have a clean slate.
It sounds good to me, but logistically there is still that initial problem of how to get to the Gate. It reminds me of a few years back when those people rented that house on the Oceanside so they could have a party with Wine and Sleeping pills, then they suffocated themselves in order to catch Haley's comet and go to Heaven. I could never figure out why, if they could jump to Haley’s comet, couldn't they leap all the way to Heaven? Why screw around with a layover? If I want to beat the Devil by a half hour, I better leap direct!
Anyway, all of this bullshit is a result of being lazy. Not forcing myself to do anything other then look out the window and wave to the people stopping to look. When I'm not waving, the keyboard is right in front of my hands and so I write.
I should appreciate the last of this time in the shack. If the number of cars slow rolling by, and those that stop to take flyers from the container are any indicator, I will be moving soon. Even writing it saddens me. I could be lazy here forever, if only it wasn't Hell Explained.
Work, work, work; makes you feel good, good, good (Grandpa Bud).