Vanity Card #48 – The Creative Love Torment Outburst Syndrome


God damn, it feels great to come back to the writing board.

First of all, my sincere and deepest apologies for the invisible crowd that I have not spent time writing Vanity Cards lately as I have been experimenting with my Instagram.

If you’re desperately seeking for a confined reason for my silence, I can breastfeed you this nonsensical satire: In my personal recreational believe systems I hold a firm conviction that creative outbursts appear in unpredictable intervals and as I have been experimenting headfirst with relationships, I went num-nuts to amuse my blood vessels and nucleus accumbens shell.

If I had a legit doctor’s license that would work anywhere else than Borneo I would call it:

The Creative Love Torment Outburst Syndrome

Or just admit that I have been knowingly a lazy sorry-ass for months when it comes to writing.

The spring so far has been a quite a Pandora’s box of setbacks that I am merely reporting it in when the summer is gasping its lasts breaths. Last year I decided wholeheartedly that I would try effortlessly to relocate to US in order to revolutionize my life for a bit more compelling narrative than the conventional office rat espionage which got me hooked on slavers bay paychecks.

However, I had no luck with the foolproof DV lottery and I must seek other ways to inspire myself to rise above the lover class income of experiences. As the spring took a turn for worse, I gazed hard into the mirror and saw myself in it. Isn’t life grand, huh?

The Pokemon Go caught my heart in a Poké Ball and ever since I have been sweating my gene pool all over the local neighborhood and various unfamiliar territories. This week I am closing on hundred kilometers of NSA-surveilled GPS walking. For a man of my size I love the healthy addiction this game has brought to my attention.

As I promised myself to seek happiness in conjunction with success when the calendar page turned to 2016, I am taking the appropriate baby steps to further my goal. The main aim is my physical health that includes plenty of writing that stretches on many (doubtful) subjects.

In all shortness, please be very intrigued to read more Vanity Cards shortly.

– George

Vanity Card #47 – The Falling Into A Foxhole

The Falling Into A Foxhole

Most of us run our entire lives searching for something that truly defines happiness. For most of my own adolescent life I have always thought that true happiness was a some kind of enigmatic mixture of love and wealth.

In recent times I have started to rethink every single assumption I have concocted during my growing spurt years. Re-imagining the definition of happiness is a ludicrous attempt for a mind that has grown roots into the very culture it has been blessed or cursed with. I do believe that we all are free souls to some extent, but it does not change the fact that most of us are frankly the products of our environment.

Wealth always carries a taxman on its heels, which grandly pursues and consumes us in order to make us consume more. The mirage of truly owning something on this god forsaken rock planet, orbiting in the space where we humans are merely the size of ants – is a god blessed, entitled sense of false security.We are only a one specie among thousands of others after all, a dominant one surely,  the one that evolved from the warmth of the thousand rays of a star that was cast aside us 13.8 billion years ago.

So what about the greatest sensation of an eternal connection with the whole universe as we know it – Love – has to do with everything?

If the history of the mankind has taught us anything – we humans have always defined our purpose by the historical era we have been living in. In the stone ages, we were destined to hunt mammoths, provide for our tribe and extend our reach as much as possible. In many cases we were feasting one on one with the nature, shouting and growling while making new tribe members and watching our tail for the vicious sabertooth tiger.

During stone ages love was merely a chemical back draft in the back mirror of being able to reproduce and keep surviving in the cruel world where the man was switching roles about being the hunter and the hunted on a daily basis.

What feels like light years away from the stone ages, the industrial revolution peaked 300 years ago from our current standing point in history. During these troubling times we tried to cultivate our population, while sacrificing the youth and the working class in shady coal mines and factory halls, desperately providing our families with suitable accommodation and a warm meal. The future was here.

Somewhere in the distant timeline we had become so progressively distant from the roots of our ancestors that our mind  had started to create a universe of its own – a whole construction of man made rules in order to keep ourselves hooked on the sense of purpose. We found love in rooting ourselves into a society that works on the blood and sweat of those who believe they can create a world of their own within the planet made by the universe. We found each other in the chains of our own logical thinking, bleeding for a simple sense of being accepted and loved by other survivors.

We found love in a hopeless place.

Yes – I’m quoting Rihanna right now..or like I would like to say – a team of professional pop songwriters. Simplicity creates attraction.

I am not saying that true purpose does not exist for us single soul humans.

I am merely saying that tonight I dissected my own insecurity of not being happy – which is evidently not true – by a simply creating a dialogue and finding the purpose between the words delivered to be hurtful in the most imaginative way possible.

We keep on falling into foxholes only to find a better trench.