People with nothing going for themselves have extra time. Some people fill this time by complaining.
They complain about problems they can’t solve. On purpose.
The people who complain, never complain about their messy rooms or unmade beds. People complain about the 1% because there’s nothing you can do except complain when you compare your lives to others, something you should never do.
Instead, stay in your lane and compare yourself to the person you were yesterday.
The 1% of the population control 80% of the money. Or something similar. It doesn’t matter.
The effort to Google the answer to a useless question is better spent typing about how useless it is. Useless like looking at pictures of girls you don’t know.
Stop caring about what you cannot control.
People who shake their fist at the sun, screaming-cursing, like a child throwing a tantrum at bed-time, because they hate the color red and wish the sun was blue; their favorite color.
The angry-old-folk without grey hair.
The complainers. Instead of taking responsibility for their lives, they pull tickets at the DMV for problems they don’t have and never stick around long enough to make it to the counter.
The 99% Who Do Nothing
99% of people don’t create. They take Everything.
The 99% consumes like a forest fire sprawling through the evergreens ripping life from the ground, converting beauty into white-ash falling from the sky.
Most people live their lives taking from the world but never giving back.
Most call it creativity.
But, some might say, I’m not creative.
If that’s what you believe.
You can do anything you want. The 99% pick the easy solution: stagnation. They can’t handle suffering. Even if their suffering leads them to a better life.
Everyone is creative because creativity is solving problems. You have problems no one else has. You have solutions no one has too. A solution isn’t practical. Always. Either.
Painting a masterpiece is a solution to a blank canvas.
Your book is a solution to an empty Word document at 1 am. Black coffee in hand, blinking cursor on the white expanse of nothing reminding you of the time you could be writing instead of letting your mind crush your confidence beneath its empty, terrible weight like a lion losing a fight to an antelope.
Creation gives life meaning.
The 99% are value-leeches.
Serial consumers, slaughtering electronic racks at best-buy on Black Friday like a crazed, hockey-mask adorned killer running through a crowd during new-years with an ax covered in blood and visceral fat.
Because, you know, in ten years obesity in America will reach 100%. The population is required to work from home, now, because there isn’t a doorway wide enough to escape from.
People who read aren’t fat. Usually.
If you don’t create you’re a slave.
Most of the time.
Creation separates Gods from men. In the beginning, God created.
At the beginning of your life, you created too. In grade school.
Ask a classroom full of 2nd-graders how many of them know how to sing: The entire class raises their hand.
Ask a 10th-floor cubicle farm, filled with twin-eyed ghosts-of-their-former-selves locked into despair, and Netflix, and Xanax, how many of them know how to sing; one hand raises meekly from the sea of sun-deprived skin.
What you believe matters.
Children believe anything is possible. Then, slowly, the world peels the child’s skin back layer by layer, breakup by breakup, loss by loss, until the only beliefs held are depression or self-pity for a life too difficult if a Starbucks order is incorrect.
Some people let a red Ferrari ruin their day after the driver, cuts them off in traffic using their middle finger to single, “I don’t give a fuck about you.”
Some child in a third-world country had his day made when his dinner of rice, crawling with maggots, appears after a 16-hour work-day making iPhones for Americans.
Most “victims” are cowards without purpose who want to feel important and do so by complaining.
No one creates anymore.
Except for 1% of us.
Creation separates gods from men
Creation separates gods from men.
Creating frees your time to create more. More creation = more happiness.
Working will never scale.
You will never work more than 90 hours per week for someone else and survive longer than a week.
Artists do this all the time. Artists get lost creating, building universes like Gaia herself shaping the earth from clay and blood.
the 1% make more money than the 99% because they’re better than the majority.
Netflix is the majority.
Books are the minority.
Taking a job means one less job.
You can’t take a piece of art. You make it. Creators gonna create.
If you’re tired of being broke make some art. Most people, the 99%, take and take and take all of their lives.
Normal people create once a year at wine and painting classes fueled by white-wine confidence because the 99% can’t make otherwise.
Normal people don’t have confidence. Why would they? Normal people don’t do anything.
You’ll never be confident in stasis like Mr. Disney. You’re dead.
When the well is dry, artists find another fissure to frack until they’ve spread their poison across their medium.
The 99% are purebred, fighting consumers. They’re masters of taking — don’t get in their way.
The real 1% are the artists. Those who make your prints, your clothing, and your life interesting.
Your life isn’t interesting because you don’t do anything interesting. Instead, you watch reality TV.
Try adding value to the world. Join the true 1%. The creators.
It’s better in the minority.