Not giving a shit is hard

Soy conocido por quejarme de mi país, una de las razones es que veo a todos esos gringos poniendo su alma y mente al desnudo en sus blogs sin importarles media mierda, odio que mi cultura no incentive el comportamiento individualista sino que lo satanize y lo considere una forma odiosa de ser.
El que alguien sea brutalmente honesto es visto como una forma de llamar la atención, como una enfermedad psicológica, como una forma de creerse superior a los demas, cuando uno solo quiere hablar claro sin ser juzgado, el truco al final es aprender a que te valga madres.
El problema es que uno rodeado de todas esas personas se hace la vida mas dificil cuando se es así, gringo... Ellos la tienen mas fácil porque allá se ve con admiración y respeto a los que consiguen este estado badass de ser, aquí es el peor pecado que uno puede cometer en sociedad, se le ve como algo agresivo, egoísta, pesado, mamón, creído, 'asi que muy chingonsito no? pues yo te voy a chingar para que aprendas', 'quien se cree que es ese gato?', 'como se atreve a salir así a la calle', 'es un lucidito caime mal', 'está bien pendejo y se cree la gran verga' y otros miles de etcs
Es frustrantemente irritante vivir rodeado de gente así, viviendo en la ciudad de México, todos son así y los pocos que no son, son, predeciblemente, repudiados, encontrarlos es difícil pero si no es aquí, donde? ciertamente no en mi pueblo escaseado de esta cualidad de honestidad no violenta, a niveles preocupantes. Todos quieren ser chingones, todos tienen complejos, nadie quiere verse vulnerable aunque eso destruya su capacidad expresiva, de ser alguien interesante o valioso como una florecilla salvaje jajaja, es lo que busco en mis cercanos, gente real balanceada que no le teme a sus debilidades sino las respeta abiertamente.
Me da por rantear cuando estoy de loser anti social.
chill off

Update:
Recién me encontré este artículo de un irlandés quejandose de los gringos, creo que no se de lo que hablaba en este post. El irlandés los ve en el polo opuesto que yo! y el si ha vivido allá, whatever mis quejas sobre mis locales permanecen.

69

Too god damn proud to say: man i'm alone, too god damn humble to say: man i deserve to be with someone.
And then my legs resent it turning the flesh and bones to hurt carrying around a living functionally broken spirit, a very productive one i might add, and the legs work non stop like everybody else's leading me to believe that maybe this is how everybody works and they just go on and on until they find someone and they will be too god damn proud to tell that someone that they are the solution to their broken spirit but they actually say: you are the best thing that ever happen to me... and the saddest part is that they will mean it and their legs will take them around like boat floating in a sea of moments a boat made up of the tree of their broken spirit.

I don't want that.

I want to take my broken functional boat and move to the white coasts and see the green hill and take a job there as the town poet, and live my days worried day and night how to best put in words the sweetness i hold in my memory, how to justify reality distortion with written beautiful words, so others can pick into my heart for maybe one second, so i can go to rest after a hard week worth of work and my rest will be playing in the woods and believing in the stories i tell to the curious kids about made up monsters and making them face those monsters and laughing about it afterwards while maybe me and the kids are being watched by some beautiful girl that sings to the flowers made up stories about those playful strangers, and the flowers will bloom with songs and people will build a city around those flowers and she will live near me but not too close to make it to the city, like i always wanted, and we will pretend we know love by meeting each other to play hide and seek so one day a missing kid decides to be our son and we give that kid ethereal education so the kid grows to be a wood elf that helps the pass-byers and we all grow old and never die but one day in the top of the green hill we finally touch and turn into the air and the rain and explode in a storm of destructive force far off on the sea where we can't hurt anybody only the calmness of the waves and our untouched love will be heard thousand meters below the surface, and it will be like lullabies for the fish that will wonder why suddenly the stars start showing up through the storm clouds shinning harder and harder while we ascend to them to travel the universe and see every wonder, every force the nature has to offer in every color that exists and will exist until the end of time when we touch again and everything and i mean every thing goes booom.