Facts about Nathan James Wicka
-I am not a Kennedy
-I had cold hot dogs and Ketchup for my 6th birthday dinner
-I have a criminal record
-My friend crashed a plane
-I once got put in this chair by some wierdo street performer in New
York City and he balanced me and the chair on his chin and I was like 7
feet off the ground and all these people were clapping like I was some
sort of freak in a sideshow and my parents didn't help me down and they
just stood there looking at me and laughing. Why mommy, why?
-I listen to "music"
-I go to school but I won't tell you where
-I also have a major, but I forgot what it was
My hobbies include;
-Bashing my head repeatedly against this weird chunk of metal protruding
from my bathroom door.
-Wrestling large pieces of styrofoam
-Selling my neighbor’s septic tank blueprints to Russian spies
-Shaving with steel wool
-Sex with sculptures I make out of moldy pouridge
-Prank calling the Phillipines
-Removing all those plastic things at the end of your shoelaces while
your not looking
I, like many misguided agnostic young adults of America seek
happiness. My petty goals and ambitions mean shit if I can't be happy. I
could find it by making lotsa money. Or I could find it through
"happiness through simplicity", or simply put become a Hippie and go
live in the woods by myself in a one room cabin. It could even be what I
call the "middle class suburban coma" This includes the graduate, get a
job, find a nice home, wife, (you have all heard this boring rhetoric
But I know what happens. I'll smoke too much pot, drool alot, watch
t.v., and collect disability. Eat Twinkies. Drink lots-o' Surge.
My friends and this little devil on my shoulder keep telling me,
only live once, have fun and party, beer, beer, beer beer..." Then this
little man in my head with a broom stick up his ass tells me to do
things. Naughty things. Like homework, and pay bills on time, and god
forbid, CLEAN UP AFTER MYSELF. I am constantly torn between having fun
and growing up. Often, they just cannot be compatible.
So I have come to the conclusion that none of these existences will
do. No amount of illegal substances, success in school, money or fame
makes me happy. I have one basis for happiness; making music.
We all have one thing we do that nobody can take away from us; being
ourselves. Every human is unique and in one form or another is capable
of expressing themselves. I'm not saying everyone is an "artist" but
every human can create. I do it by hitting large circular metal objects
as fast as my scrawny little arms can go without me getting a heart
attack. I create sounds, my sounds, for me. I am in my little corner of
the world, creating.
You don't have to be a rock star, millionare tycoon, or a god to
create. Creation is achievable by anyone with a pulse, an idea, and
motivation to get off the godamn internet, put down the fucking remote,
and get into their own mind and soul. There are sculptors, drummers,
wicker weavers, and artists within us all. Do yourself a favor and try
them out sometime.