Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed- interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing sprit- crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing you last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life… But why would I want to do a thing like that?

Yup. That’s not mine but it pretty much describes the fix of consumerism one tends to get into…

I’m not really into material things that much, I guess I used to be, but that’s a desire from a very boring decade of my life.

Why do I post it now? Two reasons.
One. I’m looking forward to seeing Trainspotting 2, the first one which made me the person I am today… Lol. Probably really true.


Second. I can relate to the passage. Very much.