Stairway to Kevin

Hi, I’m David Brooks, but you obviously knew that. What you didn’t know is me, for you’ve never really smelled me. I mean stood right next to me and took a deep, explorative inhale of all my bodily, emotional, and intellectual prowess, like my dog Bobo does. See, I’m a journalist of the highest order, and though I’m self-deprecating at times, I don’t really mean it. I’ve read four or five studies in my lifetime, and almost as many books, so I know that great journalism, at least my own, is superior to them all. Those that I haven’t read were dismissed according to the measured whims whooshing around in my cavernous intellect. Now, in inferior readings, the data indicates that abortions and teen pregnancies are falling, and evidence is pointing to certain clear reasons, like the increased use of IUD’s and sex ed classes, as indicators. The fact that kids are having more sex than ever, of course, is yet another indicator of our general moral decline, but at least the rabble aren’t reproducing.  But that’s only research—it can give you good ideas about how to solve serious social ills, cure diseases, and steer policy for the betterment of an entire nation or even world, but those things are just a bunch of abstract, shallow talk.

You see, people don’t get pregnant in multiples—they do it on their own, one by one, all alone in their room, or in a back alley, or in the car while traffic is really slow. Numbers and systematic analysis are great for the little people, but the highest form of knowing can’t be found in mere digits. No, despite certain arcane and thus useless arguments that span the history of philosophy, science and mathematics, numbers cannot take you to those pinnacles of understanding where I reside.   I tell you, it’s very lonely up here sometimes.

Speaking of which, it’s been a long time since I’ve gotten high. I know that I said a while back that I’ve been there and done that, and that most of us do not have a strong enough moral ecology to pick up a bong and really toke away responsibly, especially single mothers and black and brown people, but being none of those types and having known someone who knew one of them once, I’m pretty confident that I can, once again, be your Prometheus and light up to bring back to humanity yet more great knowledge from the nether regions of my mind. I don’t know where I’m going with this piece anyway, so let me get out my old high school bong and some high-grade marijuana I just happen to have and see what happens.

Hold on a sec. Ok. Uh huh, yeah, that feels familiar. Hmmmm. OK, I’m tingling now, which is pretty awesome. No, this is some really intense shit. I’m definitely getting deep now. I thought I was totally fucking brilliant, but this is amazing! Whoa, and this is not creeper pot, it’s coming on fast, like really, really

fassssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Oh shit, sorry man, I totally just left my finger down on the keyboard and watched it. Those squiggly lines, like right after one another, it’s like an ocean of waves and shit, just, like, crashing up on each other without really touching, which is totally like how I get off. Man, I miss my wife. Why didn’t she understand? It was just a website. Jesus, what was I talking about? Oh, yeah, getting deep! Duuuude, now I’ve totally got a thought—it’s like, it’s like I’m just making this shit up…but it’s so fucking good. Speaking of fucking good, Stairway to Heaven is such an epic song. I mean, does that shit ever get old? I don’t think so, man. It’s only like a few minutes long, but it feels like a full-on lifetime journey. Man, my stoner friend Kevin and me used to totally listen to that song in high school and talk about deep, spiritual shit. I full-on miss Kevin. Kevin, if you’re reading this, we should hook up!  We could toke up, listen to Stairway, and talk about that Augustine saint dude. You would totally dig him.  His was one of the two books I totally read in college, or I went to the lectures, like a couple, I think, and one was all about loving people really closely—like knowing their fear by smelling it, you know? I tried that, but it creeped people out. What’s wrong with smelling people while hanging out? They so judged me for that, and I wasn’t poor or black or anything.  Jeez, college was rough. Kevin would understand. Dude, I’m really fucked up now. Weed did not used to be this intense.  I think I’m gonna cry.

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One Response to Stairway to Kevin

  1. Pingback: The Big Brother | Hi, I'm David Brooks.

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