Chapter Five

“Irony is so privileged. It’s what happens when you don’t need to do anything to survive-it’s when the things you do have nothing to do with survival and you write a book about being apathetic and young and vegan.” The Golden Bear says.
“I know,” I say. “What do you want people to do then?”
“I don’t know. I am just trying my best out here. I mean people should just stop being all like, ‘I’m depressed. You’re depressed. Let’s write books and blog entries about the isolation we feel in society and feel less depressed.’ I mean that’s been done.” “That’s a good name for a movie, ‘I’m depressed. You’re depressed. Let’s write books and blog entries about the isolation we feel is society and feel less depressed.’ I’d sneak into that movie.Tomorrow is Saturday.
In the sky, on my cloud, at night I will have my eagles come whisper the words of the internet in my ear. At night I will work on my short story about people who can change the world. Every sentence will have to say something about that theme or else I will feel that both the story and myself were ‘not as good as we could be.’ It is tedious but rewarding work (trying to be inspirational and interesting about the most beautiful parts of our collective pasts and potential future) sometimes if I write lucidly enough, I feel, in a way that momentarily makes me believe loneliness is made up, I miss those times, that there was a audience, really, for my prose; and I try, then, to desire, in this missed and wanting and therefore nostalgic way, the present moment, when feeling restless and alone; to experience it while it is happening. And that is all. Feeling bad is a mistake. Words on the page are read. Life is an unwritten book with blank pages, and like Elvis Costello says, we need to write this book everyday. This will take away the suffering. Which comes from the inside. The world is here. Go outside. In a dark cave The Golden Bear says, “Watch.”The Golden Bear disappears and appears three feet to the left.
“What did I just do?” The Golden Bear says.“Teleport,” I say.
The Golden Bear disappeared and appeared one foot above the ground and dropped to the ground and bent at the knees a little.The Golden Bear disappeared and appeared holding a bouquet of roses.“I am full of love,” The Golden Bear says. “And I’m teleporting.”
The Golden Bear walks over to me and gives me a hug. “I’m totally satisfied right now. In nature. With friends. Why is everyone sleeping still?”“I don’t know.”
“I sometimes feel that people think that life is something that has already risen, and all this, the air, the clouds, the eagles, the leaves, is all just a falling, really, downward, in a kind of recession, away from all that makes humanity great.” I say.“But that’s totally wrong,”
The Golden Bear says.“I know. It’s crazy,” I say. The Golden Bear and I stare at each other. I cry two tears. We talk. And talk. And talk. We are more than acquaintances. We are the lone survivors from this lonely stupor that has taken over our generation. We will be friends for our entire lives because we have the same mystic and kind spark growing inside our chests. And we must spread. And kill this sleeping on our own.We go to a diner.The Golden Bear orders steak.I order corn.