The Vanity Of An Ape In A Thin Slice Of Cosmic Time

By Chris Burrows Born in the hot summer of 87 to an accountant and nurse with an absurd pretence to create a loving and respectable appearance, I lived, as would be expected, a traditional middle-class, gabardine childhood. By the climb on of sixteen, more formally known as the age of reason, I had established an anti-religious, political and cultural identity incompatible with that of my parents, so consequentially aborted from the home unit and forced upon the streets.In and out of punk arguing bands, failing relationships, etty crime and substance addiction, early adulthood founded for what was to become a blind yet fruitful Journey of promiscuity, artistic proficiency and ego development. This continues to be, for the most part, a euphoric experience. Soon enough, an informal, yet nevertheless morose study of physics, astronomy and cognitive science lead to the inevitable credit that this universe, however beautiful and complex, exists without purpose and our lives deep down it, as important and lively as they may seem, are ultimately meaningless.Particularly, that skyscrapers, governments and police forces are only the result of thirteen billion ears of sequential chemical reactions externally firm by their surroundings, and any purpose or meaning a human race may experience within their animation is purely a growth of their own mind.Torn between suicidal tendencies to the left, and the vacant monotony of modern sprightliness to the right, I kept driving straight ahead, crashing full speed into the destined and only middle ground, escapism. Finally, distraction and relief from all the unpleasant realities of life had been found, secluded in a timber cabin deep within the woods, and it is there too, where you may find this lonely boy, and his dog.