Keeping It Real

You know, throughout my life I always felt out of place among my social circles. There always seemed to be some veil over everyone, like there was some part of them that I couldn't see. Then there was the day I met Trag. I was at a party one day, sitting in the corner like a true wallflower, and Trag walks up and introduces himself. "You know what the problem is with these people?" he said, "They don't keep it real."
And that's when it hit me. That's why I was out of place! These people didn't know how to keep it real! They were soaked in self-consciousness! Drenched in "keep up with the Jones" mentality. This wasn't for me. I was for real. I needed to hang with people who keep it real just like me.
Trag and I left the party and headed to this house where his friends liked to hang. Trag wore lots of black and listened to punk music. I knew a guy like this would have lots of friends who kept it real just like we did.
Once we got to the house, things seemed so much better than before, but it didn't take long before that wore off. For guys who claimed they kept it real, they sure put on a lot of show. It turns out they ALL wore black just like Trag! The music didn't seem too real. Every song sounded disgruntled. Wouldn't "keeping it real" involve a smile every now and then? Or some powder blue? Hell, half the house was wearing the same Misfits T-shirt! The most disappointing thing about the whole experience was when Trag's wallet fell out of his pocket and revealed an Abercrombie credit card. And on the credit card, I noticed that his real name was Jason.
This place wasn't keeping it real at all. I knew I had to find a place that was more real just like me. I did notice this one girl at the house that also seemed out of place. She was the only one who wasn't in black. She was in a sensible army green, and she didn't wear a bra. I figured a girl who wouldn't confine her bosom to the shackles of authority must really know how to keep it real. So I introduced myself.
Her name was Donna (so much more real than "Trag"). And I was right. She was disgusted by the "cookie cutter" format of the house just like me. She said she knew of a coffee shop down the road where people REALLY knew how to keep it real. "Let's go" I said, and we left Trag (Jason) and all the rest of his fakie friends: Rust (Bob), Cuff (Willy), Kayla (Jenny), and Zip (Josh).
A few minutes later, we were walking into the place I had been searching for all along. The Jaded Philanthropist coffeehouse. Inside was a plethora of individuality. Each table was a haven for discussion about politics, poetry, Norwegian folklore and even the history of MI6's involvement with the middle east in the 1970's. But wait a minute. What the hell was I supposed to talk about? This kind of stuff wasn't anything I cared to discuss right then. I JUST GOT THERE! Plus, no one seemed to want to listen to anything I wanted to say. Actually, no one was really listening to anybody else! Each table was one person who was just talking and talking about whatever. This couldn't be real! No matter how educated! And for as many communists that were there, it sure was hard to get a fair chance to talk! I knew I had to find a better place where people REALLY kept it real.
There was only one place left where I could try. I'm not allowed to tell you where it was, or how I got there. It was SO real, that I wasn't even allowed to disclose any names of the people who were there! But I will tell you that there was a lot of stuff that made me uncomfortable there. People picked their noses, drank too much, snorted heroin, ran around naked, had circle jerks, watched "Weekend at Bernie's", and I think that one of the guys had a girlfriend there that was only 13!!! I don't know for sure because she only spoke Chinese. Was this what keeping it REAL came down to? Do people really fart that much? Or had I finally gone too far? I don't know if this was real or not, but if it was, I didn't really want to share it with these guys. So I knew I had to move on.
There was only one place left where I knew I could keep it real. I came home and started typing on my computer. Is that real? It is to me. At least in my head, but that's about as far as reality goes for anyone. Any further, and the elements of the material world twist it into something that isn't you anymore. If we're lucky, we can manage to get one positive thing from our brains to someone else and touch them in some way that makes the world a better place. And if we're really lucky, we can get it across without disclosing that we've seen the movie "Weekend at Bernie's".

yours truly,

Siddhartha Vader (yes, that's my real name)