"Rosalita" Might Be The Best Song Ever Written

It's hard being a big brother. When you're little it means being the first one to fuck with your younger siblings and the first one to make sure no one else does. "No one fucks with _____ but me!" You get into a few fights for your brother and you beat him up a few times. Simple shit.

But as you get older it gets harder. You have to walk a fine line between teaching them not to make the same mistakes you made and blowing up their shit. Everyone has to be able to learn from other's fuck ups and be free to make their own mistakes at the same time.

Yet before you know it they're asking your advice. Someone wants your help figuring out their life when you just barely have a hold on your own. And honestly what advice can anyone give anyone else? I know me and my life. I know the shit I've been through. I know how I feel and how I think and that's just about it. The rest of it is a craps shoot.

So if you want my advice it boils down to this:

Go for it. Always, always al-fucking-ways go for it. Put 5 g's on Black. Raw-Dog it. Marry her. Take the last ride in. Play Russian Roulette. Eat spicy foods. Beer-bong 12oz of cheap warm vodka. Buy that plane ticket.

If its something you're gonna antagonize over, then go for it. I don't believe in any gods or post-mortem consciousness. If you ask me when we're done, we're done, then that's it; we're done. Sleep without the everlasting dreams and so forth. You got nothing to lose and anything to gain. GO FOR IT.
However;
should I be wrong then I see it this way:

I'll still have my memories. Send me to the highest cloud in heaven or the lowest cave in hell but I'll still be me. And I will always know the words to "Piano Man" and what that means to me. And I'll always know the panic of thinking you're about to be dead. And I'll always know the taste of a woman and how that makes me feel. And I'll always know the smell of Stella Artois in the spring and the feeling of being drunk in Europe. And I'll always know the bottomless feeling inside my belly when I fucked up real bad. And a million billion other little tiny bits of being alive.
If my 'soul' survives after I'm dead and gone then it's gonna have to know those feelings and a fucking trillion others. Otherwise it won't be my soul. And if it ain't my soul then who gives a fuck?