My life is the great-unfinished novel that everyone clamors for when it is finished. But unfortunately it keeps going along, travels from page to page, dangling maddeningly in front of me. The kind of thing that you canít see right in front of your own nose but everyone else stops to point it out and ask you exactly how it came to get there. Itís none of their business of course, but people are naturally nosy and if they see something that wasnít there before theyíre innately curious and even if they donít go so far as to stop and ask the person how it got there, they will certainly wonder about it, and might even talk about it to their friends back home. I saw the most curious thing today they might say, and theyíd be correct, as everything out of the ordinary is curious. But what is the ordinary? Is the ordinary a completely non-changing state where you find everything exactly as you left it? That would be completely bizarre, but unfortunately that is how people perceive it without even thinking about it. Things are expected to stay calm and under control, otherwise folks worry. They like things to stay exactly the way they are now so they donít get jolted by a big dose of reality in the morning. ďSure is coldĒ, they say, but what theyíre really saying is that it wasnít cold yesterday, so itís amazing that itís cold today. I fully expected things to stay exactly the way they are now because thatís the way I like it. And when itís cold more than one day in a row, the phrase itís cold outside takes on a different meaning, than it becomes it sure is cold outside. I wish it would go back to being not cold because that is normal. In other words normal is also what people feel most comfortable with, but I already said that in so many words. Or did I? I donít know. Do you feel comfortable with me saying that? We have a strict line to follow they say. If you donít follow that line dire consequences will happen. Weíd lock up the weather and never let it out if we could. Itís damnable enough that it has to go around being cold all the time. I hate the cold I wish it would just be as warm and sunny and nice as it always is. The cold is a freakish thing that I hate and detest. Room temperature may well be heaven on earth if you believe that line of reasoning. So expect the unexpected. Donít be surprised when someone dies at 27. He had to make room for the man who died at 105 so as to make room for a median age of death at 75. In other words, some people live longer than 75 and some people live shorter. Thatís why itís called an average. The people who die at exactly at 75 arenít average. They are the ones who are abnormal.
What a screeching accident I saw today. The cars jolted this way and that to try and avoid each other, but in the end catastrophe struck, and the two cars that were on a collision course with each other were unable to avoid meeting with enough force to dislodge all temporary attachments from their respective cars. Each car contained one driver each, both of whom were completely unprepared for their perfectly timed day to be interrupted by anything other than surprisingly long traffic signals, and a line at the gas station. The shock of what had happened dismayed both passengers to no small end, and their brains were temporarily thrown into disorder as their next formulated thoughts were chaotic, and ideas of what to do were created, pondered upon and tossed away in a matter of seconds. In the end, both persons eventually got out of their cars, with the first merely to walk around and bemoan his tragic fate in an exasperated fashion, and the second to survey the damage closely and wonder how much it would cost to repair. ďWhy did you do this to me?Ē asked the first, who believed implicitly that a great wrong to wellbeing had been done. The second, merely trying to make the best of a bad situation, stated that he was very sorry and had done everything possible to avoid striking him with his vehicle. This answer did little to appease the first who walked around angrily, looking at nothing in particular, while lighting a cigarette, and taking a few puffs, before echoing a string of expletives. Then the police were called by the first, while the second, whose head was still pounding with dismay and threatening to cease functioning, could think of nothing better to do than to get back inside his battered shell of a car, quiver silently to himself, and hope that nothing worse happened. People who were traveling by this area, with every good intention of going elsewhere, quickly became onlookers, and either slowed their movements, or stopped entirely to ask what happened. Later still, policemen arrived, blame was assessed, and tickets were issued with a promise to appear in court. The first was upset that he had to appear in court at all, but seemed confident that a judgeís decision would go his way. The second, by this time, merely wanted to be done with the whole matter, and was in a hurry to try and forget about the whole thing. The police thanked them, and told them to have a nice day, before shooing all the onlookers away, getting in their transport vehicles and departing. Then the first and the second, satisfied that the matter at hand was over, determined that their cars were drive-able, so they got in them, started the engines up again, and were off, spare parts dragging, and wires sparking as they went.†
How boring life is when no end is in sight. When there is no light at the end of the tunnel, and none even theoretically nearby, why would you even bother walking further? Instead you would most likely sit down for long stretches of time, ponder how you got into this predicament, and fiddle around in your pockets for a stick of gum. If no gum was to be found you might even examine the lint found in your jacket pocket and see what kind of shapes you could stretch it to. If this happened then it would be quite obvious that you would be entering the first stages of doldrums. Doldrums are extremely boring times multiplied to the nth degree by the number of interesting things you have to do (usually zero). Once you enter doldrums itís very hard to get out of them by yourself. Usually an outside circumstance, such as a person or happenstance, must occur to get you out of it. There is only a certain amount of times that you can twiddle your thumbs before they will break off entirely. Try it and see - it is guaranteed that you wonít find it to be a pleasant circumstance. Ever lose a roadmap and try to navigate to the location you were trying to get to before by sheer force of will or determination? I thought not. Itís most unlikely that you can arrive at a location further away than across the street if you have never been there before and have no definite idea how to get there. If you somehow through incredible luck managed to arrive at this location, how would you know if you were there? Would you depend on the road-signs to guide you there? Would you ask the next person you stopped to talk to at a gas station? What would be the most interesting thing you could buy at the gas station to while away your time? If this interesting thing was a food item, then it wouldnít keep you entertained for long, only during intervals at stoplights where your hands, which should have both been placed on the steering wheel, would now be free to grab the food item and place it in your mouth at will. If you had a traveling companion, then they could put the food in your mouth for you while you are driving. But if you had a companion your chances of both reaching your destination and being entertained would greatly increase, unless of course you hated your companion. But if you hated your companion, why would they be in the car in the first place? Only if they were in the car against your will could this unusual arrangement occur. If you ever do manage to get to a location that youíve never been to before, but that is further away than across the street without the aid of a friend, a map, or a clue, then let me know and Iíll come running to ask you about it. That is, Iíll be there if I can figure out how to get to your house Ė Iíve never been there.
I saw someone today that I hadnít expected to see. When I say that, I mean that I havenít seen this person in quite some time. I was taken aback to put it mildly. I wasnít horrified. I wasnít in shock terror. I was glad to see him, and I wasnít disappointed that he became fat. After all, when I saw him last he was thin. Who am I to say that a person canít change how they are since the last time Iíve seen them. In fact we should be quite happy when we chance upon an old friend, which is what this person was, who has changed since youíve seen them last. Look at their change as a sign of progression in their life, which almost anyone will agree is better than stagnation or regression. If they have regressed, thatís fine too, because then you can pride yourself on the fact that while you have retained much of your youthful vigor and good looks, theyíve gained a potbelly and have started chain smoking. Unfortunately since this person is your friend, you canít in good nature point out how much theyíve changed since they might get offended. If they get offended does that really matter? Since you hadnít seen this person in a while and probably havenít talked or written in quite some time, and since it didnít matter to you how they were before this point, how much does the opinion of someone whom you may very well not see for several more years really matter to you? Remember how they were before in their prime, when they made you laugh and they wore funny hats. Remember your friends. Sometimes they may be all you have left. You canít keep but so many friends in good company. So donít make the mistake of having the ones you really appreciate turn out to be the people you see on occasion and are surprised to see. To have friends you must show yourself friendly. Itís an old and oft repeated adage, but like most things that stand to be repeated, it is repeated for a reason. The reason is because it is so. What you reap is what you sow, and vice versa. A man with many friends is a man to be. So pick your friends well. Pick them on the basis of love and companionship. Donít pick friends out of convenience; these might be the friends that will stab you in the back when it comes time for the promotion at work. To those reading these words, I wish you all the best of luck in finding friends that you can talk to, and appreciate you for who you are, not how much money they can borrow from you, or what you will do for them. Donít make friends on the basis of favors. The favors owed can become like a debt to be paid between you, and when itís time to pay up, it might test your friendship. A strong friendship can withstand any trouble, and one that cannot was no good in the first place. Be careful with your friends, you never know how long they will last.
When you are walking, be sure to notice your surroundings. Thereís nothing worse than someone who lives in complete and utter ignorance of their surroundings. Stop to notice the beauty of the sunshine above you, the street-sign with the crack on it that you never noticed before. Pay attention. This will serve you well in whatever capacity your life may take you, and wherever that is, chances are very good that you will be walking there too. Life is a journey taken one step at a time, and if when you reach the end of that journey you turn around to see where youíve been and you canít remember a thing because you didnít pay attention, then did it really happen? Paying attention can save your life. You never know when you will have to duck a tree or another object that life hurls at you. Noticing your surroundings is sharing the beauty of the world that God has created, while focusing on yourself is selfishness. These things are only suggestions designed to improve your life. Take time to pay attention to whatever you are doing, whether it be school, work, or play. Very few people look back at the halfway-completed job they have just done and say to themselves that they are very proud of what they have accomplished. Donít be a quitter. Just keep walking. Have patience. Take your time. Learn to appreciate things you are given and donít throw them away. Thereís more to this world than you can ever hope to learn in thousands of lifetimes, but you can still miss it all if you donít pay attention to any of it. On the other hand, if you intend to accomplish nothing with yourself, then by all means give everything a halfhearted attempt before you say, ďI am finished with this thing. It has beaten me.Ē Move on to the next thing and let it defeat you too. Life is a serious of trials and errors that if you run through may prove to be cold and heartless defeats. When you walk through things slowly the odds are in your favor that if a thing can be solved and it is within you to solve it, then it will be solved. The journey is in the walk, and the walk is in the journey. What you did to arrive at your destination is more important than if you got there or not. Iím going to watch the falling leaves, falling off the trees. Iím going to watch the sun come down and touch the moon. Watch me and find out how I got there.
The thoughts of one young man ran away from him as quickly as raindrops can trickle off a rooftop. He had just returned home from a day at school, and had just been given his progress report by his teacher. With a handful of good grades sure to secure his mothers affection for yet another day, he was bound and determined to ask for that new bike for Christmas. He didnít want a big bike, or a fancy 10-speed which he really didnít think he needed anyway (but he sure thought they were cool), he just wanted a plain old red bike of some kind that heíd seen at the store, and preferably one without training wheels. He was quite sure his mother would give in to this request, especially after seeing the a-minus heíd managed to pull off in writing class. He really did have a time getting those curly sís to fit inside those nice tight black lines on his practice writing sheets. He had also recently decided that he was a big boy now and was through with training wheels for now. He could already ride his old bike so fast that the training wheels didnít even seem to be touching the ground! So, waving goodbye to his friends in the school bus he opened the front of his house and came inside yelling, ďMom come here and look what I got!Ē No one was visible in the front hall, or the kitchen, so he went off to his parentís bedroom to see what was the matter. Inside the bedroom were a few doctors, and his father, who were all huddled closely next to his mom who lay resting on her bed while holding a brand new baby in her arms. He had never seen anything like this. It seemed completely unusual and strange. ďA new brother or sisterĒ, he thought. What a foreign concept it seemed to him. His mother had said someone new would be coming into the house, but he hadnít really given it too much thought, but now this new person was right here in front of him. He stood there in the doorway silent for a good minute or two not really wanting to disrupt anything and trying not to frighten the baby. No one noticed him for a minute either, but when they did, they invited him inside with a smile. He walked inside the room slowly, and said hello to the doctors. They offered their hands to him to shake and he accepted. Then one of them said to his mother, ďHow about letting him cut the cord?Ē His father took this as a call to action, and taking his son by the arms led him right over to the baby. ďMeet your new sisterĒ, his father said. ďIsnít she beautiful?Ē The boy couldnít agree more, but was confused when the doctors handed him a small pair of scissors similar to the ones found in his parents bathroom right next to the Q-Tips. ďGo onĒ, they assured him, as his mother held her new daughter proudly up in the air. A long strange pinkish tube was attached to the little girl and it stretched on down beneath the sheets where his mother was sitting. He slowly reached out his hands, and with one small stroke of his fingertips clipped the cord in half. Blood issued out of the tube and the boy was concerned, unsure of what he had just done. ďNo itís okay,Ē they told him. ďHe thinks he hurt her,Ē the doctors said to his mother. It was all so wonderful, the boy couldnít remember a thing about why he had come into the room, and he just sat there watching his new sister, until he was asked to leave.
The boy was having a party and everyone was going to come. It was going to be great. He could see the festivities in his mind. Frankie was going to be there. That Frankie, he was a wild kid, always ready to crack a joke or a few heads. His mother didnít think too much of Frankie but she valued friendships for her son so he was allowed to come. Fritz was next in line to be invited. He was the type of boy that every mother wanted her son to be friends with; he was very polite and well mannered, he never really got into much trouble and he was on the straight A honor list at school. Fritz however had a knack for thinking of fun, rambunctious things to do, once you got him away from his studies that is. Rachel was the girl that lived next door. She was very pretty, but also very quiet and shy. She didnít have a lot of friends, but due to her proximity to the party she had been invited so as not to hurt her feelings. ďAnd who knowsĒ, the parental reasoning went, ďmaybe itíll be good for my boy to have a proper lady around.Ē The boy didnít think so of course, but he never liked going against anything his mother suggested strongly, as it could lead to I told you soís, and constant nagging. Nagging, oh how he hated his motherís nagging. It was enough to make him want to beat his head into the bathroom wall. In fact one time he did do such a thing and it left a small dent on the apparently soft plastered wall. His parents never saw the dent, or at least if they did they never made mention of such a thing to him. And that was quite all right, because he did many things that he hoped his parents would never discover. He was sure to receive a whooping if they ever found out who shot that squirrel and put its body on top of the neighborís car. One of the parents from across the street came over and accused him of doing it, but his parents defended him vehemently, and the boy said that he did not do it, so the matter was closed. He would go to any length to avoid getting a whooping, including setting up a scene to make it look like his baby brother had knocked over something while playing. It was always easy to blame things on the baby. After all, he could never defend himself. All he could do was sit in his high chair, wave his hands around in the air happily and spit. It was a perfect method Ė neither child received punishment. They didnít believe their oldest son ever did anything wrong if he blamed it on his brother, and they would just wipe up any spills the younger child made. This would all change at the big party. It was going to be great. Everyone was going to be there.
What a time everyone was having. The picnic was in full swing. Everyone that was anyone was attending. The Schultzís family was there, the Martins, the Higbees, even the Jeffersons stopped in to see what was happening. It was certainly a gala event of the highest order. There was a pie eating tournament that ran Ďround the clock with new contestants every half-hour. There was a sack race for the children eight years of age and younger. There was a cake-walk where people could win cakes if the number they were standing on was called when music stopped playing. Everyone was delighted that the whole community could finally be together and put this violence behind them. They all tried to forget, at least for a while, about the child that had been kidnapped, beaten and raped in their very own neighborhood just four short months ago. A local fellow who had been described as being very kind and whimsical had committed this despicable act. He liked blowing up balloon animals for the kids who would take their new treasures home with them to show to their parents. Heíd lived on twelve cypress avenue for about fifteen years, according to the oldest reckoning of a local official, and during that time heíd never done anything harmful to anyone that would cause people to suspect that they shouldnít trust him around their children. People were tight lipped in town and didnít like talk much, but whenever something important happened they would spread rumors amongst themselves. It was in this way that they began to suspect the man that no one talked to, of this most heinous crime. They thought it was terrible the way he was just enjoying himself at the party since it was obvious to all concerned parties that he was an as yet not captured criminal. The Higbees tried not to look at him as he passed, shielding their children from seeing his face. The Martins, upon seeing the man approach their general direction, turned and went the opposite direction towards the sack race. Everything would have gone along smoothly if it were not for the haughtiness of Mrs. Jefferson who spit in his face and called him an ďevil, evil man.Ē He openly wept and drove away in his car leaving the partygoers to wonder if they were right for condemning the man with no reasonable evidence.
Donít expect things to always work out for you exactly how you planned. This is easy to write, and easier still to say, but despite this, there are still people who believe that through some great step by step organizational process they can coerce facets of their life to move along smoothly just as they intended it to. This can never be so. Unless you are in direct control of the details of an operation, you can never be sure that the operation will be one hundred percent successful. People donít always react exactly how you might expect them to. No matter how well you think you know someone, the slightest deviation of your expected path according to that other person may produce tragic results. Whether or not the results are permanently or only semi-permanently tragic are largely up to you. Only if you can convince the people that you donít directly control of how much sense your intentions make and what you meant, will your intended plan have any effect. Until then youíll be just another man babbling along the avenue whistling to himself unable to change the world around himself in any way and forced to take handouts from strangers just to eat lunch at the nearest fast food restaurant. Some people completely give up on planning their life. This is for quitters and should not be practiced by people who have any zest for life whatever. Jellyfish friends are the kind that just drift along Ė wherever life takes them is okay with them. Just like the jellyfish, these friends can sting you without realizing it. So, find out what you want. You will almost always have to work through people to reach your destination, so learn how to work with people, how to communicate your ideas to and through them. Being scared of expressing yourself to those around you is a sad, sad state. Learn to love. Learn to rejoice in creation. Be free. Remember that inside everyone is sad to some varying degree, many people are just clever at hiding it thatís all.
I often worry that I have nothing important to say or that my thoughts and concerns and feelings will be devoid of any interest to the world. It is at times like this that I am usually tired and feeling sorry for myself for whatever reason. It may have been because I was tired of trying an endeavor that didnít work for me, or I had attempted to get involved in something without even knowing where to begin being involved with it at. Such is the unfortunate life of the creative who donít know how to market themselves. We find letter writing to editors confusing and hope that we can find someone to send something to that wonít end up getting thrown out with the rest of the garbage within minutes of arriving in the mail. I often think that the world is too big to get anyone to notice me that will pay me for anything. I secretly feel jealous of those who happen to be in the right place at the right time to get noticed for something that they did which really wasnít so special at all, it just happened to impress the right person. I feel that life can be a hard thing when you try to go in too many directions at once. You may never figure out where you are headed and will confuse yourself endlessly. This can only result in sadness and frustration unless you succeed in leaning on Godís understanding. Only he can help guide you in the trials and pitfalls of life. Only he will listen to your pain and secret tears and hold you close. Only by living in his strength can you overcome your weakness. He created the world. He can create a bright future for you. You must believe. I do so want to believe. I want to see the results that may be inches away or they may be miles away. Itís just hard to comprehend. The future is a scary place to visit. I donít know if I would want to live there.
Saying the right things to the right people can always be a problem. Life can be moving along smoothly in the direction that you hoped that it always would when all of a sudden out of your mouth come words that visibly upset the person you were just talking to. It doesnít matter how well you know, or think you know this person, your thoughts are not linked to the same brain, so when you say something that they werenít expecting it may trouble them. If you notice something is wrong when you are talking to someone and you donít immediately ask them about it, it could settle in the back of their minds for days, weeks, and even years. If this person you are talking to is a girl, then she may store this new opinion she has of you away for future reference, and completely deny that anything is wrong. Why are things denied when they are obvious? Whatís wrong with the world in general when people canít speak the things they mean for fear of being misunderstood?
Johnny was having that dream again. You know, the one where you just lay back with your eyes closed, body outstretched, dangling up in the clouds. You just float away, and let the warm breeze take you where it will. The sunshine heats up your stomach and gives you a toasty feeling inside like nothing else can. Thereís no more cares or worries in the world. All you do is relax and enjoy the moment; and the next moment and the next. Theyíre all the same, and it doesnít matter because it feels so good. Just think that this must be how cats feel all the time when they lay in the sun for hours at a time, blissfully unaware of the world around them. Cats donít have a care in the world and if they nap for five hours straight during the day when the rest of the world toils, then it doesnít matter. Nothing matters when you feel as good as if you were a babe again in your motherís arms, rocking gently back and forth among the cumulous clouds. Why would you ever want to leave such a position of pure ecstacy? To remove you from a feeling like this would be akin to criminal action. ďDonít wake the sleeping babyĒ, people often say because they enjoy the angelic way babies look when they are sleeping. People are even jealous of the position of a child Ė having everyone look after you and care for you. It is an enviable position, but working hard is itís own reward. However hard work is rewarding at the end of the day and peaceful gentle sleep is rewarding throughout the entire period of time that you are involved in such an activity. ďIf a man does not work he does not eatĒ, John Smith said, paraphrasing the Bible, and this is true, but who would want to be a man if this was so? Certainly some would like to remove themselves from that category altogether and be something entirely different. Mankind is always trying to re-invent itself to distance itself from the rest of the people that it looks at and deems average. Donít be lazy. Donít be content. Donít be average. But if the time comes that you are able to enjoy yourself just as in Johnnyís dream, take advantage of it, it is a gift and a respite from the anguish of life. Let no one deny you this chance for pure motionless heaven, as it makes all your hard work seem all the more worthwhile. Eat of life. Breathe it. Donít spit yourself out, or cut yourself short. When you are tired and lonely, just think of Johnny and what awaits you when you dream.
She was the most beautiful thing ever seen by the face of the Heavenís, a girl surely graced with an angelís touch. She could do no wrong, and yet she thought she was so flawed. Every inch of her body she magnified all out of proportion. Her skin was like soft rose petals, so sweet, so gentle. I wanted to show her the world, to lift her up to a place where no one else could touch her. But all she wanted was to turn away, to laugh, and pretend that the world wasnít an ugly place waiting to harm her. Secretly she wished that she were ugly so that she could be left alone. I weep openly for her, hoping against hope that I may one day be able to dry her tears. Such wit she possessed. How smart she was. Perceiving the world with a slight smile and a cock of the head. She always knew what was afoot, but would very seldom comment on it. She could read the future, but wanted no part of it Ė the present was good enough, and was all that was needed. The future is the enemy of the present, it tears away, rips away what happiness we now possess and replaces it with a murky idea of something to come, something that may or may not come. In the future, she is no more. There is no more idealism. Youth has lost itsí joy, itís boundlessness. For every leap of hope there is a crashing weight that reminds you what truly surrounds you, what transpires to keep your dreams scattered from you. Push on as you may she will allude you, your great hope for the future will remain as a fleeting ghost. Your life will remain standing still. Your visions will remain just that, and there you will stand, with a gnawing empty pain inside you wishing for more. When you wake up from this horrible dream, you must understand that it is all not fantasy, that it is all not real, in fact it was real Ė but no more. Playing with shadows is a sure way to allude anything the present has to offer you. Donít be afraid to ride the waves to wherever they may take you. Wave goodbye to the shore. You wonít be missed. You wonít be sorry. Youíll just awake and continue your journey, and she will be gone forever. A time lost in a place that you can no longer go to. You can revisit in your mind as often as you like, but you will find that you lose track of the details with each visit. Eventually the fantastic is better than the reality ever was. She lives. She breathes. She walks. She is a pure, lovely, shimmering dream of hope.
The days drag on and on. Time lingers then passes as if making up its mind about what to do with the world. A dark cloud gathers then goes away as if to dismiss itself and make room for happy clouds and light rain. The room spins round and round if you donít make a sound. Could you be happier that way? Would you like it if I stayed? Could you possibly be any less dense? Can you engage in conversation that doesnít have to do with idiocy? Itís fitting in a way; having to deal with the inner demons that battle for a brief moment of your time. Your body is controlled by your mind, yet if not properly harnessed by sleep, good nutrition and exercise can almost behave as if it is behaving of its own accord. You move but you donít feel it. Where is the joy in that? Where is the living? Why is it that every single moment of every single part of your life canít be all wonderful and happy? Why do we as people digress over the minutia of life and not focus overall on the bigger picture of life and see it for the wonderful thing it is? I suppose weíre all stupid in a way, running around like chickens with our heads cutoff. Our brains our out of our heads, but we donít realize it yet. Sometimes we work too much to do anything but come home and go to sleep again. We miss the little things that pass by. We donít stop to contemplate anything anymore, we just miss the dreary substanceless life that is constant sleep Ė a joyous state of having to do nothing for at least a few hours, which must be better than doing something that involves long hours of work. Work for what? Work to live? To survive? Or to actually progress and make something of life, of yourself. What is work then, if not life itself? What is life if not work? Can we make anything out of nothing if we donít work at it? No. Effort is a good thing. It effectively removes us from animals, who even when they work donít seem to use much effort. I know many animals try and try constantly to achieve an unachievable dream, but just remember many of them are killed while crossing the street. The clouds overhead swirl. The rains fall down. The sun shines afterwards. Another day is dawning. All the ice is thawing. The old man is probably still snoring. He is out of work. He has achieved something beyond the life of the normal man, but is he living? Is he truly living? Has he learned something that we have not, or has he realized a state of grace granted on those who canít work anymore, and are as such put out of life? For does not work make us appreciate what little life we have left?
Do what you love. Period. Donít worry about what other people say. Theyíre too busy worrying about the fact that they missed out opportunities to do things in their lives, and now theyíre stuck behind a desk measuring things and answering phones to keep that nice house, and the shiny car, and the trophy wife that they have a meaningless relationship with. Some people do things to preserve their ďquality of lifeĒ. I think this term quality of life is a fictional term that people adopt to guard against losing anything in their life. They are in fact greedy. People are hogs. Pigs. Itís too bad that they are usually too afraid to stretch out and take a risk at something that just might make them happy. Money canít buy you love. Love canít guarantee money. Live for what you do. Money only supports what you do. Donít think you can separate the person you are from the person that you might become. Donít stretch out too much or go in too many directions at once. A strain of the body can be temporary, but a strain of the mind can have long lasting effects. You might find yourself wandering around in a daze drinking coffee waiting to figure out what it was that you were supposed to be doing. Life can be like that sometimes. You have to shake your head around sometimes and hope that the right words fly out of your tongue.
Itís not fair how movies are. They toy with your emotions. They make you think that something is real when it isnít. Can anything truly be real in this world of mixed-up emotions and complicated and tragic thought. Can we ever truly be free of our minds and come to grip with a firm image of ourselves? Itís not fair I tell you, itís just not fair. I wish life was fair. It isnít. Donít go to that strange house is what you tell the people on the screen when they are about to go to a strange house. Donít go in there. Donít go in at all. And thatís what we do in real life. We donít go inside. We donít discover whatís lying on the other side in darkness waiting to be discovered. If only we could let go of our fragile selves for just one moment. Just one. One would be enough. And live like they do in the movies where almost everything is alright for good people and the bad ones get shut away for ever.† Maybe we should go inside that strange house. Life isnít about being shut up inside a box that we have created for ourselves. We need to let ourselves out sometimes. We are so trapped. So trapped. When everyone says to not go inside the house, then we listen to them. Donít listen to the people. It doesnít matter what they think. All the money in the world doesnít matter if you donít follow what is inside you that is calling your name. Listen for it. Wait. Because otherwise itís just not fair. It isnít.
A garble of emotions is a good way to start thinking about things. You donít want to admit that you feel horribly alone to anyone because they might think it's pathetic. You've stopped caring about that and only want to fill in the hole that painfully resides in your heart. Unfortunately no one else can see that unless you let them see that. And of course that only results in painful discomfort and embarrassing stares. It only serves to stop the flow of good ideas of which I don't have right now. Admittedly I am at a loss for words. Imagination is punched in the face by emptiness. The emptiness wins. It laughs. It waits to spit out it's next opponent whom it will horribly triumph over as well. I think of someway to defeat it. I think some more. I am uncertain. It's just too bad that we live in a world full of this emptiness. Everywhere you look people run around feeling empty inside. It's awful. They try to fill in meaningless good times into this hole. Good times are light as air and never fill in anything, they just make you forget for a little while.
Don't be scared I told the girl as I gently stroked her cheek. Don't be scared of the world around you and what it can do for you. Think of the trees outside and your family, the people that love you. Think of them. Don't worry of how they might see you. They love you and want you to come home for Christmas. It's their fondest wish of all to see you returned to them and not living somewhere where they worry for you every day. Your mother used to work in her garden day after day. She loved it. The petunias, the weeds, the cherry blossoms - everything. But now your absence has sapped her strength, she can't bear to do anything about the garden. She just wants to be left alone most of the time and worry. She's taken to watching too much television. She likes those reality shows a lot. Your dad works harder than before because he has a hard time dealing with the mother of his children now that she's in this state. It's so much harder for them at Christmastime with every other family in the neighborhood having a wonderful Christmas with their families and friends. You are their only family and their friends don't call anymore. Do come with me. Please end their suffering. Forget about your shame. It will do you good. Anything would do you good at this point. You must get up. You must. You can't just sit there any longer. I won't let you die. I won't. You must get up. You must carry on. Please remember how things used to be. You don't have to love me anymore. Just as long as you remember.
George was a scared little boy. He had always been scared, it was probably because of too many movies that he watched without his parent's permission. These films were always on very late at night on the weekends, and would usually come on right after a popular syndicated television show of the 70's like the Incredible Hulk. One of them featured giants spiders from space that attacked the earth and started walking around and crushing buildings and eating people. It was a horrible mess, and George loved it, and thatís when the fear started - the fear of shadows, the fear of bullies, the fear of dissapointing his parents. It's easy to say that movies can't influence young children in a negative way, but you have to remember that your brains and young minds are still being formulated and are growing up rapidly whether you can see it or not. George developed a problem because of his late night viewing habits on the weekend. He took to building large buildings out of his lego blocks then crushing them to bits. It was a rather amusing habit for bystanders, as long as you didn't happen to be one of George's parents who thought the whole thing was rather disturbing. "Why can't you play outside like normal children?" they would wonder. The whole thing was a big mystery to them, and so it came as a complete shock when the principle of George's school called and said that George was hiding in the roof right above the boy's bathroom and he wouldn't come out. The staff couldn't get to him because the ceiling wouldn't support their weight, but the 75 pounds of an eight year old boy held up just fine. George was scared. He hid up there above the bathroom right before a test he feared he would fail. He knew his father would yell at him, and he just couldn't take it. He couldn't take it anymore. So it did come as a bit of a shock to George's parents who didn't even know about the big math test that day that their son was bitten by a rat and went into a shock by the time they got to the school. They took him and whisked him off to the hospital where his breathing stayed at an extremely abnormally high level. After that George's parents took George and they sent him to Psychologists who administered a battery of tests on George where they determined he was perfectly normal, but George's parents kept paying for the meetings so George kept going, and everything was fine.
This is so crippling. This paralyzing fear that life is shitty and it will never get any better. You know deep down that you can't think like that or else things will only get worse, or even more horrible than that, they will stay exactly the same for a long long long time. When you feel that life is a drag, and you are stuck in auto-pilot then getting up in the morning can be awfully hard; what's even harder is finishing out the day. What's even worse than that is not knowing when things will change, or knowing, but just feeling that it is too far in the future to be concerned about. People need to be in control of their life. Haywire and chaos is no way to live, but unfortunately it has a grip of steel. It doesn't want to let go of you. It wants to pull you downward into a spiral that many don't ever escape from, they just sit in a closet reading old tv guides and painting their toenails the color of the wallpaper. But you can walk away from it if you try. If you try hard enough. If you want it worse than anything else, just like Superman in Superman the Motion Picture, you can turn back time and make it all worthwhile again. It can't ever be like it really was, but it can almost return to a semblance of something that you once wanted. Don't cry for the future, don't mourn for the past. Don't waste, don't throw away your humanity. You crumple your stupid head into the garbagecan and you never dump the trash out. Stick your brain down there with the old food and dirty underwear. It doesn't deserve better the way you've been treating it. You hate what you are? You hate this. Then change. Force yourself. Rip down that wall of expectations and walk one step at a time, one day a time. Do you need a hand to pick yourself up? You used to have so many, but now so few. What are you to do? It's all so confusing. I just need some more time. That's all.
Itís so dark outside. Theyíre coming to take me away they say. Theyíre coming to take me away. Away? from what? What is it that I am in now? I do not know. I am not told. I do not ask questions. I just grovel for food and whine when it does not come. I cannot understand them anyway. The big ones. They just prowl over me with food. I have to call for it and sometimes it does not come. I have to slink around in the dark confined in a place where no one would think to look for me. That is why I am here now. Taken from the place I used to know. It was familiar to me that place. I used to be there. I know I was. I think I can go on. Now I do not know where I am going but that is alright. It will be better in the morning. At least that is what they say. I have to believe what they tell me because that is all I have. I have no opinions of my own, or at least none that they would like to believe. Hush up and be quiet. Arenít they the same thing? Then why am I told them over and over again like a wild wailing wall of nothing. That is what they tell me I am, sometimes in silence, sometimes in agony, sometimes to my face. Nothing. You donít matter. That is why weíre taking you away from here. We want something important in your place. Doesnít anything matter so much as me? Doesnít anything that takes up space matter? Is space itself conserving space for the next thing that moves that wants its spot? Deep down I donít believe what they tell me, at least thatís what I tell myself.
I find that when I sit down to write without an idea at all to rattle around in my subterranean brain that something will eventually pop-up as long as I donít stop thinking about something. I donít mean just anything. I mean thinking creatively. Unfortunately for most people, thinking creatively is not something that can be spurred on by a paycheck and the notion of ďtaking one for the team.Ē Creative thought can be spurred on by many things but a paycheck does not often do so, unless this paycheck allows you otherworldly amounts of free time to just sit in your room, listen to old Bob Dylan records, and just think about the world for a while. When you do that, you get out from yourself. You shouldnít always think about yourself when youíre writing, because people are very biased and quite usually have a higher opinion of themselves than other people do. In fact even if most people thought you were dirt there is a very high chance that you would still think of yourself as the number one thing going on the planet. Well, maybe that is an exaggeration but at least it gets you thinking in the direction of how exaggerated the human mind feels about itself. We have to surround ourselves with a fantasy world frequently because of the pain, horror, and sorrow that is lurking just outside our door. If we went outside then we might have to be faced with the sudden reality that everything isnít coming up roses anymore. In fact your next-door neighbor just backed over your rose bed and shot your dog. Now what are you going to do about that? What are you going to do? Iíll tell you what youíre going to do. Nothing. Youíll cower in fear of your next-door neighbor because he knows something you donít. He knows that he can take power over you if you never step outside your front door. He knows that you are weak fragile and pathetic. He wonít even go fishing with you if you ask him. Please donít ask him to go fishing. Iíd feel bad for you if he rejected you the way that I think heís going to.
Just between you and me. I like watching people. People are interesting. Theyíre always doing some sort of different thing when they think that no one is watching them, or even when they think that no one cares, or even when they donít think about much of anything at all. I like little league games. I donít care who wins. I just want to see the swing of the bat, the yell of the crowd, the advice shouted as if gospel. RUN FOR HOME! RUN! GO! Inevitably of course, the boy will probably be thrown out at home if the advice has to be shouted to him. He will probably be slowing up the base-runner behind him who doesnít have a clue about whatís going on either. The boy who was thrown out will trot back home to the dugout discouraged, but will still receive a warm-hearted pat on the back from his coach. The coach may have a wife laid up in the hospital for cancer, and he may have lived a life full of problems, but today he is a coach, and his team needs him. The strength and determination of a young boy on a baseball team usually derides from the coach. It certainly doesnít deride from a boyís father, many of whom the best advice they can offer is to not screw up. Just think of the boy standing there, nervously holding a bat near as long as he is waiting to swing at something being thrown at him. These children donít have full physical capacity of all their operations yet, and we ask them to swing at an object that theoretically will be projected near their face. Extraordinary. Amazing. What people can do if they try hard enough. I remember years ago everything seemed so easy. There was no hard work, no notices to file, or taxes to fret over. You just played all day and came in when it was dark. You didnít worry about school unless your parents worried about school for you. And then you blink, you miss it. You donít see it happening as gradually as it does. But you grow up. You fall in love. You screw up. You drop the ball. You slide into home. Youíve made it by God. Youíve made it.
Iíve come to realize that everything I do isnít important. Iím sure some things are, but most arenít. Work isnít important, itís just something you do, like having a conversation. A conversation is just information being exchanged when two or more people talk. Thatís why when you talk to yourself youíre not really having a conversation, because unless youíre skitzo youíre not really exchanging information with yourself, youíre just reasurring yourself that everything is okay, and reaffirming what you already know. Thatís alright; most people need that little pat on the back that talking to yourself really is. They need that extra atta boy. They want that social acceptance that comes from exchanging information and following the advice of others. Are there any truly new ideas out there, or are they just recycled useless pieces of information that have been gleaned from other conversations and exchanges. What is the price of a new thought or idea? Is it worth the world? How does one go about paying for such a thing? Could you even afford it? If you found where they were selling new ideas would you buy stock in the company? I know I would, because a good idea is a rare commodity worth selling. However I would want to keep that new idea to myself knowing that I know something that no one else except for the person that sold it to me knows, and with that thought I have power over other people who just go around repeating what everyone already knows, and squabbling over nothing important. Just repeat what you tell yourself over and over, and you will memorize it internally. You probably wonít be able to recall it at the drop of a hat because your brain refuses to cooperate with you in that way when you really and truly need it to. Thatís why among other things we are imperfect flawed beings always searching for that greater truth, never content until we have found something that disagrees with our predetermined condition, and yes our condition is predetermined. You didnít ask to be born where you were born, you simply were. You are. You exist in the way that you were made, and you are influenced by your parents and friends and relatives all of whom spit out old recycled ideas and thoughts. Digest what they give you and only regurgitate the best of it. See if you can form an amalgam of old thoughts to come up with something cleverly disguised as original. Many people wont recognize your clever scam. Only you will, and if you tell no one of it then you will be safe. Safe from ridicule, from the people who want to hurt you, and believe me they are out there. You will never be okay unless you talk to no one and just hole yourself away in a box in the middle of contentment and despair. This leads to nothing, which is no more flow of information, no more recycling of bubble gum thoughts and plots and contributions to society. If you donít keep the machine going it eventually breaks down. Who will feed the machine if you wonít?
One bright sunny day the sun was shining the stars were nowhere to be seen and little Bobby and little Mary were walking hand in hand in the summertime underneath the maple trees. They were pretending to be Clark Kent and Lois Lane meeting each other for the first time, like in a Superman comic book. They were both decked out in their matching superhero underwear. They were a resplendent couple, perfectly matched for each other, after all, they were both seven years old. How much more destiny do you need than that? Little Bobby tried to pick up Lois Lane and carry her away to his fortress of solitude, but she fell and bumped her head, and she thought she should go straight to bed, and thatís when her mother called to ask if she was okay. Mary started crying on the phone, and her mother demanded that she come home right away. Mary put the phone down, got dressed, and went back home to her house next door. She wouldnít come out to play with Little Bobby much after that, because her mother said that he was a bad influence. Of course Bobby was a bad influence, he was a seven year old that liked Superman, how much more evil can you get? To make matters worse little Bobbyís mother hated Superman and always tried to turn it off when Bobby would watch it. It didnít matter that it was his most favorite show in the entire world, and he had to watch it from beginning to end, even though he had seen every episode at least three times each. It just didnít matter. Bobby loved Superman, and he really liked Mary too. She had a lot of candy in a pretty bowl at her house. He supposed her mother put it there, but he didnít really know. He just knew that he liked eating it, and he liked being around Mary while eating it, and staring at her huge goldfish. He imagined that Mary fed them too much food, and they looked like they came out of a Dr. Seuss book. You know the one where the little boy feeds his goldfish too much food. I love that book, and Superman.
I suppose that feeling bad for yourself doesnít help matters much when you are in an unusually bad situation. Pouting, it is universally recognized, is a defense mechanism of the weak, and doesnít really do much except to exasperate the situation. Youíll certainly never get anywhere if all you do is cry, and biting the bullet doesnít help much either. It hurts to bite the bullet, especially if it has just been fired from a gun. If you had a talent like that then you might belong in a traveling circus, or some kind of freak show. Unfortunately Iíve heard that the pay for that sort of thing isnít really that great or else I might go into it myself. Itís true that having an unusual talent is good for a laugh, but eventually it is just a cheap thrill for onlookers and a chore for you. Donít set yourself up for these situations where people cheer your exploits that you tirelessly perform for free. Allow yourself the freedom of movement, and of thought. Cast off all hindrances when you go about your day. Be sure to look both ways before crossing the street. Donít let the chickens hatch too early. In fact donít let the chickens hatch at all; you do want to eat eggs donít you? I thought so. I have nothing more to add to the subject unfortunately, but then again, neither does the rest of the world, and they never cease to allow their addled minds loose on any situation or subject that you might ask them about, no matter how little they know about the subject. People never want to appear stupid no matter how stupid they might really be. It is a natural defense mechanism. Shut your mouth to appear smart. Open it and appear stupid. Of course if you actually have something intelligent to say, then it might not go so bad for you. So be sure to study up on your favorite subjects so you can have good things to say on whatever interests you. Jack of all trades might have been a good profession a hundred years ago, but a man who a knows a little about everything and not a lot about anything wonít serve you much good if you want to get anywhere in life.
People canít escape who they really are. No matter how much they try to run away and hide from their identity it is always staring right back at them in their proverbial face. Itís as obvious as a wart on your nose. Donít back down from who you are. Donít try to pretend to be something youíre not. Odds are youíre probably not very good at it anyway. What are you good at? Find out if you donít know, then proceed to be excellent at it. You can only get excellent by working at a thing. Very good ratings on something can almost be accumulated through sheer willpower and effort, but to be excellent at a thing requires luck, skill, and at all costs hard work. Remember itís not always what you put into something, itís what you take out that counts. No one remembers who put something into what they take out of. They only remember that they really like those orange slices with bits of sugar coating them, and they donít give a whit for whomever bought them. Donít presume to squeeze a thanks out of them while they are eating their orange slices. It would be rude of you. And honestly, you have so little going for you, that being rude would be a highly bad idea. Absurd actually. In other words donít do it.
What is it like being absurdly good at something? I mean being so good at a thing that everyone stops to look at you while you were doing it, and in fact you will probably be paid handsomely for it. Just once Iíd honestly like to know. I can put words down on paper, but itís very seldom that someone pays to watch someone doing that. Youíd have to be very rich or very famous in order for that to happen, and then youíd probably be so bored of people staring at you all day anyway, that you wouldnít care about all that unwarranted attention. The fact of the matter is that so little of the worldís population can comfortably stand being less than average at something that everyone can see, that they tried to hide away this imperfection, this little divot in their personality. By cloaking their problem away under a guise of fear and mistrust of people, people often lose contact with what makes them real and genuine people. Real people have flaws, and are less than average at many things, and slightly above average at nearly everything else. Itís just the way it is, and no amount of flummoxing on oneís part will make it any different. Just grin and bear your lot in life. Youíll be a lot happier that way.
I think the hardest thing in life to do is to leave the people you love behind and move out from them. Its not like youíre never going to see them again, but its just the fact that all the little things that you took for granted will never really happen again the same way that they used to. Things change and we should change along with them. If you canít roll with the punches then what good are you really? A crippled lonely soul desparately tries to hang onto any and every good thing that he has left in his life and when he has to leave it just shatters him completely. But now he can start over, and forge on ahead and right this great sinking ship he had been on for the past six years. He would no longer have to forget about what happened, but he would start living for today. Before, he lived on in spite of her, but now he would live for tomorrow.† The future is a bright place to live in, and it wonít be so bad to visit. I donít want to go there right now, but maybe tomorrow Iíll feel like checking the place out; you know, giving it the olí once over. I mean how hard can a thing like moving out be anyway. You have no idea of course. Once you are gone there is a separation that takes place, and a shell is broken that can never again be replaced. A new shell grows in its place around the user, a smaller one this time that grows with him for the rest of his place and encompasses all the people that will love him in his next life as he leaves this one behind.
The next day happened, and then the next, and then the next, and each day afterwards was slightly less memorable than the day before that. His excesses were long behind him, and now all he had to live with was regrets. He liked blowing his nose to waste time, and then wadding it up into little bits and throwing it into his big metal trash can that he paid too much money for, because he had everything to spend money on, but nothing that he really wanted, at least nothing that he could buy anyway. He just really wanted happiness, but he didnít how to buy it, he didnít know how to get it. He would have loved to sell it, if only he knew how. The secret to selling happiness would be a great commodity; you could never have too much in stock, because people always want to be happy. Not many people honestly want to go around being in a foul mood all the time. There has to be time for mirth and merriment, and frivolity, and things of that sort. Life gets old and boring without them. The sooner that the exciting things in life are gone, the sooner that you can go on living out the rest of the life that you had without those things. Itís just not as important anymore though, is it? Living without those things? They made the other things oh so sweet, but now that you have them all the time their luster has burnt out. They are now nothing more than a passing fancy, a resignation of the man who has grown stagnant for lack of want. A man who can have everything, but wants nothing, because he has ceased to care. That man has ceased to function. That man has ceased to dream. Without dreams, we are nothing. Without life we have to go on living our dreams, or they will live without us.
And away he went in his car, unsure of his next move, unsure of where his former traveling companion was at that moment, or any moment. He only knew that he just didnít know anymore. He didnít like not knowing anything. It made him hurt. Sometimes he tried to put it into words to tell to other people in the hopes that it would make him feel better, but it didnít really, and often the people who were the recipients of this story had heard it too many times in the past, and only reserved him the slightest morsel of pity before they turned their heads to see what else out the window was more interesting than this traveling urchan peddling his tales of woe. Occasionally he would try to think of something funny to say, but often he ended up fumbling the punchline, and so after a while he gave up telling something funny because he was afraid of looking like an idiot. Itís bad enough to be an idiot, but certainly no thinking person wants to look like one. But arenít we all idiots in this world who go casting our time away looking for love from one person who would love to spend their time on us and not a variety of people. Does this make us greedy? Does this make us a whole person? Why do we have to search our brains to be interesting? Why is it so bad to just fade into the background while people turn their backs to you? Why is not being important such a bad thing. Why do we want people to look at us? Why does someone have to care? Does anyone care? They certainly care in that moment when you tell your funny story, or the anecdote which seems to fit in with what other people are saying, but after your story is over, the heads turn away from you in mid-sentence and there you are left to prattle on like an automaton Ė a useless function is what you are, and the sooner you are used to it, the sooner you can fit in to the system. If you are outside the system then you are an anomaly, and you just donít fit. You must fit into something. You have to stay inside a category so people can define you. If you donít then you just wonít matter, and thereís no use worrying about something that no one else cares about but you.
What to put here? What to cram into this space that previously housed nothing. Should I speak of what I just did, of what happened long ago, or what happened the day before that? What is so endlessly interesting about hearing the banal rantings of someone about his or anotherís day? Are we supposed to feel some empathy with this person when they tell us how they had a horrible day? Is the whole human race just one big support group for anything that goes wrong? My poodle died today.
Here give me a hug.
My boss yelled at me.
Here, let me dry those tears.
Why do we feel the urgent need to look at those small almost insignificant things that we do on a daily basis like brush or teeth, or get up to use the bathroom? Is it really that interesting hearing about how dirty or ugly the carpet in my bedroom is? Why would anyone want to know that I prefer Coke or Pepsi? I can pronounce things that other people canít. Does that make me somehow a better person? Do I have a higher overall person score? Are people naturally attracted to people who can spell? This support group really is some kind of scam. Why do we deserve such niceties? What have we done thatís really so great when you stop to look at it? I can bowl very good, but thatís because I used to focus on it when I was young, and when things are easy. Now that things are hard and you donít have hours to waste on throwing a ball against a wall, or chasing fireflies, you canít just pick up newer things as well. But still, if you practice at something you get better at it. Like right now for instance. Iím becoming a better writer. Or am I really? What is a better writer? Is he one who is able to communicate his inner thoughts more clearly than someone else? What if his inner thoughts are dirty and nasty and rotten? Does he too still qualify for the greatest writer award?
You donít like gravy. You donít like anything. But I like you. You donít like the things that I think you are supposed to like. Thatís okay. I like talking to you. You gripe endlessly and complain about small things that bother you. Itís okay. If you didnít tell me they might become big things. You cry but donít reach out for help. I want to help. I need to feel wanted. The grand scheme of things has gone on for too long without me being involved somehow. Iím just waiting right here. I think you want to talk to me. But you donít talk. Maybe you donít want to talk right now. Maybe you just want to eat cold cereal and play with your cat. Maybe you want to let me in but canít tell me how. I can wait for a while for you to make up your mind. Youíll decide eventually. Everyone does. People who stay by your side long enough become your confidant. I want to know what youíre thinking. You usually tell me. In descriptive words. In measured tones. You tell me. You tell me what I need to hear, but not what I want to know. I like waiting for you. I like playing in the snow when itís cold and the world around just sort of vanishes. Maybe I could take you there one day. And we could live in far far away. You wouldnít have to be hassled anymore, or worry about your hair or your shoes. You wouldnít have to tie things or cry about your mother. It would be sweet. The two of us. Dancing in the snow. You would be my snow angel. Iíd never want another. Just donít hold back from me. Never let me go. Just stay right here. In the falling snow.
Once again it begins and it ends just like it does every day. What you make of that day is what determines if you call it a good day, or a bad day. What you make of it is what it is. You have to least venture out of your while once in a while to find an adventure. Very seldom does the adventure come looking for you. The great adventure called life is right out there waiting for you to experience it fully. I want you to feel. I want you to live. I want you.
And again he plunged into the great desert, with his pack on his back, and his boots on his feet. The intrepid adventurer was most certainly brave to brave the desert that a year hence very nearly took his life. Why had he come back to the place of his greatest failure, and his untimely defeat? Was it some great force of will that wanted to conquer nature, to tame it, to beat it, to make it his own? If it first you donít succeed, try, try again, the adventurer thought. It is why I have come. I must overcome. I must succeed where others, including myself have failed. Only if I cross this desert unscathed will I truly be an explorer, an adventurer worthy of the name of my great father. And so on he trode, silently, with the wind nipping at his heels, and his pack growing inexorably heavier as the days wore on. The adventurer searched for an oasis that he knew was out there waiting for him. He just couldnít put his finger on where it was. But once he found it, he was sure he could make it to the other side of the desert, something no one living, not even his poor departed father had ever done. And at last, the father would truly be avenged, the son would have beaten the cruel fate that befall his father, and he would honor the last words his father ever spoke to him to go forth against all odds, and to seek out what lies ahead of you son. Perseverance was the only thing that the great adventurer knew, only recently had he come to know failure, and he didnít like it so much. However, the time he spent resting up the band of wandering nomads that had saved his life, proved invaluable. It toughened him up for his next trip. His next voyage across the hot desert sea.
It isnít much better than nothing. There is now itís real. There is no way it can be real. You arenít good enough for that. What are you good for? Why do you keep asking questions which have impossible answers? Why canít you be satisfied by the fact that what you want to know canít be known? Will you ever stop paying attention? Can you understand that people donít like to be stared at? Folks just want to be left alone sometimes. They donít care that youíre feeling bad and just need someone to talk to. They just want to sulk by themselves in a corner and forget how badly they wanted to remember how it meant to feel something that was real. Instead theyíve built a box to dunk their head in every day and shut things up, and make them go away. Oh yes. You can make them go away. Who would want you anyway? No one would pay attention to your honesty and mistake it for earnestness. Anyone could make the mistake of thinking that something was wrong with you because you wanted to get to the root of everything. You werenít satisfied with pat answers. You had to go digging until you found something. And it hurt. You were better off not knowing. But you wanted to know why. You wanted to know why they didnít care about you. You werenít content to wait around and see if anyone would come calling for you. It made you climb the walls in agony to feel in such a state of perpetual chaos within your own mind. Until you finally realize that your whole desire would be unfulfilled, then could you finally be at peace. Just take the pill and it will all be over. Donít wake up like you are right now. You are nothing more than leftover vapor. The sooner you gather everything inside and explode the outside, the sooner that everything will be okay. No one really wants you anyway. They donít love your honesty. They hate discovering new things. They only want what they already have. They hate new things. You pretty new thing. How have you been? Why do you lock yourself up like this? Why do you go on in a world so filled with hate? Why canít you just shut off completely? Why do you make yourself hurt?
Donít shut yourself off and sit in your room and sulk. Just because youíre in a funk doesnít mean the world is going to end. It just means that nothing works. It all is a silly game we play where we try to remain calm for as long as possible when the rain comes down. It falls down on everyone. Even though God sent his son. I donít love everyone. And I donít know, and I donít care what you think and what you wear. Its just the part its supposed to be, where I love you and you love me. Why canít everything be right? Why does my brain want to fight all I see. Whenever it rains down on me. Whats it supposed it be? Am I supposed to get something out of this? Do you know what I feel when I say all of this? Do you care? Do you care? Why should you remember me? Whatís it supposed to be. I just canít see. I donít know. Itís just me. Iím in a family. Sometimes they love me just like you. And then I break down and donít cry. Inside Iím falling down. Outside I wear a frown. And Im so stupid. I donít want to have fun with anyone. I just sit and contemplate the sun. I wish it would come and bring tomorrow so that today could never be. Its as beautiful as you think. Itís another day I donít drink. I think. Iíll die. Pieces of me start to ache and I canít take this. I canít take this pain I see. Itís just me. But Iíll go on. And I feel strong. Itíll all just go away. Every single day brings something new, something beautiful like you. But I canít love you in the end. All I do is just pretend. I want you to care. I want you to stare. I hope you ask me questions. Iíll answer everything if it will just shut this thing down. I am so stupid. These dirty clothes I wear. Theyíre always strewn everywhere. Why do I write about the awful things. Is it supposed to make me feel better if you read this and say its beautiful. Because its not so beautiful. Itís not so beautiful. Itís merely horrible. And I go on. Because nothingís wrong. But everythingís wrong with me.
It is truly the time to think about things. To let things settle and wear away by themselves for a while. I just want to crawl into a hole and watch time pass me by inexorably, like a wave cresting away to nowhere. The ocean sweeps things in from the tide and it pulls back to reveal the sea creatures trapped in its wake. The desertís hot sand brushes my cheek and I wipe away an insect from my arm. How hot it is. How sticky. How inconvenient. Why did I have to come here, away from all that is good and healthy in this world. Itís almost like a great reparation for everything that came before it. Soothing my soul. Making me whole? Why doesnít it come easy anymore? Where has the sweetness gone that allayed all fear and worry. The dust blows on the fallen contact lense and sweeps away seeing into a garden of dirt and mold. The vision is one of the last things to go. It usually stays to remind you of how uncomfortable everything looks. A red truck splashes mud onto my storefront and I donít wipe it off so quickly this time. It begins to gather. Time begins to pile on top of itself in a crescendo of silent noise. Can a train wreck be less damaging somehow? What if everyone got out of their cars and just walked for a while? Would they be better people? Probably only if that possibility was in them. The snow gently bathed my soul in light and covered up my feelings in white paper.
He had decided at last to venture out into the great wide world that he had often heard about. He wasnít so far away, he was just scared of the thought of what he might find out there. Was there adventure waiting for him? Was there a place where scary monsters lay in wait to devour him? He certainly didnít know, and he wasnít sure he wanted to find out, but he had heard a lot about it, and it was almost definitely worth seeking after. He had been planning this trip for what seemed like an eternity, every ounce of effort he could spend researching this trip would be worth it when he finally reached his destination and was able to sit down for a while and reflect on the great thing he had done. Everyone would be proud of him and say what a great thing he had done. Compliments would be showered down on him like rain during a monsoon. Everyone would want to be his friend and would invite him over for dinner where they would eat roast pork and lamb chops together until they could eat no more. Surely all this lay waiting for him. He only needed to pack first. So he went to his drawer, where his socks lay folded for him in an organized sort of collection of stripes of many different colors and sizes. He grabbed several of them and stuffed them in a bag, and then moved on to the pants drawer. He had blue jeans with big and small rips in them from climbing over fences, and he had a shirt drawer filled with t-shirts with mud stains on it from playing baseball. He loved baseball with a passion that was nearly unbounded, and he looked forward to playing it, when he returned from his great adventure. And so finally, he was ready. He began to walk out the door, and then he heard this voice, ďDaniel! Donít go out to play before you finish your supper!Ē
ďYes momĒ, Daniel said, as he trudged slowly back to his seat to finish the horrible broccoli.
I donít know exactly what to put here today. I just wanted to write something. Unfortunately inspiration hasnít struck yet. There is no magical dose of power emanating from me that allows me to continue to put things down that make perfect sense to anyone and everyone. But what if its just simple devotion to exercise and work that allows things like writing to continue in a straight line upwards to further simplification of the process of maturing in your craft. Oh something like I suppose is a simple answer for it. You must have dogged devotion to anything to succeed after your childhood is over. For when you are a child you can be easily fooled into thinking that everything that can be done well requires very little effort, when in fact the exact opposite is true. Perhaps if my parents had prepared me better for ramifications like this it would come more easily in a dignified manner befitting the soul of one who praises God in a matter suiting one who goes to church if you follow my meaning. I donít sometimes, and thatís unfortunately why no one follows me right now. They just look but donít see past whatís in front of their eyes. They donít figure me out anymore. Theyíve stopped trying. Many of them have stopped caring. I wish it wasnít so. I wish it was different. I wish things were different. But they cannot be stopped in such a way as to make a change effective unless you are willing to put yourself out there to achieve your desired goal. You will get there one day before you are old if you have to drag yourself there kicking and screaming. Everyone knows what is good for them, but not everyone does it. Everyone knows what is bad for them, but they donít take steps to prevent it from happening to them. I canít see the scars in front of my eyes, the hurt in my soul. Only Jesus can make me whole. I need to talk to him more.
And along came the snow, and it was followed by rain that turned all of the snow into slush which slowed down everyone driving. At least everyone who had to get somewhere, and you could be reasonably sure that someone who was driving was going somewhere for a reason. Itís not like an epic journey. Itís more like a simple voyage to a place that you can get to in a vehicle that expands your normal ability to traverse distances. I donít know what this all means right now, but I hope it makes sense someday. I hope there is a someday to wish on when everything wasnít so bright and god damn cheery. I hope I havenít driven everyone away with my impetuous need to figure things out vocally. Itís only because I want to understand everything. I think everyone else wants to be kept in the dark where itís safe. Maybe itís safer for me there too, but Iím not ready to go there yet. I want to hang out in the wilderness for a while longer until I can get my head clear of things that have no meaning, and pound away endlessly at a never ending rate of things that I have to do when I have no time to do anything important except love my family and God and my fellow man. It all makes sense in a way if you leave everything to be done and expect someone else to do it. I hope I havenít left too much behind for someone else to pick up and complain about. I hate it when people complain at me. I wish they wouldnít do it so much. I wish the hurting stopped and was filled with joy and happiness. Is there a magic wand that I can wave to achieve this effect? Is that the stupidest thing ever wished? I canít say that it isnít. Most people would prefer an instant cure over a lifetime of heartache.
It is what is. It canít pretend to be anything different than that. No one could possibly be interested in reading anything about this sort of thing, whatever it is. I canít pretend to have a purpose right now, and things donít even make sense to me right now. All I know is that Iím tired and tired isnít always the most conducive time for creating thoughts that other people care about. Oh sure, they care about the stupid silly thoughts that donít mean anything, but the dumb hair-brained ideas that they ridicule canít be considered worthy of being cared of. That didnít make sense at all. Why did I say that? Why do I continue. This is ridiculous. There should have been a question mark in that other sentence! What will come next? Will everything continue to be exactly the same as it always has been or will it all just somehow suddenly finally change for the better?
In the morning I awake and these vampires haunt me. They watch over me as I sleep and they hang over my head like a bad dream when I awake. There is no stopping them, a rampaging force of destruction, of self will, of self-loathing. What can you do to defeat them? Is there no schedule that you can accommodate that will temporarily ease your suffering? Why donít you just give up? You know there can be no real fighting of them. You gain inch by inch every day, and then they yank it back from you yard by yard. What little measure of respect you have for yourself they pull and pry away from you like greedy flies to a light. The only sure thing is they are always hungry. They will never stop hunting you down. Only in sleep can you defeat them, and only in waking can you forget them.
Today is finally the day that you will start the rest of your life all over again. You will go to bed normally. You will think those same happy thoughts during the day that you think when your favorite commercial comes on television, or when the light turns green without you having to wait for it. Today will be one of those tomorrows today where you realize that anything can happen. You must only put your mind to it tomorrow and it will happen today. Do you realize that you have the most fanastic way about you? Did you know that everything shows? Can you believe in magic? You can and it will all come true. It can happen to you Ė you young of heart. Why donít you listen to me and Iíll tell you what to see. Ill tell you what to listen and to believe. Come along with me. Come inside and see what good things are in the mirror. In the mirror you go to find the white rabbit of snow. Youíll never stop whatís simply inside. You just canít remember whatís only in your mind. But will you forget to remember? Oh yes, to remember you can never forget. Itís only tiptoe to the window that you go, and run fast through the still falling snow. Away with all thoughts and worries of a crueler life behind. Today you will go and find your behind. Itís a fascinating story. Itís almost an allegory. It was meant to be told, but has to be lived. It can only be seen or gived. Do what you must do. There is no try. You cannot say yes if you say goodbye. So say goodbye to tomorrow. Say yes to today. Live for all the things that this life can bring. And give a good home to those things.
You may be saying to yourself, ďWhatís so great about today?Ē You might be wondering what good is there to live for. You have forgotten love. You have forgotten how good it can be. How warm and soothing that love of your life who loves you dearly and wants nothing more than your continued success and goodwill, can be. She is ready to devote her life to you and you put her on the shelf. You put her back on the drawing board. You donít have time for an organized life anymore, because your life is an organized failure. You are training every day for disaster, and you still look up at the scoreboard to see how bad you are doing. You can be better. You can do well. You must know that all is not lost. You must believe that there is something out there that you can count on in a pinch. Just hold on to the hope you have and remember to count on the things that you really hold dear. Look at the little things in life, the tv commercials you enjoy, the mindless banter with the waitstaff at your favorite restaurant. All those things can make you happy for a while, but in your mind they are just temporarily plugging up an ever deeper black hole. Eventually it will seep out into the open and people will begin asking you what is wrong. You have forgotten love. You donít put yourself out there to discover it. You want it to come springing out to you like some forgotten fountain of miracles. Where is your wisdom? Where is your pain and suffering really taking you? I canít see what it is that bothers you so much. You have so much love to give in this world. Just donít hold on to it until it becomes blackened and worthless. You are a grapevine waiting to be plucked.
It sure is a good time to be thinking right now isnít it? I mean after all you have a great deal of things to think about at any one time. Why wouldnít you take advantage of all the time afforded you to make a deal with yourself that you canít break. Usually those kind of deals are best left for new years resolutions that are kept up for at least a week or two before absolute terror reigns. Then you have to think back to what it was that you wanted to think about and get back on track. It isnít that hard that you have to throw things around and get a temper tantrum. You shouldnít forget about anything. I donít know how you can remember anything that you donítí want to. At least you might only remember the interesting parts; more than likely youíll forget everything except the most exciting thing that was said and put the extraneous stuff into the deeper recesses of your brain. Itís that kind of place that you canít really visit except during dream times. In dream times itís all open Ė the ball is in your court. You can control those dreams supposedly if you realize itís just a dream and say to yourself, ďthis is just a dream, thereís no way that those pink dragons trying to eat me can be real.Ē Of course! How could pink dragons ever be real. If you spent some time thinking about it then you would know the truth implicitly without having to be told. But, what if you thought about telling someone in that dream to remind you that it was a dream. What then? Would anything change? Would you change in its place? Canít you remember whatever it was that we were talking about?
Did you ever have one of those dreams where the same thing keeps happening to you over and over again? You can never seem to wake up from it, and sometimes you think youíre waking up from it but its just another dream. Of course thatís happened to you. Everyone gets that sometimes. Of course the neurotic ones obsess over it more than you or I. I mean, how could we ever obsess over anything so unimportant, so trivial, as a dream? How absurd! What a fascinating concept this dream can be. I mean, do you understand that they can be a portal to your subconscious? Yes, yes. I know youíve heard that before. We all have, but sometimes you just start to dwell on it all day long, and it takes control of you. Suddenly, the dream is the one living and not you. You canít stand that can you? You think, ďThat could never happen to me. Iím too smart. Iím too pretty. Iím too intelligent, and Iím just way too informed to let some stupid thing like that happen to me.Ē Well let me tell you friend, youíre in for a rude awakening. When youíre lying in bed alone next to yourself and you wake up in a cold sweat. Thatís when youíre gonna remember what I told you. Youíre gonna remember exactly what I told you. At first you wonít remember it exactly. Youíll probably think it was something that you made up yourself to fit into your lifestyle choice, whatever that is. Donít pretend like you donít understand that either. This is all just a big joke right? Youíre just pretending to be this dumb. No one could possibly be this stupid to carry on a whole conversation with themselves.
Have you ever had the most stupendous fun glorious day of your life before? Of course you have. By the very nature of the word and the definition of things, at one time you had what was the best day of your life. Other days may come and go but youíll always hold that one day special. It could have been the day your dad finally took your family to that big vacation in Florida. It may have been the day that the girl you loved with all your heart told she loved you and needed you more than anything. It may have been spending all day with your grandmother baking. It could have been anything. It doesnít matter about the specifics, as long as you have that memory to hold onto it makes the bad times all the more passable. Itís because you know that one day you could have that great day all over again. Itís so much sweeter that way to have bad times followed by good. You donít learn to appreciate it otherwise. How would you know what was really good or really bad if you had nothing to compare it to? Would you even care anymore? Would you just sit back in your luxurious fun-filled life of mirth and merriment and stop trying to do anything because it all just came so easily? You just might. I hope you donít. I hope we all donít. I hope that we can all learn to remember the good times and try to prepare for them, because they will make you so happy you can cry. Find that person who can give you that good day, who can give you that good life to hold onto. Find the reason to go on. Find out what it is that makes up good days. Find out what becomes of them. Look into it. Get happier. Go on.
These are the happy times. It is time to do it now. It is time and how. You can go forward and fight them down. Defeat those bad times. Turn those blues upside down. Live it. Live it man. Thereís no other place to go so you might as well put on a happy face. Do you want to fall down a massive disgrace? Cheer up and do something good that people will remember. People remember all sorts of interesting things, and many of them are good, a lot of them are bad, and the rest are ummentionable, unconscionable, and stupid. Vileness is seldom valued for anything more than its own behaviour, so donít fall into that trap. You donít want to wind up like that guy you donít like whoís always doing boorish, obnoxious things. I know I donít. Look out the window. Donít fall out the window. Thereís freedom out there. Listen to it. Itís just blowing in the end. Itís an answer. Itís a call. Itís a call to action. Strap on your flightsuit. Youíre going to war!
I thought at one time that I would write important things right here. I thought that people would listen to these things and they would in turn gain some sort of wisdom from the things that I would pass down to them. Instead I find that itís nice for people to just have a little comfort in this world of loneliness. Some people never know where their next meal is coming from. Some folks donít know when their father will ever stop hitting their mother. Right now, someoneís grandfather is in bed dying of cancer and his grandson is questioning his faith. I find that a little comfort and a little happiness in this world goes a long way towards dealing with those sort of things. Itís all just as natural as breathing really. That is, well, if you stopped to think about it for a minute or two. You just might come up with the same conclusion that I did under entirely different circumstances. Maybe we should all put aside our petty grievances and come to love our fellow man and try to find out how theyíre really feeling. I can see that place. I can see it, itís a town called love in a place that many people visit every day. Some folks even live in love all their lives and they learn to help others from out of town cope with their problems in an increasingly complex world. What am I going to wear? Will she like me? Will I pass the test? Will I get a speeding ticket? Will I ever get out of this dead-end job? Will my family ever stop fighting? Will my son ever grow up and think for himself? I know of this place and I want to go there, maybe just for a little while. It sounds like a nice quiet place to relax and rest a spell.
Whatever happened to that thing that I forgot to do? I canít remember what it was. Iím so tired right now, and I keep having these dreams about my past. Theyíre strange dreams and I wake up at 3:00 in the morning thinking about them. In a cold sweat in the morning I struggle out of bed wondering why I keep having these dreams. Am I longing for something in the past? Have I forgotten or negletted to do something in my life or with my life? Am I just longing for something different, a change in the air if you will. I just donít know right now. I donít know what to think exactly, but I do have some really tasty cinnamon and rice pudding in the freezer. I think it calls for making 6 cups, but I am alone so I divided the ingredients cooked it up, and lo and behold it only looks like 2 cups. Maybe I cooked it too long. I donít know. But I am sure it will taste good. Itís Uncle Benís after all. I think Uncle Ben just was born knowing that things tasted good and he wanted to share them with me. I hope thereís still a girl out there that thinks Iím funny and isnít married or engaged or anything. That would be nice if she would call me and tell me that she thinks Iím a genius. Because I just donít know that I believe all that anymore, or else why would I be here?
Itís white outside. Softly coming down in bits and pieces of little white miracles of godís provision that beautify everything they come into contact with. They can be deadly for people driving, but if you are just out there enjoying the time that you have been given it is a wonderful thing. The snow covers up all excess, all love, all hate. It just is. Itís magnificent. Itís really like nothing else, wonderful it is. It makes me so happy that I could cry. I want to jump around and roll on the ground squealing like a child. What a wonderful time this is. I want to spend it with people that love and care for me. Itís a cold cold world weíre living in, and everyone needs to find a little comfort, a little shelter from the cold. I canít believe these people who donít drag themselves away from the cold. Theyíre too afraid to move anywhere. They may end up dead and they donít seem to much care. God help them. They certainly wonít help themselves. The dead donít bury the dead, they just keep on dying in the cold white bleak stark naked atmosphere under the stars in Godís country.
Sometimes I feel like Iím chasing a dream of memories, of forgotten love. I feel haunted by that dream sometimes, because it gave me a taste of something wonderful that I couldnít get enough of, and now that itís gone it just leaves me with a† cold empty feeling in my belly. I try and try to fill it, but still it remains. Sometimes I forget that itís there and enjoy whatís going on in the world around me. I look in vain for that love, that sweet girl who would come along and want to share my life with me, and I hers. I despair of this happening sometimes, but then again, who doesnít? I donít care who doesnít, I only care about me in this instance. Most people are greedy for love and attention, and I only want a little bit of it to relive the glory that I once had. Itís a shame really when you have to live in the past because the present has forgotten about you. If only I had never left that soft belly of comfort that I lived in. I was sheltered away from the cruel world, and never told about its pain or excesses. I wish that sometimes I could get along with myself, but I always quarrel. I always say what I think inside. Inside I donít know. I just donít know. This canít be. But it is. And so is the end of this thought.
Words fly out of your tongue like sweat from the barrel of a gun sometimes. Occasionally you say something that you didnít mean to say and you regret it later. Once in a while you might say something to apologize or excuse the situation, but a lot of people would say ďthatís living in the pastĒ and they would ignore what they did and move on. Oftentimes we say things that are downright boring, and are in fact just ways to move a conversation onto other things that we would rather talk about. We like being in control of where a conversation is going if we feel capable of discussing a subject intelligently, otherwise, unless burdened by alcohol, we clam up and say nothing. Nothing is better than something in many cases, and especially so in this one. In fact, if you say almost nothing wherever you go, people will attribute to you an air of mystery. This rule actually only applies to people who are at least pretty okay looking. If you are creepy looking, then most people wonít really wonder what youíre thinking, theyíll wonder ďwhere are the exitsĒ, or ďHow do I avoid talking to this guy?Ē Its not really much of a social commentary to point out that ugly people turn heads the wrong way and make things uncomfortable, or that they have to fight harder to get anywhere in life. Usually the fight is worth it and they will come out the better person for it in the end. I still havenít found which way I want to go on this earth. Hopefully I will soon.
Suddenly everything exploded. The moon ruptured and imploded into itself. Scientists all over the world were at a loss to explain exactly what was going on. They had never seen such a catastrophe, and they were ill prepared for it. They knew that there would be no more moon to guide ships in at night there would be no more waves because of the tides of the moon. What tides could there be? The Earth as we know it would be in absolute chaos. What could be done? They decided to move everyone underground for a while, just to figure things out. That seemed like the safest plan, and everyone agreed to it. Well, almost everyone. It turns out that there was this old codger alone in Arkansas shooting squirrels who just didnít want to be bothered just because his old way of life was about to come to an abrupt halt. He didnít want any disturbances and shot at any trespassers onto his yard. The moon patrol unit swiftly came by his yard, and upon seeing the crazed man with the shotgun, they promptly left the scene and headed back to base to close up ship to begin the long hibernation process until the earth could produce enough of its own air for people to breathe again properly. Without the moon they could catch all sorts of diseases, and the government was determined to prevent that, anything to bottle up this catastrophe, and start over. That seemed the best way for everyone.
You can be whatever you want to be. You can soar to the highest clouds. You can go to the moon. Just believe in rainbows. Just believe in love. You can live the dream of a lifetime. You can be fulfilled. Lift up the Lord God in your life and he will direct your path. You wonder where to go. You canít figure out life. Itís so simple. Just pray. Just ask God for help. It will all become clear. Shoot the breeze. Shoot the moon. It doesnít matter when youíre in Godís hands, itís like a rollercoaster at the park and you know youíre totally safe. Just remember to thank him for all heís done. I want to cry when I think about how heís helped me, and how Iíve left behind sometimes, and I look at where itís gotten me. Iím so little in his sight but he loves me so much anyway. Thatís really a comforting thought in this painful world. I canít believe life hurts so much. The ones you thought loved you just turn around and scorn you and you canít understand whatís happening to your life. You cling on by your fingernails to the things you thought meant so much and now you couldnít give a damn about them. It will happen. You will grow up kicking and screaming into the new world of consciousness.
Sing a sad song in the dark. One theyíll remember you by. You can never go home. You are almost alone. Sing a sad song in the dark. Try to put on a happy face. Donít you answer the phone. Theyíll never call you. Theyíll never call you. Wear your best cucumber hat, the one with the stains all over it. You think that theyíll care, but you know that they wonít. You just smile and keep on going, going through this alone. Altogether no home. Where are you now? Pick up the phone. Donít whisper to me. Your secret melody. I donít understand the translation. Why wonít you talk to me? Have I done something wrong? I only have love in my heart for you. Is that such a crime? What have I done? Why do you leave me and wonít carry me home? This is today. So much for tomorrow. Anything else that happens is a victory for success. Or something else except nothing. There is a tomorrow. Youíll face it today, and relive it every moment of the rest of your waking dream. Why canít I sleep. Iím thinking of you. And I cry when I wake up and pick up my head off the ground. Itís raining today. I think Iíll go for a walk. Maybe that will help me forget that I tried to care. Itís incredible, the three day romance.
The man sat and smoked in silence. He took in a deep breath, and he just sat. He thought about the good times and the bad. He was resigned. He was cool in the traditional sense of being cool. He had that tragic sadness about him as if you asked him he could enthrall you enrapt with a tale of lost love and sacrifice, of loathing and self-doubt. Indeed it was his closeness to the human condition that made him the most vulnerable. He was at times a true artist who was closely linked to the subject of death. Indeed, death had no hold on him, could not produce even an ounce of fear from him. He had lived out everything that could have happened to him to evinsce such an emotion. He didnít understand people who went flitting about trying to live every little moment of time as if there was plenty of time to keep doing whatever it was that they were doing. He thought those people fools. Life was so precious to him. He had very little of it left. He was a very strong and caring man. He was a loving man whoís great love had left him in that great void of darkness that comes in a great sickness and leaves in smoke and obscures true feelings. Eventually she came to live on in his mind. Still he sat there with his cane, cigar in hand, puffing away. His head hurt and he didnít care. His leg ached sometimes when he walked, but he took it all in stride. Dying is only a part of living was a phrase that he would oft quote. A lot of wisdom can be gained from listening to such a man. If you have time and time is the most important commodity in the world. Spend your time wisely, soaking up every bit of wisdom that you can. You never know when your most precious resource, your mind, will be needed. You canít know how much that mind will turn people away from you, people who hate you for what you know. Donít look at them derisively or shy away from them. Try to understand and love them truly for what they are. Be more complete is all and the best advice that I can give to you as I sit and write these words which invariably will never be fully understood.
Iím so depressed I could scream. Is this the American dream? Pour my hands full of cream so I forget what I mean. I donít want to deal with it. I just want it to go away, this feeling of ache over the girl that left me high and dry. She left me standing there. She had flowers in her hair. I wanted to buy her cigarettes and a jar to put flowers in. She said I was good looking and intelligent too, a rare combination she said. What did she mean? Was it all just a dream? Was it her good intentions that led me astray? Why do I think this way? Why doesnít she care? Is she supposed to? Did I make all of this up? This sucks. I feel terrible. Iím losing sleep. Iím talking to my best friends. It still hurts. That feeling that everything was going to be good and that someone would be there to talk about the things that I cared about. She was going to do me a world of good and seemed to know what was going on. We shared silent communication at a play. I thought it a good sign and remembered to talk about it later. It all seems so funny, this idea that I could live here because I met a girl. What was I thinking? How could anything this good really happen to me? Who would want to stay and listen to me analyze everything all the time. Who has time to put up with my pathetic attempts at charm and good humor? Obviously she doesnít. I just donít care anymore. I need a cigarette. I bought them for her and now Iím smoking them all the time. My fingers are shaking and my heart is still aching. This rhyme is criminally bad and thereís nothing wrong with that. Does she even know what sheís doing to me? Does she even care? Will I ever see her again to let her know how I feel? How sheís hurt me by blinding me with hope? Damn it.
Open Letter to the Girl that Didnít Want to Lead Me On
Hey, thanks so much for not leading me on. Trust me, I didnít feel anything towards you at all those three nights that we kissed passionately. Believe me it was totally meaningless when I remembered that I scheduled you to come over and have dinner and watch a movie at my apartment on the same day that there was a theatre audition that I wanted to go to and you put your hand on my forehead and said ďDonít worry, thereíll be plenty more dates.Ē
What was I talking about the other day? I canít even remember now. I just know that Iím all good and prepped to fall in love. Thatís right. If it happens Iíll be ready. Just like I was ready to fall in love with the girl that I ran into at the bookstore that I met at a concert several months back. I called her a few days after I got her phone number at the show but so did my friend. I think he scared her off. Iím really mad at him I think. Iím not sure why now. Maybe he just scared me into thinking that what I just said was something that I didnít mean to say at all. Who cares. She was cute. I had a fun time with her at the concert thatís pretty much all that matters in the sad story of the guy who never really gets the girl in the end. So I saw her again today and it turned out that her best friend had died thatís why she didnít call me back then. But she still wouldnít let me buy her coffee today because sheís tight with her boyfriend. I donít know what that means exactly but I would have loved to buy her coffee. She has one of those bodies that you can just nibble on for a while. Sheís to die for really.† I guess. She said I could hold onto her number. So, Iíll call her in six months. Wonít that be something?
The heat tires me. I feel moody without really knowing why. Listening to Ryan Adams old band Whiskeytown will tend to do that to you. That kind of music makes you quietly reflect on the problems with your life and the inherent sadness that lies, sometimes dormant, in all human beings. When we are born, we are thrust out into a big open world, and thrown screaming from the only home from which we have known, so it any wonder that we can feel sadness so easily? Sadness is something that we grow up forgetting about. Being a kid is so much fun. We donít know sadness, only boredom. Boredom plays at being sadness, but it is a pale and sickly cousin compared to true depression, which is the feeling of the weight of the world on your shoulders. A diatribe with scarcely any wit to be perceived due to the clichťís used to be sure, but effective nonetheless at ascertaining a meaning to it all. Remember that nothing you do can prevent the sadness from coming on you. It just reminds us that we are all human, but sometimes that sadness can be a shield to protect us from greater danger, and it also lets us empathize with those who are in desperate need of our pity and care. The sadness that I feel now is none of the above in my own recollection, as I have enough of the kind of sadness to feel remorse and share pity with others to fill two short lifetimes. Iím just hot and tired and I donít want to write, I donít want to feel an absence of love. I donít want to feel anything. I would prefer for it all to end. That would be easier.†
I had a true love one time whoís love was sweeter than wine. She left me alone now my mind is my home but im here all alone. Alone in my bed I cry on my head and I sing aloud for the pain to take me away. Why cant I despise this feeling inside? Why canít I shake myself and make this dream go away? It all seems so quaint, but God damn it, it aint these feelings and things of mine.
Iíve lost feeling right now. I feel as if a part of my body has slipped off and fallen away. My soul aches and longs for love and affection. She told me I was theatrical. What does that mean exactly? Why do you tell me ďhiĒ if you want to ignore me and despise me as being less than worth your time? What kind of heartless creature are you anyway? Can you so stand the sight of yourself in the mirror that you can crack a smile? I hope that the dream that passes from your lips is one of sweet sorrow and of penance for your loathsome ways. I canít believe I like you. The actions of the heart canít be controlled, and I donít wish to bring mine under submission. The pain makes me stronger; with each hammer blow to my soul I only grow stronger. Iím weaker right now but it gives me the fortitude to go on, to look for that love which I know will surround me if I seek it out. Iím a broken and shattered vessel thatís looking for a home. Please wonít you take me in? I wonít use up much room. Your floor looks like it would make a nice bed. Iíll earn my keep. You wonít even notice me around. Just love me and scratch my ears once in a while. If you prick me I bleed. If you hit me I feel it. I have feelings. I have pain. I have sickness. I have disease. I am the great American dream. That dream is alive in me right now. It tells me to go on and ignore the stop signs put ahead by life and to go on crying and striving through the pain and agony and depression and unbelief. I believe. I must believe. I want so badly for you to love me.
Grind your teeth. Dry your eyes. Wake up from your sleep. When the sun arises. And donít you forget to call me. I know you canít remember everything. But donít you forget to call me. I like it when you close your eyes and think about the stars in the skies. Youíre beautiful when you turn your head and suddenly the black turns to red. I wanna die when youíre near me. I could just fall asleep and never wake up when im in your arms tonight. Sing me to sleep. A sad little song. A song full of hope and dreams. And when I awake I know youíll be gone and Iíll wipe the rain off my sleeve. I donít want to pretend but I try hard anyway. Why does it have to be this way? Donít you go sailing into the wind. Youíll only come back right where we began and donít you forget to call me. Weíll go for a walk or use our 10 speed bikes. I wonít say a word if thatís what you like. Just be near me now. Just glance my way. Your crushed velvet smile I get carried away. Just thinking about you. Donít know what to do. I canít wait for next week.
Sometimes its good to feel like somebody important.
I would like to take this time personally to thank myself for being so great. I mean really, how good am I? Itís absurd to think that I could be any better. After all, according to God and the Bible Iím perfectly and wonderfully made. Unfortunately this also means that Iím not better than most of you, just different. Thatís okay. I know a lot of people like to act like theyíre better than certain people and have ways of acting around them, which mainly involve ignoring them and making them go away. Im sure this hurts those people who are treated that way. Well, at least it hurts the people who are too stupid to realize that they are being ignored.
Well this was certainly one more day that I donít have to spend the rest of my life worrying about. The whole thing just blew by. I ate turkey. I watched a bad movie. I got fussed at for something little. I listened to boring stories. I ate cold turkey. I put up with people that amuse me for no good reason. I watched my dad get offended over being told he eats too much popcorn. I ate pumpkin pie. I went to a crowded bathroom and relieved myself. I pretended to care, and I did a pretty good job of it.
I got this idea in my mind that maybe I am worth something after all. I know I can come up with things that people like hearing. Maybe I can come up with things that theyíll like seeing too. Am I a complete failure? Am I too young to be a complete failure? Even people who are complete failureís have at least passed or done something. I just want to do something. I donít want to be stuck here anymore reliving my past failures and regrets like some sort of big laundry list or recipe for disaster. Itís a glowing thing inside me right now that wants to get out and explore and wonder what its like to be free of this castaway shell inside my head right now its pounding its pounding and I want to know what its saying so I am writing it down so that I donít forget because when I stop everything stops and then I donít exist and then it all comes crashing down and ill just want to go take a nap and eat lunch and think about clipping my toenails and maybe bench press a few times just for the stimulus feeling of the blood rushing through my veins just like the ideas are rushing through my veins right now. Coursing in fact and spurring me on to greater heights than I have previously thought possible. Come fly away with me on my beautiful pea green boat weíll see unicorns and angels and devils and people arguing and people dying and people laughing at you and at me and at different things, and it doesnít matter because its all great, its all part of the same old thing that we go through every day. Itís called life and now I want to waltz in it, to drink in it, to suck it up and absorb every little essence I can of it > I ve just now grown up and I my legs are long enough to carry me far away but I donít know yet where I want to go or who I want to be. But its all just so exciting that I can hardly contain myself or my emotions right now. I think that I could cry at the most lame of movies and be perfectly content with myself as myself being myself and thinking to myself what a great day this is and how beautiful it would truly be if you were here.
Alright. Hereís where the rubber meets the road. Hereís where it all begins. This is why I have to try. I want to love again. I also need to follow my dreams. Why canít they be compatible? Why is it so hard to find matching socks in my drawer? I think underarms smell funny. What purpose does hair underneath them serve anyway? I like good music. I like talking about good music. I need to jump up and down sometimes. I saw Paul Giamatti in a movie. I saw baby kissing Santa Claus. Itís the Christmas season and the year is still young. Where is the frost on the punkin? Can you hear me out there? Is anyone listening? Are you picking up my frequency? Cigarettes and Alcohol will kill you, but they sure are fun arenít they?
People are ridiculous. Everywhere you go theyíre always talking about something inane that doesnít matter. They prattle on about the weather or how badly their aunt smells when she comes out of the bathroom. Anything but the vagaries of life. Why would they talk about that? Why would they talk about taxation without representation? Why do they talk at all? Why donít they just mind their own business? I wonder what it would be like if everyone just kept their mouth shut for a fraction of a second longer than they had originally intended to. Would it make a difference in the world at all? Would all that pausing actually get them to think about what theyíre doing? Would they put down their crack pipes and other harmful additives and eat in regularly scheduled times and exercise for once? I doubt it. People everywhere arenít mindful of what it is that they actually do. If they found out what they were doing, they wouldnít care anyway. I know I donít.
Am I dried up? Do I have anything left to say? What will become of my little ideas and my time wasting? Does any of this matter? What if I died in a car wreck tomorrow? That would be so much easier than trying to actually accomplish something for the rest of my life that may never happen. I can see it so far off in the distant future, but it is warped like a dream at 3 am that feels real to you in the dream but when you awake it feels like such a slideshow such a fakery, such a tease. It is such a distortion of true events of the future that it is disheartening. Dreams donít come true. Things donít happen like theyíre supposed to.
Am I dying? Am I awake? I fear that my soul will soon break. Please tell me what I am missing? Is there any love to be found outside of God that can soothe a broken heart and mend the bleeding and stop the pain and sickness? I came home from the movie tonight with a chill feeling that my father was dead of a self inflicted wound. He uses drugs in a frequent sort of way that add to the nagging feeling that he is slowly poisoning himself. He has been killing himself in this way for years and it is a corrupt dank destruction on anyone whoís path he crosses. He doesnít seem to realize all of this, or else he canít quite gather the courage to face it. Either way it all ends up the same. People get hurt, and they are crushed by this indifference to his suffering. My mother weeps every night and prays for his salvation from this pariah.† I say this not to shock but to confront this dread thing head on in my mind. I want it all to just end. I need it to stop. It distracts me so often from my work. I serve food and drink now. It feels fulfilling that I am helping people. They seem happy. I make money. Weíre all happy. Then I come home to the feeling that my dad is dead. Itís not a good feeling. Itís a terrible rush of dread to the psyche to the place where the soul lives in the heart of a man. To that terrible place that many are afraid to visit. Wonít you go there with me you twisted being and go back to that dark hole from whence you came? You accursed sickened being of pure evil. I hate you. I hate you. I will devour you I swear to God I will crush you beneath my feet. You are nothing but a shadow. I detest your presence. My every breath is tainted with the thought of you. And so I go on my separate way thinking that everything will be okay in the morning.
How can I be so jealous? This girl that I had a thing with for like a week gets do to entertainment reviews in a website and Iíve never done anything like that and I canít stand it. Maybe I should have gone into journalism instead of just writing. But no, just writing or creative writing was the more pure endeavor that sure turned out great. What am I so angry about, the fact that someone I know and was with for a while is doing something more than me or that anyone with less talent than me is doing something. I think thatís it. I overestimate my talent. I go to the bookstores and look at all the books on the shelf and think to myself, how come I donít have anything here? And then I remember. Itís because I never finish anything. Well Iím going to finish this. Outwards will be complete one day and itís gonna be great and people are going to read and validify my work and then they will think this section here to be a little bit pompous but what they donít know is just how scared I am that all of this will never happen and my whole life will turn to nothing. For Godís sake Iím an actor that is almost 30 and I want to go to New York? I must be out of my mind, but then again I have nothing else to do or live for, why wouldnít I want to throw my life away like that? I never had a plan for my life, I never had an idea. I just did what I thought was fun and fit my morality as I understand it under my religious relationship with Jesus. But that didnít work out too well because I wasnít listening to him for a long time and I didnít have a best friend or for that matter anyone to talk to for so many years and I never realized how important and vital that was. I never knew how much meaning in life I was missing out on. I didnít even have a girlfriend till my second year of college. I always used to get jealous when people would get pulled aside to have talks with what appeared to be their significant other because it meant that they had a significant other and they had done something to cause the attention of a girl while I had done no such thing. Well actually I had but there was never a girl around with the guts to ask me out they always just flirted with me and I never knew what to do with them exactly. Can I blame it on bad parenting? You can blame most of the worlds problems on bad parenting if you want to, but my parents were so overprotective that they shielded me from life. I donít feel like I grew up until I turned 26 and I still feel like im figuring things out that most people get by the time theyíre like 23 or so. God Iím so freekin lame.