I actually read this morning. Before I even got out of bed. My eyes were hardly open, but I read a few poems by Lord Byron. I haven’t had a cigarette yet, but I’m thinking that may be soon to change. Speaking of change… well, I suppose now hardly seems the time and I hardly seem the person to be discussing such things. Especially since change is nothing but an illusion. This that I claim to be creating already was and always has been. It exists throughout the passage of the other illusion known as time. It passes so fast and yet can last for a lifetime. But a lifetime itself is really rather a short and almost futile thing. Your life will only have meaning to other people with short little lifespan, if that. Some people will hate you and despise you for no particular reason. Some people may have a reason. I’m sure there is many a folk who dislike yours truly for good and valid reasons.
But I digress… or do I? I’d like to get the next Hitchhiker’s book… or new Vonnegut. I’d like to become famous someday. I’d like to be in love someday. I’d like to die with a smile on my face and even the faintest sense of satisfaction with what I have done. But I suppose that will be predetermined, since I am just tossed around as a victim of fate. So it would seem that it were fate for me to walk away from this now, although my rhythm has been so nice. I know not when I’ll return, but I know it will be exactly when I was supposed to.
Ok so about fifteen minutes has passes since I sat here last and wrote what came to mind? I had a few shots of whiskey, and yes it is before noon, but only for four more minutes. I should shower soon. I should get on with it already. I should stop fighting the inevitable. I must accept what will fade away. I don’t want it but who the hell gives a shit what I want? Who has ever given me what I want? Or is it that my wants are unquenchable? I’d like to think that my desires will be met, but that would be stupid. I like to be stupid sometimes. I like to be smart other times. It’s rather mixed, as you can obviously tell by how I stated that sometimes I like one thing and at others I like the opposite. It’s silly, but I wish I grew up somewhere else, even though I don’t know if the same person would be before you, embodied in all of these nicely typed words. Maybe there wouldn’t be any type words, or they’d be grammatically incorrect or something. Maybe I’d just be a nice little part of the machinery, never complaining or causing any kind of fuss. Who knows? I’ll do one more shot… then take a shower combined with a cigarette and then return to you. Please be there when I come back, for I don’t know what I’d be without you.
So I’m back, all showered and nicotined up. But the riddle remains, why do I sit here? Why do I type away this silly nonsense every Sunday morning? Is it in the hope that you’ll read an fall in love with me? Or is it so when I’m old and have no one and nothing left, I can look back upon the words I wrote when I was young and oh so full of life? I know not, but trust that life will reveal to me why. And if it doesn’t, I can make up a reason, if there even need be a reason. I suppose there isn’t any need at all, but is there need for any of this? Why do I write and try and create some art that will define the achy soul? Attention, I assume. I just don’t want to be forgotten. I don’t want to drift off into the nothingness. I want to rise to a level of acceptance that I will look back and say “hey, you know what? When I was just a boy, my mind she was so plagued with question and longing that I had to strive for something to fill all that gaps that I made for myself.”
Because the gaps are all self made. I make them out of boredom. It must be boredom because I can think of no better reason to ramble on like this partially drunk so early in the day. I just want these words to mean something. I want to have some answer just fall from my mind, but none comes that I haven’t already heard. But I haven’t heard it all, because there is someone out there who will grace me with their wisdom and it will be a wisdom that I have yet to hear. I hope that someday the wonder will overwhelm any and everything else. I suppose it already does, but I want to have it so new that I can just sit and sip on the fresh brew of new thought. But until that new though comes and finds me, I will resort to the old brews, just for the sake of comfort. Comfort is all sentient beings strive for. We all seek that idea of home. We seek that idea of warmth that will save us from the darkness that the mind can’t help and produce. But what if there is no comfort to be found? What if I wake up tomorrow and still want all of those things that I can’t have?
It will just be Monday then. And with every Monday, will eventually fall a Sunday; and with that Sunday comes these thoughts. It may be a cry to understand, or a cry to reach out to some beautiful girl in the hope that she will pull me from my darkness and bring me to a light that will free my soul, if only for a while. But I know Jack never found such things. Even as he coughed up blood on his last day, he found very little comfort outside of anything his own mind could make. So let us see what my mind will make in place of what it craves. The mind is a powerful thing, after all. Let’s see the power that it can actually wield.
Have fun with all the typos I have made and care not to correct.