Ok sooo…. Here I am. Right? Ok, we can try and start there and see how it chooses to progress. Or do I choose? What is choice? Click here and find out.
I extend a high five to whoever clicked there. Your curiosity is courageous and inspiring. It’s a breath of fresh air, as they say. Who are they? Not important I say, because I am solely beating around the bush, as they say.
See, I’m presented with an issue. It’s this little bug that gets at me sometimes… except it’s not really little. It may even border on being considered within the class of one of those really important and valuable things in life. I think it’s loofas, or is it looffahs? Hold on, let me check it.
It’s actually Luffa, but that’s just the plant that it’s made of, or inspired by, or copied or whatever. Either way, I’m caught in a stance and I’m afraid to step. Whether there is or there isn’t, I feel as though I’m walking on a mine field that at any point could just set off into this huge glorious explosion that would be cool to have classical music playing over. Like in that movie, the one about the influence of a good mustache and having a record player.
But I am besides myself, and not really understanding what I meant by that, prolonging a state of confusion… I guess. I don’t really know, so I’m going to make this crazy inference… about nothing because I’m struck and all confused and stuff and it’s like really bad because it’s making me write these long ass sentences that sound like a 13 year old girl and it sucks and I hate my parents and fuck the president and viva la revolution and yeah man I want to fight for something or about something or just have the strive enough to even consider a fight and maybe I did before but where was I then.
Ya know what I mean?
Where the fuck has that taken me here? That’s not even a sentence! My computer sucks. I want a typewriter. And an accordion.
And you’re tearing me apart Lisa! And I’m so crappy at my job and it’s alright.
` That was on Thursday, the 6th. It is now Sunday the 9th. Things have happened between here and then. Certainty is not, never has been and probably never will be my specialty or something even good at. So I stand uncertain now. Or sit rather.
And the amount of time that has passed since the first word until now is substantial, unless you think about it. I wrote this whole bit in my math class, but I forgot to bring that notebook with me to work, so it’s not making it into this. It was strange to write by hand. I’m rather hungry too. Something smells like Ellios pizza. It’s driving me mad.
Yet there’s nothing. I’m quite. I’m seemingly sad, or so I’m told. I’ve been quite. I was quite last night. I was quite this morning. I was quite yesterday morning. I’m quite like something that doesn’t want to be seen. I don’t want to be found. Couldn’t I hide for a little while longer?
No. You can’t. You have to get up and face the day and march forward. My Dad told me that I need to get ready for the long haul of the repetition of the routine of the real world. Every day is essentially the same. He told me to keep up with hobbies. He makes beer. That’s his hobby and it’s a rather successful one. He’s created his own brew too. It’s sort of an IPA he said. I’m sure it’s good. I’m sure it strong. So drink deep. Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em boys.
Tests and classes and parades and coffee shops and plays and scripts and songs and jokes and jokes and jokes and love and sorrow and joy and booze and greens and nicotine and questions and answers and lies and subtleties and whatnot. I would like to stress that I don’t have evil intentions or urges. I’m just sick, in a sense. It’s not really sick, but the way most people would look at, it would seem as a disease. All it be is this constant drum of ideas, a fluid rhythm that makes no sense unless you’re me. It doesn’t even really make sense to me.
I crave experience. I don’t want to die not having lived through this incredible journey. It can’t all be good because that would be stupid and bland and dry and who would want to watch a movie about something like that?
So I guess what I’m driving at is an apology, or better yet an explanation. Run if you can, but understand that with knowing me and choosing to be associated with me, there is this grey area. It’s inexplicable and I don’t know what it means or what will happen but that’s most of the fun. I like to listen to big band and blues and classical and psychedelic music. I like to read and write and that never leads to anything good. I like to tell jokes and am beginning to understand that I enjoy when life seems as though it is this vastly chaotic clusterfuck with the illusion of blocked paths and destruction. I like to conquer that, even though I’m not that good at it yet. But that’s why I do all of these absurd and insane things. It’s practice.
Someday I’ll be a pro at this who life thing. That, or I’ll die trying. Get it? Huh? Huh? Eh, go back to sleep.