Sunday Morning Thoughts 3.19.12-3.25.12: Part I

Trains pull away as I stare off into nothing surrounded by celebrating people and all of that noise. You can hear it without a doubt but I don’t know if I can listen. I’m not tired. That’s not the word because I’ve slept as much as I need to. I can’t be sure what this is that I feel. This computer is losing battery and I don’t feel like finder the charger. Besides, I need to get ready to do nothing soon. All I see is kilts, but I hear no music.

Hark and hear the last call for rounds for the evening and you’ve only found this seemingly sightless vision of whatever it is that you were thinking earlier might have been the answer. It wasn’t of course and shame on you for expecting it to be. I hope you’re right. I hope you know what you’re doing, man. Because I can’t really say if I’m comfortable with this.

And look at this guy!!! A whole five days later and I am but a measly two paragraphs in with the even slightest chance that 200 words will happen at some point near this moment that is occurring right now. Copy that into your word processor and enjoy.

But the point stays the same that I keep digging and digging to find something, anything or everything that could possibly be found if there even is such a thing. It’s a crime to be claiming something so bold as being part of some generation lost in its predecessors’ stupidly intended world. The images are all there, all the symbols line up and make the pattern that is supposed to be seen and look at me step in line but only when I should, of course. My only hope is to have one hope because there are so many already scattered along the side walk all burnt up and stepped on. A focal point would possibly do something, although it’s been tried and I assume failed but who even knows at this point. I stand looking down at the things I’ve tossed off the ledge expecting it to just fall back into my hands before I see it hit the ground. Splat.

If there was ever a point that it was understood why this was all started in the first place, it isn’t now. Now there is wonder as to the point and purpose because I don’t care if I impress a girl with this. I want to write because there is something that I think should be said because it needs to be said because someone has to hear it, if not everyone. It just seems so bothersome to have to wait around for death pretending to do stuff so I can buy enough time to waste. And I suppose ideally I should buy some time for my kids to waste, as long as they don’t see it until they’ve spent it.

Why is it that I sit here slowly sobering as I tug on my hair and rub my eyes? Why can I not just be content with all the saturated brainwash that comes with the social phenomenon we call civilization?  Why do I believe that my life is only the culmination of things that have already passed and nothing that breathes or grows?

To these questions there’s a very good chance that answers don’t exist or they at least can’t be found after a shower and a five minute meditation. As for now, I will rush off again and leave you here to yourself. These poor words will have to wait several more hours for my attention, but you will see it immediately start with the next sentence.

And just like that, the hours turn to days and yet I just march in place. It is now the Sunday after and I’m a week behind again, just to add to the month and years. There remains all the things that I’ve had to do but I still ask that you look at me and see something that isn’t what you see everywhere else. Its bold and stupid but so be it. There doesn’t seem to be a thing can do about it.

And just like that it slips back to “well my name’s Brian and there are things that I don’t like and I’m not motivated and I’m not happy and blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah.” I’m sick of it. I’m sick of hearing it and yet there is nothing that I do about it. I sleep my problems away, which is so incredibly stupid because they’ll just follow you into dreams where they have the unlimited power of my psyche to shape and create any event in any manner to make me feel whatever way I apparently need to feel. It’s terrible.

I will be back to this by later tonight, I promise. There is too much work that needs to be done to not return.


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