Sunday Morning Thoughts 4.15.12

My share of gold to have this room be about five degrees cooler or about five square feet larger. If that we the case though, I wouldn’t be sitting here in my underwear trying to figure out exactly where all the time has gone and why I have become convinced that growing up will most certainly be the death of me. This room is a crash site and my professor emailed me in the middle of my long overdue intoxicated questioning of my entire existence as I lay staring at the ceiling in my roommate’s girlfriends apartment just wondering where the papers I was supposed to do two months ago are. I haven’t the heart to tell him that they haven’t been written yet.

But me? Well shucks, I must have been the topic of conversation of at least one cab ride to somewhere else last night as me being in a night club is interesting at the very least. I told the waitress that I was in love with her and she laughed as is the natural reaction of women to me. What can I say? I guess I’m just a funny guy.

Watching the rain fall in Manhattan and the people and people and people and people and nothing can even scare them away because they are in all the majesty and each and every single one of those people carries something in their heart that makes them tick and strive for something or at the very least feel remorse and sadness for not being able to strive anymore. I think it was my birthday in my dream last night. Strange thing to say right? I don’t really even like my birthday all that much but I do enjoy other people’s birthdays. Cheers Ronan. Cheer Jerry. Cheers 37.

I’m going to stop now which usually ends up being a curse because for me to sit down and write these days has become a chore and I hate myself for that but it is and will be changing. So I’ll return but first I need to spend more time thinking about things and life and whatnot.

And here I am and although you cannot see me just close your eyes and trust that I’m actually here. Good, now stop and wonder whether anyone like me could ever actually exist and realize that’s insane and there is no way that I could actually be real. It’d be too mad and would upset the balance of things and we can have that, can we? I believe that is the biggest part of my… problem? I guess we can call it that, but the issue is that I’ve spent so much time thinking thing I don’t want to think about aren’t  real and that I am the only real thing that there ever was.

This theory, in the words of Einstein, is bullshit. I am nothing but an illusion. The goal from here is to become less and less connected with reality as each day passes until I can become something better. It’s my only choice as I don’t know what will become of me or my mind or my heart if I continue to play by the rules that are put in place here before me and you and us. They were made not only to be broken but ultimately destroyed to the point where nothing at all remains of them. I will be completely imaginary by the time I die, at least I hope that I will.

Now I could stay here and say more and look for more to say but there is too much that needs to be undone. I need all other things to fall away so I can just be and once that happens, these things will start to make some more sense, or better yet less sense.

Sunday Morning Thoughts 4.8.12: A Manifesto of Sorts

This part was written on a train heading south as I gazed out the window at the Harlem River on Saturday afternoon:

 

I imagine that all of this will be under water someday, maybe even in my life time and then I could go down and swim around my memories as they stay frozen in time and floating around where they used to be. If it doesn’t go under water, my next guess is fire which would mean that these places would only live in my head and who knows if I could even remember that far. The North American Venice will finally be clean, even if it has to be destroyed.

Or perhaps even better yet it will all become overgrown and green and life will choke us out like we’ve been doing to it all these years. These massive beautiful rocks covered in stone all perfectly lined up in a grid. Thousands of years from now whatever dominant conscious species is around will wonder whether it was nature or god or aliens who did it.

 

This part was written heading north the next day. I was exhausted and hungover and heartbroken and late to go spend the rest of the day with my family. I suppose you could say I was a little bummed out:

 

Isn’t it beautiful? There’s so much to see and within my tiny little realm of things, I think that I’ve got it down which is ridiculous because I’m an hour late for my whole life flashing past me and it doesn’t matter what I’d do to make it better because it’s gone. I saw it walk down the street at five in the morning wearing the same fucking jacket that this whole nonsense started with. Cheers.

But other than that, my back hurts and my breath smells. I wish I could fall out of this flesh but I seem to be stuck in it with this absurd identity

But really Brian, who are you fooling? This is the tragedy that you’ve always wanted for yourself. Hope is for suckers anyway. You wouldn’t know what to do so you should just sit here and beat and rag on yourself until you start to believe all this.   This isn’t romantic so would you stop pretending it is and blow out the fucking candles. This conversation was doomed to end and it makes sense and I could only imagine that it’s relieving, and not as an insult, but I suppose I should be grateful as I could have very easily kept going for a bit longer, to the end of time at the very least. See all the absolutes in my speech? I wish there was a way to convince anyone of the power there but I can’t seem to stumble upon one.

 

Across the aisle from me staring out at the other side of this train, sits a very beautiful young lady that I will never know. I could very easily get up and try to start some conversation with her and probably have some success with it but I never will. She will never know me and her I and that’s just the way it’s going to be.

 

She just got up and will be getting off and I did nothing to stop her.

 

This part was written on Monday at around 6:30pm:

This will be the last time that I do this, I promise. Pardon me but I have to finish the ritual properly and after all I suppose this is owed. Don’t worry, I won’t whine. I’ll be trying to say something meaningful and pretty and powerful. Better yet, I won’t even try. I’ll just do it.

Understand that I have felt anything real in a long time so the words that I may have said out loud were not so eloquent but I suppose the booze is partially to blame. I can no longer be sad nor upset nor anything in that spectrum of emotion. I can be numb but I’ve had enough of that too. That doesn’t necessarily mean that I’ll be happy because I won’t be.

I saw the sunrise this morning. It’s getting close to setting now and I may sneak outside to watch it because this isn’t ready yet. I don’t have my mind set to do what needs to be done with this and like I said, this one is important.

 

This was written after the sunset:

 

Such beautiful hues of red and orange and blue, they tear at my heart and I wouldn’t want it to be any other way. I have of course seen thousands of sunsets and many that were much more beautiful than this one.

That being said, I would like to make a statement about something although exactly what is unknown and unimportant right now because it has yet to be said. It’s importance will be determined by you at the end of this and may very well remain a mystery to me.

I have been told by many people, some who matter to me a lot and some who don’t matter as much, that I have something about me that is special or different or unique and sets me aside from the other sheep. I am apparently very capable of doing something grand and spectacular in this world that will contribute to some sort of greater good. It’s gotten to the point that I now know that I really have no choice in the matter. I have to do these things because that is my destiny or fate or something like that. It would be a lot of pressure if these things didn’t come with such ease.

So listen to me muse, just this one last time and know that you are stuck forever in my mind. That’s not to say things will continue, as I know they won’t. The last few years have taught me more about myself than I could even realize at this point in time and I may not ever realize it until all is said and done and my last breath slips from my lungs and I fade into darkness. I could very easily say that the time is wasted but that would be a horrible lie and I just wouldn’t feel right saying it. It wasn’t a waste, it was a painfully beautiful experience filled with memories that will ring through my mind for eternity and possibly after. I now have an obligation to continue forward and do even more than I’ve done, which despite what people say has been so much less than I could. I’ll have to stop that, you know, this whole under achiever thing.

We live in a time where virtue easily gets lost in greed and hate and depression. 64 people were killed fighting other people in Yemen today and 22 more died when the roof fell in on their church in Nigeria. Their god couldn’t save them but a better architect could have. So it goes.

Why say that? I couldn’t tell you. I don’t know any of those people but I’m sure each of them had someone who loved them. Regardless of anything I say they will continue to be dead and I will continue, at least for now, to be alive, which is a gift that I overlook every second of the day. I won’t tell you that I will start to value my life so much more now that I’ve stated how fragile it is because like I told you, I don’t want to lie.

I will now proclaim my intentions as I yelled out into streets at 5am Easter morning. I will take over my world and do with it what I believe to be right and this of course, means that I will have to try and take over the entire world. I will get mad and sad and feel defeated as I throw my hat on the ground wishing that by doing so, some sort of energy would be released into the universe to correct all that is wrong. This won’t work because I have tried and it didn’t and it doesn’t and I don’t imagine it ever will. That doesn’t mean such a task cannot be done because it can and will. It is so easy to lose faith in what it good and true and I don’t mean that nonsense that me in collars ramble about on Sunday mornings. I mean the nonsense that I ramble about on Sunday mornings. There is no church for me and no god besides this right here.

I don’t ask anything of you other than to give reading my words a chance. If they bore you or make you sad, then please by all means stop right here because you should have stopped a long time ago. But if upon reading anything I have ever written, you felt something or had a thought that you believe to have had any kind of meaning then trust that idea and take it with you and let it grow. Believe it or not when I was about 13, I was fairly certain that I would become a priest. What a long way I have come in these few years but I didn’t want to do that so I could control peoples live and never pay taxes. I thought I wanted it because then every week I would get to send any kind of message that I felt needed to be said for the benefit of all those people there to listen. Good ol’ Father Sears.

 

This was written at 9:26am on Tuesday April 10, 2012 which will be the first day of my life:

 

I have a lot of work to do and I had best get cracking. I’ll get some coffee and go pretend to be someone’s lover until about 11:30. Then I’ll get lunch with my best friend and the only girl I know will never break my heart. After that, it’s on to the rest of the world and with my head held high I will stand before all that is wrong and unjust and make it right. It won’t be easy and you can try to help but after all this time I’ve come to understand there this burden of mine that I carry, is just that. It is my burden and although I’m sure many people will try to tell me that I don’t have to go it alone, they will never understand why I do. I won’t try to explain it because I’ve really gone on long enough but this mission will come with me to the grave that I will rot it whether I finish it or not. I don’t know when that day will be, you know, the day I become worm food. It could be tomorrow, it could be right now before this sentence is even finish, it could be next week or thirty years or one hundred years.

Regardless of when it is, when that short film of all the greatest hits of my life plays before me as my eyes close for the last time, I will see you just as I did as a sad teenage boy on the happiest day of my life. But I am no longer a boy, am I?

Sunday Morning Thoughts 4.1.12

If you look around in the hours past midnight, you can see the loneliness and emptiness and heartbreak and sadness that lives in every human soul. How desperate eyes cry out for some sort of attention and yet would settle simply to be welcomed into somewhere that the booze has yet to get to. So sit down and stare at the wall, at each other and at yourself and maybe see if the light bouncing back at you is really anything at all or if it’s just some inexplicable fantasy where something tragic and terrible exists like reason.

I believe that I am going to get back to work, you know with the original plan? Obviously there are many things that have changed and will change but that just means that it always was this way and it always was the same. Players change here and there but the identity of the movement stays. It may grow smaller or larger and there are always those who wish to pull it off the rails and take it somewhere else but by the time they’ve realized it’s left without them all that remains is the dust and dirt floating in the air. Try not to cough.

So what is it that I’m hereteqfwdhwkjfsdkjg. Sorry, I got frustrated. I’ll be back after a cigarette and hopefully with something to say.

Well after lying on my floor and staring at my ceiling I managed to sit at this desk and fix my eyes upon a bottle cap that is resting on the ground among the dirt and socks. I flipped it around with my foot for awhile and nothing happened that seemed to be of any kind of substance. Who’d of thunk it?

And this is now many days after all that you see above. Where am I now? Well, physically I’m home in bumblefuck enjoying a bright moon shining down on all the silence that surrounds this place when the sun goes down. But that’s not what you want to know, is it? I can’t imagine that you would really want to know anything about me but if it were as simple as where I am on this planet, I’m sure a picture would have done fine. My mind though, that is a whole different beast.

I’m going to Brooklyn tomorrow because two days of being in my home is enough I feel. I won’t talk about that though because any prediction I can make will not be what happens. I’ve tried too many times and it is never correct.

If I confessed to you now that I’m afraid and alone, would you believe me? I let the bright lunar shine rip through me until I felt as small as I am. I am nothing more than the abandoned sofa on the street corner that some poor chump sits on as he waits for someone who’s never coming. Click, click away and yet I have less than the young men before me who had none of these tools. I wonder what my life will show when I am dead and gone, resting peacefully as worm food.

I’d like to stare at the painted blue sky behind the glassless window on the phony wall until I’ve become so convinced that the real world on the other side. I wish I had the courage and strength to let go of whatever electrical impulses bounce around in my head and keep me in the business of playing the part to keep everyone watching amused and unassuming.  I want weakness of body and mind to become a faint memory like the first heartbreak I had on the playground in fourth grade. It was funny because I was hardly even involved.

I’m still hardly involved and still I tell myself day after day after day after day after day that I am part of this disillusion that is being a human and even worse, a white middle class 20 year old with a bright future and a serious case of middle child syndrome.

Speeches of life and death have become like the static in the background. What is the weight of words against action?

It’s funny but these last few paragraphs were all written in different places at different times and yet I feel no one would have noticed had I not said anything. I guess that speaks to the lack of structure and purpose in my writing which may be a reflection of my lack of structure and purpose in life. I can’t imagine that it will last much longer although I seem to be waiting for something to happen but damned if I know what it is. I suppose it’s either some sort of supreme joy or tragedy that will fling me into the next stage of my life. Or I’m waiting for something that I know won’t happen, in which case I will be doomed to live one of those lives that I dread so much. You know, one of those normal lives that normal people live. I’d say I’d rather die but it’s really just the same thing, isn’t it?