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?