Breaking – Introduction

It started out as something that most people couldn’t see which is awful because it was in plain view, making a whole lot of noise and even had flashing lights on it. It was screaming for everyone’s attention and really only got a few people to notice it. Naturally, when those people went to go tell other people what they had found, those noble little whistle blowing souls were seen as either disruptions to the order of things and enemies to system, or mad beyond what our little human minds could even try to comprehend.

He saw it coming years ago but never really understood what he saw. His mind was busy.

I suppose you could say that all of this was the result of a sort of reincarnated romantic ideal. That’s not really important right now, just keep that in mind.

I suppose we can start in the middle and then work our way back and forth through both directions in time. But first, a few seemingly random facts about people involved in this will be spat in your direction. At first, these will mean nothing to you. Upon your second glance, they will still mean essentially nothing to you. Then you may forget about them and they may or may not jump back into play. Regardless here they are.

This is for the most part, a story about a person named Mitch. He was born about a decade before the 21st century. He had a family that loved him and was good in school.

In 1835, The United States of America paid off its national debt. Andrew Jackson was president. We haven’t come anywhere close since.

When Mitch was 18 years old he met a girl named Marianne. Their love was incredibly brief although he still thinks about her. He always wondered if she thought about him but always figured she probably didn’t. She broke the hard truth to him and said goodbye for the last time about two and a half years after they met. The truth was this, whatever they had was most certainly real, but it died a long time before. His last attempt at her heart was quite sad to watch, I’m sure. It was outside a bar on Easter morning. She turned and took a cab home and he wandered the streets until sunrise which was only a few minutes away.

Buddy Holly died in a plane crash on February 3rd, 1959. He was reincarnated into a young man in upstate New York who gets into a bit of trouble here in there. If he violates probation again though, he’ll have to go to jail.

When he was 20, Mitch went to a punk rock show in his town. Reincarnated Buddy Holly was there. The band wasn’t really his cup of tea but he was glad to be out of the house. He saw the words ‘Fuck a Poet’ written on the fence of the smoking area out back behind the theater and thought them very profound. It could have been a band name or a song name or part of a song. Could have been nothing, but he was sure it wasn’t.

The definition of the word terrorism is something along the lines of: the use of violence and threats to intimidate or coerce, especially for political purposes or a terroristic method of governing or of resisting a government.

Liberty is defined as freedom from arbitrary or despotic control.

Mitch was from mostly Irish decent which would explain his disdain for empires. He gets this from Robert Emmet, who was a not too distant ancestor of his, though he would never know that. Emmet started a rebellion in Dublin against Britain, but empires are tough to take on. This was in 1803. The rebellion just turned into a riot confined to the Thomas street area where he was hung for treason about two months later. He died still being in love with Sarah Curran whom he was not allowed to marry. No history or science can really prove the relation to Mitch at this point, but it’s there through some nameless bastard who eventually came to America.

On July 22nd, 2011, Anders Behring Breivik killed 77 people in Norway because he thought it was the right thing to do. His crusade had mostly teenagers as victims.

Mitch never really acted out. He was never arrested or suspended from school. He had to go to the school psychologist when he was ten but that was about it. Some girl on his bus told his teacher that he was talking about suicide with another boy. They were. They planned to jump off a bridge when they were in their 20’s. They had no idea what that really meant. Mitch still doesn’t.

Smoking marijuana has never directly led to the death of anyone, ever. Crime associated with the plant doesn’t count. It’s bullets that usually leads to those deaths and that is usually the result of money. And by usually, I mean always.

Mitch got caught smoking pot on his father’s birthday when he was 17. His father was turning 48. He got caught many times after that but never really thought much about it.

He lost his virginity when he was 18. This was not with Marianne. The girl who it was with was a very mean person but Mitch was convinced she wasn’t. All boys smarten up eventually. Mitch always thought he was too late.

In 1796, this new country called America signed a treaty with Tripoli that started with something like this: “As the Government of the United States of America is not, in any sense, founded on the Christian religion,—as it has in itself no character of enmity against the laws, religion, or tranquility, of Mussulmen.” Mussulmen means Muslim. The treaty had something to do with pirates.

At 21, he landed a job writing for a broadcast news program. He wrote stories that he thought were important and what the network told him to write. They would only ever air the things he was told to write about. Mitch always thought these stories were just stupid fillers to keep people occupied with the feeling that they knew what was going on. The stories they didn’t pick were always closer to the truth. People would just rather see a hedgehog that got stuck in a can of beans than how their government just made it perfectly legal to spy on citizens for whatever ridiculous reason they could possibly dream up. It’s the mass media and their famous sleight of hand.

Douglas McCrea was the main anchor for the news program that Mitch worked on for 17 years before he was hired. If you asked Mr. McCrea, he would have told his career died along with his soul sometime around 2004. He had been an alcoholic since the late 80’s but his passion kept everyone from knowing until decades later. Mitch idolized McCrea. McCrea, in return, mentored Mitch for the first six months of the job but he knew his hero was crumbling.

“If you want to change the world,” McCrea told Mitch once. “You’re sure as shit not going to do it working here.”

Mitch hadn’t even known he was here. He was at his desk working on one of those stories that the network was going to throw out. McCrea had read the story over his shoulder and thought it was brilliant, though he never said so. When Mitch turned around, McCrea had moved to the window and was staring at the busy streets below. It was 30 minutes until he went on air. No one knew anything but him.

“Out there,” McCrea mumbled over the whiskey.

“What’s out there?” Mitch asked.

“All the work that I’m trusting you to do,” He replied with a smile. He walked to up to Mitch and placed his hand on his shoulder. He smelt like a bar mat. Then he walked away and said nothing more.

He shot himself in the mouth on the set that night after going on what all the headlines referred to as the rant of an old, mad drunk. The control room was able to shut off the broadcast when he pulled out the gun, just before his brains decorated the wall behind him. Douglas McCrea was not killed in the name of god or for the good of the country, so they’re not allowed to show it on television. The funny thing was, he was probably the only to die in a long time and not have his cause be in vain.

Whether any of these will be relevant to this story is yet to be seen.


Sunday Morning Thoughts 5.20.12

I sat in my living room in what at first appeared to be silence, saying nothing and thinking almost nothing. Then room began to fill with the beautifully metaphoric sound of ticking clocks in a creaking house. I spent all day thinking and regretting the time that I’ve lost. The ideas held by a teenage boy still ring in my head but I’m 20 now, aren’t I? I’m actually 2 months out from 21. Has this dreaded time come? Is the fun over? Is my spirit dying? Will I soon be too far into my adult life to keep playing out my dreamt up aspirations?

I fear what I may lose, including this right here. Who knows if my writing will fall away to the responsibilities that are tossed upon me? Those terrible things that are tossed upon us all from birth. It’s quite unfair if you ask me. Before we are even born, we are set into the routine of how things go. This is very much true and in effect here in the ‘land of the free’. I wonder if ‘the land of the free’ is trademarked. Wouldn’t that be irony so beautiful that it makes you want to throw up?

I have thoughts of productivity right now, so I think I’ll finish my ice cream and go to bed. I guess I am growing up, and turning into Kathy or whatever the hell her name is. The one in that not really funny comic strip.

Meanwhile, in the Future…

A whole day more of dreaming come and gone. Would you like to see what has come from it? As would I, my friend. I don’t really even know what’s changed from the top of this page. I at the very least want to believe that something has changed. I feel as though I remember something different from this but I have no idea what really was. I never will either. I will most likely never know what this week did for me. I went off of Facebook for a week. How sad my accomplishments have become. I will hold the record for 7th place finishes.

It is now a new day as I freeze these words in time. The clock alerts me to the change in date and I can only turn my head as it laughs. I don’t have the thoughts as of now. I apologize.

It’s very difficult, you have to understand. When you are told to do something and you have to because the only other party involved has already gone ahead and done it so you’re left with nothing but your hands in your pockets and the terrible feeling of nowhere to go. And the worst part is, you just wake up in your bed way past noon to the sound of rain beginning to fall on leaves outside my open window. I will miss the tyrannical serenity of this place.

All this and still a day late. I have nowhere to go and nothing to do for I have been stricken with the imaginary disease of having no dough. This revolution of mine is a lot of work and I’ve hardly even gotten two steps into this whole ordeal which will be a marathon in length, metaphorically or something like that. I don’t imagine I’ll be able to stop until the sparks stop shooting from my brain. The thing that makes this the most disgustingly adorable attempt at changing the world without a doubt has to be that this room must be clean before anything else can get going. I also have to wait for a change of scenery. The dough thing definitely limits my mobility. I travel on borrowed miles.

So all I can do now is really something that I haven’t done in quite some time. I have to sit in my little cell of peaceful confinement and wait out a few days. Waiting will bring thoughts and thoughts and thoughts with nowhere to run to. Self created problems and solutions all have to be dealt with before the long march in to the bring light of tomorrow.

There is always the chance that light isn’t the nuclear holocaust and if there’s a chance I could risk losing my whole life as I’ve known it, I should certainly take such an opportunity. Any fool knows the bigger the risk the bigger the payout. Fools usually make sound financial decisions.

This room still isn’t clean and it would appear that I’ve tossed away a few more hours away on more nothingness. I know why I’m not moving in any direction, least of all forward. I’ve known this whole time. A man could spend his whole life chasing an idea without any regard for whether it’s real or not. For the measure of merit in a man is the passion that he pursues what he sees, even if it was never really there.

I apologize for all of this. Someone once told me the rain is romantic. I get like this here and there when it rains. I also do this when it’s sunny, so I’ll just apologize for myself in general. It’s not all bad but I can see how it gets borning.

Sunday Morning Thoughts 5.13.12

And so begins my last summer off from school. Over a fifth of century later I am supposed to be wiser and more capable than I have ever been. Of course the feeling of such things is not present but I have come to learn that feelings and those sort of things may often be deceiving. Then again, I suppose that there is deception in all things.

I have watched the last class graduate from my school and it will be the last one that I watch. My legacy at school will have one more year to build and after that it’s on to the largest stage I have. No longer with the little scholar societies be my place of play but instead the dark, dreary world where no one wants to be seen laughing to much will be where I work. I will have financial concerns and value concerns and after all this I still haven’t had a girlfriend for any real period of time. It’s strange how we decide to measure ourselves in relationships and wealth and accomplishment. All of those can be easily inflated and dressed up to appear more than they are. Even character is disguised but eventually the mask will be seen as separate from the face. I’m sure there are some masks that can hardly be seen as what they are, even by he who wears it. I wonder if that’s the case here. It very well could be.

So with all my whining and sadness that I have been breeding all myself for so long now, I’ve decided to take action. I’ve had enough with unfulfilled desires so I will just have to let go of desire. I need to just be for awhile so if you don’t mind, I think I’ll go do that now.

The Ballad of a Boy and His Mustache

I want to make sure that I get these thoughts down now before they all slip away by the morning, or at least a few theme suggestions. See, I had just begun to convince myself of some sort of defining moment that I believed that the being I call myself was in the midst of, as I grow to the older self I am doomed to be. I was sure that I had become wiser and somehow more conditioned than I was before but alas, ‘twas only an illusion.

That habit seems to be unshakable. You know, the one where I see something and then make up this whole grand fictional tale that goes where ever my mind decides it should. I have done this many a time and with many different… we’ll say themes. I have even done this same sort of theme before, but somehow the current is appearing to be different.

With that, I bid ye goodnight. I’ll leave you with the promise that I’ll be back to you. It will seem like all this time was nothing by the time I’m back.

See? I told you. Just like that the morning broke and here we are. I’m a day older and if only there was some sort of knowledge that came with this new day. The only thing I know is that my upper lip is cold.

Well, I might as well just say it instead of hinting at it all morning. I used to have a mustache. It’s gone now. I shaved it. That’s why I’ve felt like I’ve gotten older and more mature. My little facial hair illusion. After hearing all the jokes about how I look like a little kid and will never get into a bar ever again, I’ve had several moments where I’ve been able to look off into nothing and think about my life or just life in general. In those moments I’ve come to think a lot about the dark and dripping world and how I am the same boy standing out in the rain.

Is it just fear? I guess it has to be. I’m supposed to be a senior in college and I look no different than when I was a senior in high school, both of which were supposed to be the stages in this life of mine that were to define how cool I could be in my youth. My self-image issues are just as bad as they’ve ever been.  I am just lying awake as the head lights shine stripes on the bedroom wall, only for a moment before they fade away with a hum. I am the little pieces of dust floating so gracefully in the air, seen only when the sun breaks through the window for the first time in the morning. I am coffee stains and whiskey bottles and bong resin. I am the Marlboro boy.

The world was asleep and now sirens scream to wake up all those around me for tests and exams and speeches, none of which will ever really mean that much.

The only sign of age is under my eyes where hues of purple outline my eyelids. I wish I could do more than describe things but I seem to be at a loss for the ideas I felt I should say last night. Give me a moment, I need to turn off this crap CNN is passing off as news and play my banjo for a bit. If I hear this asshole on the tube talk about god making our earthly decisions one more time, I may throw my shoe through the screen. The bible is nothing but the word written by men, many of whom didn’t get laid enough. I guess that makes me an apostle.

My fear of growing up is going to have to be faced very soon and what a doozy it will be. I have been dodging this for some time because it used to be that 18 was grown up and I am nearly 21. Every day is a step closer to some sort of ending. I’ve lost one and soon all my grandparents will die. My parents and aunts and uncles will be after then. All the girls I’ve ever thought I loved will die. My friends will die, my siblings will die and so will I. Not to be negative but it is the truth and I still feel as though knowing that will help me somehow. My youth is fleeting, despite my appearance. My world is on a path to eventual destruction whether it be the hands of man or the universe. Just like the mustache, nothing is permanent.

I’ll find myself different tomorrow than I was today. The day after that I can only assume will be different. It will continue on this way until the next time I feel like I felt today at which point I will try to analyze this whole life thing. I will then realize that maybe nothing is different and it’s all been the same this whole time. Lather. Rinse. Repeat until death.

This may or may not be the beginning of my decent into madness and maybe I only needed some sort of visible change to see that it’s all only a pattern.  Or is it? I certainly don’t know and I certainly couldn’t tell you who does or should or even might. The amount I don’t know is extraordinary and should be much more upsetting to me. I think it’s starting to but I haven’t really seen how much it is. I couldn’t even blame my issues and whines on such a thing. I think the growth into my new potential for facial hair will be the start of this hermit summer I’ve been saying I was going through with. Maybe, just maybe I’ll progress to where I’ve been saying that I want to go.

The time is coming where all of this will mean something but since time is an illusion, some part of this always meant something. I suppose that it always will as well.

I may or may not edit anything grammatically incorrect with this, but there’s Keystone to have at.

Sunday Morning Thoughts 4.22.12-5.6.12: Ode to a Crappy Work Ethic

So I just had this thought getting high in my bathroom and upon staring at my 1970’s choice in hair and facial hair, I’ve come to glance upon the idea that this really is just a phase in my life and most likely the most ridiculous one at that. Now don’t get me wrong here, there is obviously a supreme amount of beauty within all this absurdity but that does not make it any less absurd. If you can’t see that I advice you get your sense of humor checked.

The sad thing about that last… I guess we’ll say joke, is that there most likely is some sort of test that is alleging itself capable of measuring your sense of humor. It probably even comes with a little chart that shows you what treatment will fix however much you lack in that particular department but not after listing all the things that it will do to you like make you depressed or constipated or suicidal or blind or just too submissive to the pointlessly aggressive and just boring social construct.

The trouble comes in seeing that most of what is done around here is just wasted motion designed with the sole purpose to keep our souls from ever being whole. It’s terrible but because of the general decline in progress the species has been having since it got around to being there is no other choice but to wade through all the nonsense that will only inevitably make you at least somewhat bitter and calloused. Don’t get me wrong now, there have been many great and grand things that people have done in the past, there’s just been more of a general ignorance and hate and stupidity and greed and just naïve behavior that has brought us to a world run on bureaucratic nonsense that all those great people told us to dodge. The world is run by shady vacuum cleaner salesmen. We are sold on ideas that are boring and uninspired.

I guess that’s why it’s so easy to cling on to one idea that could feel apart from all that, whatever it may be. Drugs, music, sex, love, writing, rock-climbing, knife fighting, bank robbing, cooking or professional calligraphy, it doesn’t matter. Something that stands apart from the hypnotic glow of flashing lights becomes so brilliantly novel to us. We are essentially the same as moths. I think that we’re really only a few things in genetic code off from all living things on earth. We are this solar systems Petri dish, just the one that hasn’t died off yet.

And that is my best defense mechanism. Didn’t you see it? I start speaking in vague phrases about what I think I know about science. I dropped my science class this semester. I also never told my parents about that.

So what is it that I’ve been waiting to say all this time? I’ve convinced myself that something is supposed to happen soon but what that thing is I cannot say. I spend my days thinking ups solutions to problems that don’t even exist half of the time. So here and now I take the step in the direction that I should have gone a very long time I suppose.

So stands I at the edge of where I have been for far too long and I know that inside me are ideas and thoughts and feelings both dark and light that are screaming to get out and yet I’ve kept them trapped so long I can recognize them only as shapes and shadows cast upon my eyelids. So let’s list out the real things that I’ve done since I last wrote one sad month ago.

I opened for someone who is on Saturday Night Live. Well I guess that right there is spectacular. I’ve gotten compliments here and there with a few from some people I don’t know. There’s a video and stuff that I’ll be getting to this week. But hey, people laughed and I haven’t stood up since January. It’s good to know that my true love hasn’t walked away from me.

I played a few songs here and there and did that play and got a job for the summer and helped start The Skits O’Frenicks. If you don’t know Skits, you had best check us out in the coming months. Which reminds me of my TV shows that I have to make. And articles to write and news to do. I have to get a resume and get an internship and get in shape for the fire department test that I hopefully scored well enough to be able to test my merit even further.

There is so much that I need to do and I sit around and blah blah blah. Blah blah blabbity blah blah. Blah blah, blah blah blabbity.

Someday I’ll learn that scolding myself on my blog is not going to change much of anything, not to mention how shit piss boring it is. I honestly wonder sometimes if I ever want to read any of this crap that I read someday.

So what do you think?

Go ahead and take your time.

Ok ready? You have to understand how introverted I was as a young boy. Slowly but surely I started accepting some part of me but always held those same fears, I suppose. Even the slightest attack on that sets the whole ordeal off and it’s a mess and also rather boring.

But all these things will have to be done because I have no other choice. I have a whole world out there to conquer and I can’t rest until I’ve seen everything that there is to see. I don’t want to be afraid anymore, so I simply won’t be. I’m actually starting to think it’s that easy.  And as long as I think that, nothing else should matter. Nothing should really matter. I’ll have to just learn to accept any shift in the current around me.

What the hell am I saying? Fuck it, I’ll fight anything that gets in my way (fist fights only when necessary and with a person of equal size). I know that I’ve learned something in all of this time. I just couldn’t tell you what but that may only come to reveal itself when placed under pressure. Pressure makes diamonds, which I can’t afford. I have ordinary shoes.