Sunday Morning Thoughts 7.15.12

Although I could not say for sure, but I may have had drink taken when this was written:

And here it comes with all the fanfare I knew it wouldn’t have. This will be the mark for the beginning of the midpoint of the first half and I am without a shake or a stutter. I am steel reinforced by jelly. I am decaying rapidly by geological standards. Beauty will indeed be in the hands of the beer holder.

After this sentence comes the few thoughts that I had that were lucky enough to find their way here this Sunday:

There is always a hope that whenever I sit down and begin to think until words begin to appear on the screen that a revelation will fall upon me and my inspired verse will catch the attention of someone that can help me do something about all of this. Now this is when the strangeness of it all originates. I may be so bold to say that these little spurts of recorded thought almost always involve nearly entirely my own woes and worries.

If I were to find most anyone else who was to do the same thing, I’d call them stupid and vain for wasting space and time to sing the virtues believed to be attained from such selfish sentences.

So I ask myself, why would what I do be any different? What is it about what I feel that I have to say that makes it so much more worthwhile over the average two legged beast with thumbs? Look at me. Look at me!

This part was written on Monday afternoon in a library:

Why I am here at all is still a bit of mystery to me as I almost never come here to write. The last time that I remember doing such a thing, I was still a young, dumb and foolish boy. Oh how things have changed.

That is the wonderful thing about the written word. Sarcasm is so much harder to detect. You essentially have to just guess whether it would be or not and if the writer who had written has no intention if revealing the true intent behind the words, as I do, guessing is all you can do. Through such a process, perspective is produced that at the very least has the appearance of being different. Whether it actually does this or not is for the nerds is Switzerland to decide.

As for me… it is unknown and should most certainly be uncared for but that facts are open for interpretation. It’s not really, but how and who would even know if I had not told you? Truth is the most deceiving thing there is in these, such troubled days.

At this point, I just want it to end already. You know, my youth and the hope and spirit that lived within it. It’s all but depleted and it holds me in place because it’s just so damn pretty and when have I been known to control myself? It’s as though there was never anything to begin with because if honesty were still in play at this point, we’d fall short of so many words. Personality is a lie that is built more intricately with the growing vanity of he who first crafted the beast.

What is understood as of now is that this whole ordeal is, for the most part, as pointless as you decide to make it. You first have to comprehend that in the end you will only have to believe the lie for yourself for it to ever have any meaning. Maybe there are folks who are born with such convictions and I may not be excluded from that group. I couldn’t tell you when this peculiar perspective was born, but I seem to always have had it. I could tell you when I became first aware of it, but that was now a long time ago played out with those who may be no more than legend. I’d rather not know that now, but I know at some point I will.

So let’s review. In my dying moments of youth, or the believe of such a situation at least, I have dawned upon some grand revelation that I have had a dozen or so times already in recorded history and despite the proposed conviction, little to no action has taken place. Perhaps that is the curse of a writer. It is the standard for bad ones, I imagine. There’s a nice bit of self-confidence for ya.

Purgatory is ending and really already has. I’m one email away from being part of the machine. I’m three years out from becoming a semi-professional comic. I have a novel to finish, because the only way that story can be done correctly is by making it more than a blog post. Look at me, busy, busy. Sooner or later it will all come into some sort of chaotic light and all will be seen for what it is.

That’s a rather vaguely faithful statement for an atheist. I think at least.

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