Sunday Morning Thoughts 9.9.12: Regarding Young Men Who Daydream on Train Cars

 

Pardon me while I complain about the love that I have chosen not to have. You see I’m waiting around for nothing to happen, as I have always expected would but never wanted. I just hope not be as dead as the soul that is seated next to me but after 30 ounces of beer, I can’t say that I never will be.

It’s a travesty in that there is nothing truly tragic about it. This sort of thing happens all of the time. In fact, worse things happen much more often. I am fortunate and privileged and vain enough to be able to hold on to a wink of love I saw once when I was a boy.

I am a man now, supposedly. I don’t know what that means but regardless I am expected to act as such. What a shame.

And so continues the train, along its track. It pulls me away from memories that I never wanted to die. And yet there is blood all upon my hands and a knife on the floor. Who could do such a thing?

I suppose that I could, especially considering that I did. A cute stranger accused me of being one of those ‘thinking’ types, after only knowing me for the better part of an hour. Someone who was less cute and less of a stranger accused me of being a dork. I am equally flattered by both.

You see, my mild celebrity status in this small community in which I live does not seem to have the sway and ability to persuade that it used to. I have become too vain to feed into vanity.

But my empty belly fills only with brew and my mind keeps nicely to itself these days. Unless provoked, at which point, too much pours from me and my soul. I didn’t get the window seat, you see. So my mind is unable to wander as much as it would like. Although, I know exactly where it would like to go, the shameless bastard. Do words uttered on holy days mean nothing to ye?

They do, but my mind was not able to argue beyond the adoration of beauty I can hardly say I ever really knew.

But I am only two stops away and have brew yet to drink. For you see, any dollar I have borrowed is brought forth only to fuel this starving beast. It craves and hungers for things that it will never have. I scan the most crowded streets for a face that will be damn near impossible to find.

The man sitting across from me thinks that he is dealing with a young and vengeful alcoholic, and I shan’t be the one to tell him otherwise. Let him sit and stare at his book. Let him die in that book.

So what point do I try to get at with this? Considering the time between many of these words is great, I suppose it would be nothing. But it can’t be, simply because I refuse it to be. I used to be a good kid with a good heart, but that is dead and gone. I didn’t want it to go, but it walked away and got into that cab anyway. Feelings were considered just enough to be appreciated with absolutely no intention of doing anything in the way of appealing or appeasing them. I’ve gotten that much respect out of the universe bur damn it to hell if I don’t expect more.

I have many a thing to do, and some of you who are reading this may be anxiously anticipating for me to do something for you. Fret not, for I shall fulfill these requests as best as my ability can allow and possibly even further.

The clutter that has built up in what seems to be no time at all needs to be dealt with. I need to make lists and send emails and plan meetings and programs. I have obligations which I signed up for and regardless of my desire to fulfill such demands has far exceeded the point of relevant. I have a reputation to uphold. I have a reputation to build so much larger. I have a world to save because if I don’t, who will? There are only so many pretty young ladies who save lives in Africa and I am not one of them. Those folks are lucky. Thirsty people in Africa tend to be grateful.

Fat, ignorant and obnoxious slobs in the States can be less so. Lucky for me, these are the people that I have to try and save. I suppose repair would be a better word. Enlighten would be the best though. It’s going to be more difficult to give and get some answers from humans who think they’ve got it all figured out. I do not exclude myself from that list.

In the hope that this will be seen and read and mean anything to anyone, I will conclude. I won’t try to restate any points that I didn’t really make. I won’t vaguely discuss memories that only I can recall, among one other person who is most likely not you. Unless it is you, in which case, I’ll say nothing more. I’ve already said over 800 words of nothing. Or written rather. And I’ve really written thousands of words that meant nothing. I’ve said billions, I imagine. It’s a beautiful genocide of the English language.

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Sunday Morning Thoughts 8.19.12- 9.2.12

Let us start by saying this. I’m not a hipster. I’m just hip and there is as much difference between the two as you are willing to see. I’ve got the audacity to see much and many sorts of things separating myself from any sort of classification, as all of you should. A hipster can only survive in a weak social structure that has been given up on, as far as the chances of revitalization go. They are the only ones who know much of anything, but they wish to stay as the only ones. Dig?

Now that the waste has been removed, we should carry on to larger business. There seems to be a whole array of things going on but as per usual, I can only feel so much. My success is becoming so noticeable that fantasy is drowning in vanity and I feel sick. I haven’t been sleeping all that much, which I firmly believe is exactly what needs to start happening at this point in the production. There is really no time to waste lying about.

A glacier in the Northern part of Italy is melting, as glaciers tend to do when they’re not growing. There was 100mm caliber ammunition scattered beneath the ice when it was frozen. They were used in WWI to kill Hungarians and Austrians and Italians. Someone cleaned them up, without having to blow it up like they did in Munich. I wonder if anyone has learned anything from all of this. Who knows?

So about the water crisis, and how there is not enough of it. Or at least this is what I’m told, I’ve always had water at my disposal. It comes out of the faucet, but you would want to clean it first. It tastes icky if you don’t.

One fourth, or 25%, of the water we use in total goes to the agricultural process and grows food that no one ends up eating. It ends up being something like 100 billion tons, or something like that. Isn’t that a shame?

Dismal? I’d apologize if I meant to, but I don’t. Why apologize for something that I would have never chose to have had happen, if I had ever had the choice. I suppose it comes down to not knowing what to say, or what I should say, if there was even such a thing to say. It’s been quite some time now. Time is valid and valuable and stable, right?

Your silence is enormously comforting. I’m very appreciative.

It takes a good bit of time to kill an ego that has managed to get this big. Whoever let such a travesty occur is quite the buffoon but there seems to be no shortage of those around, inside or out.

Oh, how I would love to run through sprinklers and hide under trees in parks whilst dreaming of some bright future ahead. How sweet and sound would be such days, and I assure you that they most certainly were. But they have died and so with it goes, at least in part, the foolish belief in grand things.

Not to say that I have in anyway given up on grand things, I just know how foolish they can be. I don’t, at all, actually know how foolish I am or will ever be. I can only imagine that these symptoms will develop further along the path that has been constructed, for this to be its sole and soul purpose.

Foolishness aside, there would most likely be nothing left here to say. Only a fool would sit before a screen searching for anything while all around him is chaos and revolution and tragic comedy brewing in real, physical dimensions.

And here sits the fool, for the first time in a long time (if you can count three weeks as a long time) and without anything profound. Not that it’s not there, because it most certainly is. It’s just unable to make a large enough move to violently and drastically adjust all that there is to be adjusted.

If these memories be worth anything, I’d like to sell them in exchange for my freedom. I have no use for them much anymore and I could only benefit from having them gone.

So I figured, why not make some cash along the way. I suppose this is the modern way to offer your soul up to the devil for sale. Robert Johnson is now in the bathroom, hurling his brains out. It was that last one that made him just too sick to further continue being any sort of inspiration. I only hope I am able to exhaust all of my idols in such a way.

But I digress, yet again, from nothing. I would like something but my specifications just make it all too tiring. Sell my soul and settle me down.

“But that was never something that you wanted.”

“Oh fucking great, it’s you again.”

“Hey man, I’m just here to help.”

“Is that what this is? Help?”

“Don’t get so sassy with me now, Nancy. I’m just trying to create this large and expansive personality to unconsciously pursue the weakness that is deep inside of your being.”

“I don’t understand why you continue to go on like this.”

“Because what is life besides the pursuit of these massive bounties that may or may not ever be collected?”

“Nothing, I suppose.”

“Everything is nothing, even this dream is nothing.”

I don’t want to agree but I have no choice. I make a good point, or at least I think I do. Or I thought I did. This just had to be done or I think that my soul would have begun to manifest into some sort of beast outside my body and ripped my face from my skull. Something like that at least.

And so I shall carry on without as much as an utterance of what should be. There is only what is and anything else is far beyond what I could even begin to imagine seeing. This illusion may get the best of me, but I can be better. At least, I think I can.