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.