Sunday Morning Thoughts 12.30.12: Four Years Reviewed Haphazardly in a Few Minutes

Here, here! Gather ‘round, all of ye and hear the words that I might type to you now, if ye be a fan. If ye art not, that’s cool. I get it. It could be rather boring, but hey! I’m gonna see if we can do a little something about that this time around. I figure, why not? This time next year I will either be sold out and dead inside, or starving for my ideals. Either way, it shall not be much like it is now.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful. Not to say it hasn’t all been swell gang, because it has. But it is to say that I have grown as weary as I can about bouncing around the same old places, thinking about the same old things. Of course, there comes the issue with my track record with being able to do anything at all after I announce that I’m going to do it.

My guess is it’s bad, but I haven’t been looking back as much, until a few drops here and there of late. Which were terrible, little drops of acid but not the kind that makes people see some sort of god that they vaguely believed in before. I mean the kind they throw on women in other parts in the world.

Not here in America. The fading boomers who make laws here just don’t want them having control over their own vaginas.

But I’m not here for politics, no sir. I am here to take one last look back at all that had been said and done while I was supposed to be paying attention in class. How I will do this, I know not. Yet the attempt shall be made just the same. We’ll go with themes, or motifs, or something like that.

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We shall start with the cigarette and what it means and has meant and my further explanation of why all of that is a complete creation of my own mind. The first cigarette I ever smoked, and it was only a small puff that I coughed on for days, was because a pretty girl told me to. The second time was because a slutty girl told me to, who I thought was pretty. Boys, am I right?

The first full cigarette I smoked was in the New Hamburg train station because I was bummed out about the slutty girl. I bought my first pack that night. Camel Crush. Fucking disgusting smokes. From there on, I connected the idea of that damn cancer stick with romanticism. It still makes sense in my mind, I just can’t afford it. Cigarettes have kept great conversations going and started new ones. There was a Red waiting for me along with a Tom Waits song on the sad walk back to nowhere on the anniversary of the execution of the gods of my ancestors. There was a cigarette there when I sat on that sofa on the curb, waiting for something sweet to come back. There were wet cigarettes soaked in whatever littered a sloppy bar floor as the sun rose and set and a new world came crashing in.

I would smoke after going on for two minutes at P&G’s and after my first show. There cigarette on every parade and every event that followed, good, bad, or weird. There were always Newports in the Cutty, may she rest in peace. There was almost always a cigarette in college. Almost.

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Yet that theme is dead or dying, so we should leave it in peace for now. The next would be the stage. Now this is vague, but that is entirely my fault. You see, I wanted to be some many things when I began to learn about the world, that I have had an extreme difficulty picking one. In fact, I still can’t.

I have lines for a musical to memorize, which will not be an issue. I have done it before and gotten better each time. I want to get better. Fuck it man, I like acting and I like being on stage. There is some sort of sick kick for me in getting other people to enjoy themselves. Crazy, right?

I have done, in a very short amount of time, a wide range of roles that have pulled me in all sorts of directions of mind and well being and levels of psychosis. It has been grand and wonderful and critically acclaimed. Maybe its vanity, and I’m sure in some part it is, but I know that it was something I wanted to do way before I ever knew a girl would find me cute.

Then of course, there is just me, the stool and microphone stand. I’ve gotten my kicks, but they’ll be much, much more. I’m not quite comfortable with it yet, so I’ll have to work on it but that is really a matter of location. We’ll get to all of this later.

And the music, what can I say? I’m only human and if I can learn to command and harvest a few vibrations then I’ll be able to make it. I dig waves of the sound variety. I dig that music flows through people and unites them with full and responsible content.

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The final theme, for now, will be the keyboard. I was born to late into the atomic age to ever enjoy the world of typewriters but I have typed away just the same. This particular keyboard sucks. Really though, I must have spilt something on it because the mouse pad bugs out and clicks where ever the mouse is resting on the page. So I will be writing a sentence in the middle of another that is two paragraphs up. This could also be due to my never learning how to type properly. I have overcome great hurdles in this, but if there were a grade for form, I’d fail.

So what was the point of all of this? Nothing essentially, which chance has my life in general moving in that general direction. Statistically, I am at odds with the entire planet which could very easily become insanely hostile towards me. Especially within the species. But hey, I’m dumb enough to still be optimistic and I’m thinking I’ve got a bit more in me.

I am no longer a fool though. The luxury of being that dumb is no longer afforded to me. But who wants to talk about such dull things? Surely not you or I?

So I shall cease here because I have written enough words all in one shot, which I haven’t done for some time. Cheers, and enjoy the holiday. New Year’s is actually one that I find myself enjoying.

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