Sunday Morning Thoughts 2.10.13

If I had been able to hold on to all of those memories I’ve managed to let slip away, what kind of man would I be today? Would I be different, or better, or just the same. Would this heart of mine, still recall the pain? The one that I’ve crafted for myself. The one of my own design. To this past, there is no future. To this life, there may be no divine.

But who am I, to say anything at all? I am but the biggest fish, in a pond so very small. I might have made up the prophesized call which has to tell me not to stall. And here I am, barely at a crawl. A man of dreadful winters, but never any fall.

Unless you speak of grace, as this tumble I know well. It is and seems easier to buy than sell for no one cares to expel hard earned nothingness for something. They halt before the thought to bring enough gusto to make this radio sing. But this speech lacks point, as it was known to be. For this mind of mine may be too free, to dream up shackles for the world to see and say someday “that boy’s been through hell with no blood to pay.”


If you asked why, I’d give you no reply that was worth a lick of anything but empty words painted prettily for the ears. Which is exactly what I’ve done. I’ll promise myself that I will not continue, but that is yet to be seen. I like the words but I’d rather have them full of something.

So Brian, this craft that you often proclaim as yours seems to be ever eluding to you. Why might that be? Dost thou have any kind of good reason? Or are you just lazy and insufficiently able to stand on your own? Are you not as good as you seem to always think you are?

I’m sorry, but I can hardly tell who I am anymore. I have created this identity, this alter-ego, this monster of a person and now I may be coming to hate it. I waved to a human that I know at my school, where I know fucking everyone. This was a day that was not today but has only a few yesterdays between here and now. I was tired and unenthused, as my day was stretched out with nonsense and my flesh had grown weary. I was not sad, I just didn’t throw out some stupid line and do a dance when I said hello, so this person assumed something was wrong. The asked if I was alright with concern that seemed genuine.

My personality has become entertainment for others, as I already know my anger makes people laugh. Whether this was my intent doesn’t remove the idea that is now. I am a jester. I’d join the circus but I don’t have any skills that they’re looking for.

But to change subjects now, let’s discuss something else. What? Yes I can do that. I have power enough to guide you down one direction and then pull you away from it. Why? Because I can silly.

So the new subject at hand was to be comprised of something but I seem to have had it slip my mind, as can often happen when you’re not paying attention. Or paying too much attention. Something like that.

But in the spirit of progression, I will trundle along to no particular end. I could devise and escape plan, or a coup of sorts. I could sit and write about nothing which is a strange idea when you begin to think about it more than you should. I say I write and call myself a writer but I only type. I don’t even produce the physical work as I toil. It’s digitized and oh so easily erased. All of this could disappear for eternity if the right steps were taken.

But I suppose fire does a good job with those actual writing, but it still makes some sort of ash.

I’ve never been, but you can go to Pompeii over on the Mediterranean and look at ancient humans as the died. They’re just frozen there in the final moments of a terrifying death they didn’t quite understand. You can take pictures of them. I don’t know if they let you too close to them, but I imagine there are many pictures that your mother would find inappropriate. I mean, look at what people do with the Leaning Tower.


But they’re hunting for a man in the west. This is the first time that a drone is being used on U.S. soil. The fellow has killed some people and is on the run in the snowy mountains of California. He wrote what the media is calling a ‘manifesto’ about what he is intending to do and why he is doing it. It’s addressed to America. It’s quite good. I disagree with his methods but there are those who believe you have to fight fire with fire still.

They’ll find him, I’m sure. They will also kill him I imagine. Cali has the death penalty still, so he may get a trial if he’s caught. I imagine it’s more likely he’ll die in combat. This man does not seem intent on going down and is more than qualified to keep a fight going. However, any of his words will most likely be discredited for the most part. There may be some discussion but there always has been. That’s the problem with talking, it’s not doing. The problem with doing anything though, is that people talk about it after.

Killing people will never stop killing or get peace. People always like a few other people so if you kill one, there’s a grand chance you’ve just made a new killer. Wars have only gotten deadlier. The world seems to have become more dangerous and all we’ve been doing is fighting more. Killing a terrorist will only create more. It’s the same as killing someone’s hero. Someone will be inspired to pursue that dream at the same cost. In fact, there are few differences between a terrorist and a hero. It’s just how you choose to look at it.

There, how’s that? I didn’t talk about girls once.


Sunday Morning Thoughts 1.27.13 – 2.3.13: Post Apocalyptic Groundhog’s Day Eve Celebration

Such peculiarities plague me and yet I thrive on their sweetness as it drips from my delusion. I have a kind of power that can only exist to a narcissist. I am almighty, therefore everything is my fault.

You have to understand though. It is a terribly delicate skill, being able to kill off characters. Well actually, allow me to rephrase that. It is difficult to properly kill off a character. Any numbskull with a pen and too much leftover angst could commit literary murder, but to glorify the particular victim’s demise in a painfully elegant scream of desperation, followed by the resounding yalp of purpose, well that is something all to itself.

I’ve run it through in my head so many times, yet I hesitate to further dive in that direction. I may have made a terrible mistake. I may be making the most wonderful mistakes that lead to nirvana, or at least a girlfriend. I may be just so petrified of all these lies I’ve made myself to be, that the very thought of marching forward into my own existence seems a dark and dangerous proposition. Maybe I’m not as brave as I once thought myself to be. Maybe I was born on a different planet where these sort of problems don’t even exist. Maybe my species only focuses on playing funk music and places every other matter as insignificant.


I don’t imagine that I will ever know the answer. As I look out on my tiny metropolis that is now lightly covered in melting snow and salt stained streets, I find that I have nearly no time left. Geologically of course, but time is still pressing on biological matters. The main difference seems to be that a rock doesn’t need to eat but if I don’t have caffeine to replace all that nicotine, my whining will only grow less carefully crafted in an attempt to remove all veils holding up the disguise. In reality, I just want things to seem bad. Maybe looking for pity from others, or perhaps just in myself. Maybe because I want the story of this self made hero of mine to seem even more grand once you know from where he came.

Is any of this important? I imagine not. I just can’t quite understand being an adult yet, despite all my talk in the other direction. Talks of academies and demo reels are what stand before me now. The only crave I have is for things beyond that but I have to earn such standing. The terrible job I’ve been doing since then is only a reflection on the few child like behaviors that I have yet shed, although it would be very important that I do so. This should not suggest I don’t plan on holding on to boyhood values, just not the ones that do little to nothing towards progress.


It’s important to remember that children are much more progressive than any adult could ever be. They live in a world of learning. The younger they are, the more they will crave knowledge that catches their fancy. We all had something that vastly interested our budding young mind but this does not have do with schooling at all. The school system in the civilized western empire is rotting and as the maggots feed on the last remains, another generation has no choice but to be accused of stupidity. Each passing generation seems to have less and less of a chance, and somehow it is their fault. It was and is our fault somehow.

I must say, no generation has been able to craft lies quite like the Boomers. Sucking the teat of the Greatest Generation, they have quite possibly squandered the entire planet away, let alone economies and debt and starvation and that lot of issues. But blaming others will get me nowhere. Or rather, not where I would like to go.

Then again, I’m not really sure where I’d like to go. I have thought about things and have only been able to decide on about a half dozen, all of which seem too grand and too extraordinary for a person to seriously consider themselves doing as we inch away from the dawn of the 21st century. We have hardly even begun this here millennium.


Strange how we are able to measure time, isn’t it? It doesn’t exist like this everywhere and yet here we are, defining our entire existence around this benchmark. Four years have come and gone and I’d spent a solid three of them chasing ghosts. I’m looking to get out and away and above all of this, but that will seem much like a lie when I talk about how much I will miss it. I have spent my time and gotten something from it. I can only see what it is after it has gone though.

Phil didn’t see his shadow, which means an early spring. Symbolically, that has to be one of them most idiotic human practices. Symbolically, spring means it’s time for bold action as cool, crisp air fills my lungs and brew in my belly. Symbolically, all of this means nothing, as I warned it would. My flesh grows weary but any mind that at least find humor in all of this, can reach me at communicate such grievances. Until then, I bid you sweet dream and fare the well.