Sunday Morning Thoughts: 11.17.13

I swear, one of these days this thing will live up to its namesake and occur on a Sunday morning. For now, however, we shall take what we can get and have it around for this evening and most likely leak even further. Though not too far into the wee hours. I shouldn’t keep you kids up too late, though I figure many of ye will go ahead and do that anyway. There are worse things, I suppose.

Actually, I stand in my own current correction. I know what is worse than staying up to all sorts of odd hours, exploring and experiencing all of this life. That, of course, would be wasting away minutes, hours, days, years and entire lives idly accepting fate and feeding a nonspecific existence. Millions being born, living and dying with the belief that they are nothing but a constant victims of circumstances and their own victory need be derived from other points, be it other humans, nations or gods. So many constantly absorbing and regurgitating ancient and archaic values and superfluous pop culture without an utterance to question why. I know this. I know this because Brian knows this.

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But hypocrisy always seems to dance upon my shoulder, though my heart lies true, or something courageously cheesy like that. Still, I would believe that one can and will, no matter how incorrectly, judge thyself based upon one’s own perception. See what you want to see and easily ignore what could be done often and regular in the way of grand gesture towards a brighter future. See only the bad, or the lack of the good. I could have a metaphor right here, but then I’d be as bad as the hipster using a cane in the art museum. I know we all see it, but no one is talking about the elephant being projected into the room.

I wonder why people would get upset about someone laughing in a room that echoes. I would figure that it would rightfully inspire an infection of reciprocated and rippled giggles, chuckles and ha-ha’s all about. But nay, they stare and share no sort of view with you, he or she who chooses to let forth any kind of genuine emotion. Such commotion, it would be called as they look so appalled. It’s only thinly disguised jealously though. This I much, I pretend to know. From experience.

But dig, I have yet to get much of anywhere, aside from forcing some literary tricks and wordplay. The focus of this, doesn’t exist. As you would very much expect, if you have ever read anything I’ve typed up. But we shall press on and salvage what we can.

As it has been for awhile now, some serious business is going on in this natural world or ours. In just the last decade, super storms and typhoons, uncontrollable fires raging in the dried and dead vegetation across the continents and miles of ice breaking off and melting into the vast, salty blue. All of this seeming to happen more and more and despite the cries, us small folk can only pick up the pieces of our homes and lives and hope that which is unavoidable doesn’t happen again. And even that much doesn’t affect the lot of us beyond a few synthetic moments of sadness. Then ‘click’ goes the screen and off with it go our minds to die our salesman deaths at the end of salesman lives, if you could be so bold as to call that a life. The theater has taught us that a good heavy bit of delusion is required in order to make any of that seem like the truth.

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But who can talk about people portrayed by those  who historically wear masks and are prone to cross-dressing? I would know, I used to be an actor myself. I probably will be again someday, filling the place where the ‘normies’ would seek therapy. That day, however, is not today and that may be some sort of unconscious action of my own design but since I have yet to fill myself in on the details, I suppose I am not at liberty to divulge. Forgive me, if such a thing exists within your heart.

Yet, I don’t think that’s what I’ve been mad about. As I lean on my cane, I could tell tales of how I used to blog before so many others did. I could sing songs about what I like and what I think I’ve seen. I have already done so, and will do again but I beg of you to see me as different.

Wait a moment, let me confer with myself for a moment.

                Yes?

                Well, I suppose you’re right.

                But do you think… well… I mean…

                You’re right, I can’t believe I let something like that slip.

                Apologies.

                Or something like that.

                I’m still getting back into the swing of it.

                Yes, I’ll tell them.

So without actually taking it away, I want to remove the word beg from anything that I have ever written at any point. Unless it was in fictitious context, but not many of you have seen that. Yet.

Now I know what you’re thinking… well… maybe I don’t, but I’m going ahead and assuming anyway. Why would I spend so much time to type out my insanity when I could have just gone back and deleted that bit that I had already written?

Because no one I have ever looked up to as a writer had the ability to do such a thing. They typed, and there it was. Not digitized and so impermanent. It was there on paper that could only be tossed, torn or burnt to ash in order to make it go. Yes, I could do that with my computer but that could be considered environmentally irresponsible. Unless it’s in another part of the world. Then, who cares? Am I right? Ha, ha… ha… ha…

But nay, I say, because there needs to be a certain weight to the words that we so freely spill and spew.

You see, I used to be an actor but now I’m a writer. Or at the very least, I’m playing one on your computer screen. Or phone, you dirty millennial you. I need to hold a certain standard to what I am trying to do here. That’s why it stopped for so long. I couldn’t find it and not saying that I have again. I just know I need to continue that pursuit. That pursuit that will outlive every other thing in my life, and hell, if I do it right and it all gets that meaning it so savagely craves, it will last much further than this flesh can go about it.

And I know that I talk about mortality a lot, but my confession would be false if I told you that I didn’t think about it. It is the one thing that seems to put that constant stress on us and why we can seem to always justify our dirty, old means and ends to ourselves. It’s why people work their jobs, no matter how shitty or evil or exhausting. It’s why we can defend how we hurt each other on such a regular basis that you’d think that they’d put a schedule up in the station about it.

And I, possibly in high amounts of insanity, think that I can do something about it. Further, I think that I need to and unlike all of you and your deities and voodoo, I know it’s as real as anything anyone could ever believe is real.

Mind you, I’m not saying it is real. I’m just saying that it seems to be more real than anything else. To me. After all, I keep waking up as the same bloke. For the most part.

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