The Truth (hidden in parenthesis)

I suppose that you could say that I’m jealous and that this is a result of jealousy. But saying such things would be redundant, would it not?

My true self, which is very juvenile in truth, is upset that other people have blogs and get an exponential amount more views than mine ever does. It could be said that such pettiness provokes me now. It could be said that my whole existence is very petty but only because it very much is. It’s not that I thrive on such pettiness. It’s just that when it comes down to it, you consume whatever is available to you. This is what I have, so this is what I’ll end up vomiting out.

This may have to do with my slump which was admitted into existence on a post now a few short ages ago. That post doesn’t have a clever name or any clever tags, so you probably haven’t seen it. If there were any cleverness, it has now worn off as it enters its fourth year of being. It’s tough to shake traditions, just as it is tough to shake habit. Yet then again, those could be seen as the same thing. And there goes me and my redundancy.

Yet my madness has quelled to a point that leaves me with a constant feeling of discomfort. I itch and have been ignoring the obvious reason why. The first step to solving a problem is admitting that you have one. Or so the TV has told me all these years. Just the same, here it is.

I am growing up.

There is no sentence that is more heartbreaking that one and trust me, I’ve tried. Not that I’m changing who I am, I’ve just changed occupations. The days of inconsequence that comes with being a full time student are over. They have been over for a very long time now. It just takes time to adjust. It will take a whole lot more than this, as well. The craving for progress is going to be become entirely insatiable, unless of course, I start doing something about it. This is only an attempt and I would be a liar if I told you that everything was going to start picking up miraculously from here. I’m old enough to know there is no such thing as miracles. There are only stalled tragedies.

But what to be mad about?

There was a pop-scientist who had to debate some moronic individual who swears by a book poorly penned by tribal members of some thousand year old cult and edited by medieval control freaks. My rage builds at the very thought of having to put up with such counter progress but my rage will spark no instant change. A fury could be built by a murderer being promoted to a celebratory status and getting a chance to publicly fist fight over racial in equality for the guise of making a few bucks for some people who don’t have much at all. I could get mad about my government watching my every move on the phone and in cyberspace in order to propel an illusion of freedom. I could get mad about that but I dread being held captive to such specifics.

The trouble with these things (blogs) is the idea that I (we) have the belief that my (our) struggles are unique in some way. I (we) believe that sharing my (our) woes will make things better somehow. I (we) believe that I (we) are alone and that trying to share this loneness will bring about some sort of philosophical revolution.


The truth is, that none of this is true. The truth is, that we (I) are all in this together. The truth is that I (we) may have had a few drinks and not eaten for a few hours.


The truth is that there are those (not me and probably not you) who haven’t eaten in days. Their lives are ravaged by true plagues and not just the fat building around their lower abdomen and a mild discomfort due to the weather. These are things that need fixing and yet so few help without their own gain. Not excluding myself, or most of you for that matter.

Westchester Winter