Sunday Morning Thoughts: 8.3.14

A great man died not too long ago. They cooked him up and put what was left in a box with a big picture of what he looked like when he was so full of life. Humans have some strange traditions. This happened yesterday.

The box and the picture rested before a pious stage, in front of hundreds of humans who’d come to say goodbye. His wife and children were right up front. Off to the side sat and stood over one hundred men in the uniform that the great man in the box once wore. A uniform that I myself might be wearing soon, as my father did for most of his life.

But that great man is now a dead man. Many would say that great men die every day, and maybe they do. I just never knew all those other ones. I knew this one, though he probably wouldn’t even recognize me today. I was just a kid when I met him and haven’t seen him for years. I had hardly heard about him getting sick but it happened just the same. It went quickly. Poison, you see, that he got helping to clean out that pile of rubble that killed so many over a decade ago. If you’ve been paying attention, you’d know that stuff has still been killing people years since those buildings collapsed.

This great man was not even the only one I’ve know in my life to be killed by the rubble, in one way or another.

But to us living, the death of a man such as this begs questions. In fact, it demands certain questions about our lives and our legacies. After having been to a few such events this year, I’ve run myself through the ringer of what all this life business means. It’s sad for me to admit, but I’ve been going about parts of it all the wrong way. Perhaps the greatest issue I’ve found myself falling into is wishing I could go back to change something. Now I’m sure you’re thinking, “well Brian, doesn’t everyone wish that they could go back to fix something, or stop themselves or someone else from doing something?”

And I would have to tell you that you are right. Even among the greatest of men and women, I don’t believe a single one lived a life without the tiniest regret. But my particular issue has to do particularly with me and this inability I have had to see the present because I’m too stuck on something behind me. It was such a perspective that plagued me until quite recently and although I keep wishing I could go back, I know it would be for naught.

But cheer up gang, I’m not here to be grim because that is not how I choose to deal with such business anymore. I was brought up to deal with death through celebrating life, so that’s what I do. And after years of conditioning myself otherwise, I have broken that whole deal about wishing for the past. Although I’m not quite a perfect practitioner, I am certainly putting forth all the effort I can muster away from wasting time and wishing away the present and future for what has already been.

Does that mean things I used to have will be gone forever? No, it does not. Or at least I believe. We can’t go back, this much I know is true. But we can go forward and anything in the future is possible, or at least the dream of it is.

I have regret, trust me, I do. I used to be ruled by my regret. Yet, I’m too young of a man to let that go on any longer. Sure, happiness is an abstract concept and based totally on conditions but that in no way makes it so far-fetched that it’s out of reach. It’s only out of reach if you make it out of reach. I don’t want to do that anymore. I’ve played that card and it holds nothing but emptiness. Great men do not stand in the way of their own happiness. I want to be a great man. I have to be, as I was told many a time yesterday by all those men in uniform, I have very big shoes to fill when my turn comes. And here it is, comin’ around the bend.


Sunday Morning Thoughts 1.5.14: To the Queen of Farting Face Masks

It is true. Life gets harder as you get older. I always suppose I thought they were shitting me but I’ve come to find that with each day, the burden and price of existence build in weight and mass. Our timelines strain and creak from overuse. People fade away and all of us eventually die in this life, despite whatever beliefs in afterlives are held. As they say, on a long enough timeline, everyone’s chance of survival drops to zero.


Some would call that last paragraph pessimistic. I, on the other hand, would not. Remember friends, there is a line between being pessimistic and just having a proper sense of reality. I would be more wary of too much optimism. It’s a fool’s dope after all and junkies can hardly ever admit that they are junkies. And if they do, they usually cease being junkies soon after.

The struggle is the balance between reality and hope. We can only hope for the future, because it is the only part that we have all yet to see in life. In fact, you are in the future right now, as you read this. It could be minutes (depending on how fast I am able to keep this flow going), or hours, or days. It could be years if you’re a fan (unlikely) or even me from the future. I could easily turn this into a letter to myself through time but I feel that future me would find that terribly clichéd and lazy. I do trust that future me will laugh, if I ever get around to reading this. I always have when I think about when I was younger and doped on fool’s hope I used to be.

But here we are now, in our overlapping version of the present. Me, as I write- and you, as you read. You may know who I am, or at least could get an idea from mulling about these collected ramblings. However, I do not know you. Even if I do know you in this life, I do not know you here and now. I take this quasi-beatnik, supposedly philosophical, emotionally driven dump for you to look at, which is a terrible thing to do. Yet it is what many of my heroes have done for me and I have a wonder and addiction to the idea of it. I wish I could say that I’m addicted to writing but these days it’s almost as though I’ve quit. The desperation is here and all I need to do is trade out some of those many dirty habits and replace them with the proper ones.


This has made me ponder on the wonder that is writing. Though I adore the art of good conversation, there is nothing I know that is as cathartic as a good vent at the keyboard. But I suppose that balance comes into play again.

Before I get off topic, I want to dance around an idea. Though I can’t say for sure, I am going to go ahead and reckon that when you read something by oh, let’s say your favorite fiction author, that you have a sense of knowing who they are. There is always a voice present and as I’m sure they planted specific things in specific places to best replicate the ideas they held at the time. They create the best replication that they can to express the perspective that they themselves had.

And even if the authors themselves don’t emerge in your mind, that characters must. Even if you don’t like a character and agree with how they think and act and whatnot, you still see how and why they do it. Justification is for those with hindsight.

But I still haven’t gotten to the thought, which is as follows- no matter what you think, most of us will never meet those who write what we read. How I wish I knew Vonnegut and Kerouac, or know Palahniuk and McCarthy, but I do not. They leave whatever ideas they want me to have, and I straggle along behind them picking up what was left behind.

And damn grand about it, I say!

To be able refine ideas to words at a pace that they need to fall from a mind that has been sharpening with each love, hate, mistake, wake,  innovation, heartbreak, loss, gain, sprain, action in vain, drunken stupor, promotion, demotion, commotion, devotion, lack of closure, over-exposure, bar mitzvah, wedding and funeral- what a thing that must be. And is and I know because I’ve done it, just not on any noticeable scale yet. But I’ll be starting my ascent soon. Though future me might stick up for present me and use that hindsight of his to say I’ve been going at it for much long. Such a sucker he is sometimes.

I won’t bore with more details on what my plans are. I’d rather talk about them once they start happening. But I will tell you that my father decided that he wants to be buried in sandals. Jesus wore them and he wants to kick it off right when he meets him. So I’ve got a new bit to punch up one of my old stand up jokes. And that’s a good thing.


A False Requiem for my Youth and an Ode to Joanne

The hiatus ends now. It has to be like pulling off a bandage. I won’t go into all of the failed attempts up to now. I’ll just march forward, as I did the first time.

So dig.

The time has passed between the last update and what a long bit of time that has seemed to be. Then again, here is this moment and it only looks like a few short leaps away from where I started. Then again, I suppose that depends on your definition of leaps, and how far you’re willing to look back.

Jump a year back, you have one thing. Jump two, something else. Jump back three, holy shit. Four, what the fuck? Five? Ten? Fifteen? Though I suppose that is my limit, for now.


It’s strange how that works though. I used to think, and maybe you did too, that when I would be the age that I am now that all of my issues would be dissolved away and there I would sit, on my pinnacle of pride and success, gleaming down upon the life I have led. I always thought I would have everything all figured out. And I really banked on how cool I’d be.

From where it stands now, I would never claim that to be the case. Listen to the quake of my trembling knees as I stare down this slipping world, with the rope of promises tied around my waist. The dirt around my feet caves in as the weight grows and grows and my resistance seems more and more strained. Me, and my full time job, sinking to the bottom of this ocean called society. My dreams slipping like bubbles from my mouth as the mounting pressure collapses my skull.

They say drowning is a peaceful way to die. They would most likely be the kids I went to Junior High with. Hell of a lot they know. Who has ever had the chance to explain the sensation of drowning after the fact? After all, facts are hard. As is breathing underwater.

But I’m lying to you, or at least not telling the truth. For you see, my imagination as a lad could have never created the fantastic spectacle that has been my life. For all its ups, downs, lefts, diagonals and loops were, and are all, I have. I’m a creature of linear time, and I feast on beginnings and endings, despite pretty much everything in existence lying in the space between those two. Where tomorrow goes is such a mystery to me that I’d never dare admit how terrified I am of it. Other than now, on the internet.

Speaking of which, good job Earth. That’s all you’ll get but the partially Anonymous and Occupy organized ‘Million Mask March’ has shown up in news sites that even the sheep of society would deem credible. And, as far as I’ve heard, not many were arrested and none were killed in all of these gatherings across all hemispheres. What this may end up meaning in the scale of things is yet to be seen, but I can easily say that it could have gone much worse.

Still, this world of ours is at the same level, if not sloping upwards, in its usual catastrophe. A New Jersey mall had a young man who scared a whole bunch of people before making a much more public suicide than he would have managed otherwise, while Net Neutrality flushes down the drain. The pleas of the Pakistani whose lives have been decimated by the flying, killer robots of America went virtually unheard. Five members of Congress were present in the place taxes pay them to work, according to one article. In my quick search, I couldn’t find one that listed any more of them.


But this is all business that you already know, right? You, that well informed and important member of this society, you already heard about all of these things and are taking the steps necessary to fix it, right? Right? RIGHT?

Of course you’re not. Or at the very least you’re like me, and are not doing nearly as much as I could and a vast amount less than what I need to do. I may know better than most. I’m still talking much larger than I’ve been able to walk.

And so ceases my whimpers for this episode. It’s viciously selfish that I’ve done this much already. There are those who deal with more hardship that I can even begin to comprehend. I know a few of those people, and I love them dearly. I only hope that I can have the strength and perseverance that they’ve had facing such traumatic occurrences.

Which brings me to the true point of all of this.

A promise. It’s a promise I made to someone the last time I saw them, though at the time I thought I’d be seeing them again. ‘Twas that glorious woman who was one of the first fans of these ramblings that I choose to share with the world. She always told me that I had a gift and I would always thank her politely while never believing the talent she had seen in me. In a stern tone that I am glad she had been able to take with me, told me to never stop writing. I promised her that I never would.

She’s gone from this place now and despite my disbelief in afterlives, I hope she has found the peace and company that she truly deserves. But as for me, still stuck in this life, my work is only beginning and now it holds an extra bit of importance. Though she may never see the results, the last strand of my moral integrity cannot allow me to let her hope be for naught. She trusted me with this and if there is any hope left for my raggedy old soul, I cannot let her down.

So this is my promise to you, where ever it is you are now, even if that is nowhere: I will keep writing. I will force all of this thought, in both goodness and darkness, from my mind and soul in the elegance that I have already invested countless hours into refining. I will share these words with the world, in the hope that it will allow some grand and larger beauty to grow from the ashes of loss and tragedy.

It is the least I can do, for all that you had done for me and the vast amount more you’d done for my closest friend, to whom I owe my entire world. I promise I’ll keep writing. And I hope we can meet again someday, but if not, I will always keep your memory inside my mind.


Sunday Morning Thoughts 1.13.13: Response to Protesting Rights Violations on Social Media

Should there be an agenda for all this? I’ve never been a fan of too much structure. Or poorly planned structure. I suppose if it’s designed to adapt, it wouldn’t be bad to have something like that going on. Still, I don’t think agenda’s in their very design allow for much relief from rigidness. That and creators of said agendas are always quick to anger when things go against their plan.

I dig where it comes from though. Here was their neat little plan for how they would sculpt their future, all dressed up and divine, and in comes the rest of us humans, spitting and shitting on everything we can. Or so it would appear from that perspective. Or my perspective.

So we’ll abandon the idea of any kind of plan for this moment and indefinitely into the future. I’m shit at making plans anyway.

I find it rather incredible, this life thing, and please remove the idea that word always means a good things. Don’t think it is all bad either. It just is, despite my inability to understand why.

And to further prove that I’m terrible at planning, it is now Tuesday as I write this but that has provided me with a topic of discussion. I thought several times about posting some statement to quell the anger of those outraged over gun control measures on one of my social media venues. Then I thought a bit more and realized that I would rather speak here.

So Governor Andrew Cuomo of this great state of New York and the NY legislature passed a new gun control law and the claims of unconstitutionality have been echoing across my Facebook feed. To those people I would like to ask, why you now care about the Constitution? Because you think the government wants to take your guns and now you can’t protect yourself from tyranny? Because we are going into a new kind of socialistic dictatorship that will leave us powerless to defend ourselves? Because guns are the only thing that keeps us safe from the crazies of the world?

With all due respect, fucking blow me. Don’t bother getting mad now because this Constitution you claim you care so much about is nothing more than a piece of paper for the fat-cat owners of this country to wipe their asses with. I’m sure you’d like some examples. You’ve got it slick.

We’ll start with the big one. Numero Uno of the Bill of Rights states that we have freedom of press. So why is that we rank 47th globally in freedom of press? We’re on the same level as Romania and Argentina. Mali is ranked higher than us. Look it up if you don’t believe me, I’ll wait.

Done? Excellent. We’ll leave that one for now because I could go on about that for much, much, much longer. Next on the list, we’ll head over to the 4th Amendment which guarantees our privacy and protection from illegal search and seizure.

Bahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha… hahahahahahaha… hahahahahahaha…


I’m sure the computer program designed to monitor this very blog site is laughing right along with me. Two words friends: PATRIOT Act. That constitutional right is long gone.

Next up. Mr. Bradley Manning, who has been imprisoned for over 1,000 days now, which is almost 10 times longer than is usually expected to be maximum waiting time for a trial. And if you want to say he would be under the laws of the military, the Uniform Code of Military Justice says in Section 813, article 13, that there will be “no punishment before trial.” Deny it if you’d like, but he has certainly been punished for doing what he saw as truly just. And I, and many other agree with him.

That’s just a few of an absurd amount of unconstitutional actions taken way before people complained about losing their 2nd amendment rights which they still really haven’t. I don’t know how many of you have shot a gun, but I know I have. I also don’t know how many of you have seen a dying human, but I know I have.

I do know that assault weapons are defined in their name. They are not for hunting, or for protection. They are for assaulting. They are designed to tear through as much flesh as possible. They kill and do not require much skill in accuracy. They shoot as many bullets as fast as they can. They are literally killing machines.

And if you are worried about the government using force to control you, fret not. You didn’t stand a chance even with your machine guns. They have tanks, ships, jets, helicopters and bombs of all sorts of destructive power. And the best yet, drones which can be controlled from miles away and reign fire down from the heavens.

But you’re right, guns are not the problem. We are. The reason there are so many shootings, including a new one that happened today has to do with us. We are taught violence and aggression since being children.

I read something today, about one of those mothers who lost their child in Sandy Hook Elementary school. She described what happened to her son, as she saw his body or what was left of it. His jaw was blown off his face and most of his left hand was gone. She didn’t want people to think that “these little angels just went to heaven.” They were slaughtered in a place they were supposed to be safe in.

Guns are for killing and we like to kill. We have games about it and our films glorify it. We stupidly and ignorantly threaten that we are going to kill this person or that person. They just gave awards to people who made a movie about how we defied our own supposed values and hunted down a man to bring him what we called justice. We put the Nazi’s on trial and they killed millions. That Bin Laden fellow was responsible for a few thousand and did not get such justice.

Say what you want and get as mad as you want, you’ll only end up proving my point. I’m on the side of peace which very well may be the death of me someday.

Sunday Morning Thoughts 10.7.12

Destruction has gotten me right here, to the scene of the crash and the beginning of all this. If there is such a thing, this cyclic debauchery will receive its justice but if that be by the hands of I or another is yet to be seen. By mortal eyes, at least.

Let’s talk about that for a while, mortality I mean. The last time one of these silly little posts happened, I was some sort of grown boy with no real perception on the possibly farced idea of life. I couldn’t know what it meant to die, or loose life without notice, or fall away from life suddenly, or whatever it’s called. All the deaths in my life have been expected.

I knew it all in theory but theories don’t tell you about the shakes, or the sweat, or the smell, or how no matter what that once you start to go down it rapidly becomes just you and your thoughts alone. When the sand is nearly out, you can no longer connect with the rest of the flesh around you as they ask all sorts of questions. When you die, you’re alone. All living things die alone.

“Whoa, whoa there B-ri. Take it easy man. You’re getting pretty dark, pretty fast.”

“My apologies, I suppose.”

“You suppose? What an asshole?”

“It can’t be helped.”

“Listen man, I know what you’re going through, or have been through has been rough but you need to stay positive or some shit.”

I don’t know how really.

I sit across from a seemingly lovely young lady. She is dressed very hip and sexy and has a little dead man being tortured and executed hanging around her neck. Her boyfriend, or whatever is standing a few feet away. They paid cash for the train and will be dead soon. In geological measures of time, of course.

And to be honest, I would probably grow bored with her quite fast. Her boyfriend seems like a wonderfully dull idiot. Let him deal with her.

I’ve moved my attention to the barefoot woman drinking a martini that is as blue as the sea that stretches out before her. She is trapped forever behind a thin sheet of plastic until she is replaced.

Behind her is a man who seems to be in the middle of some constant anxiety attack. Behind him, some old hag reads the Times with a forced face of interest. Some people sleep, most don’t want to be here yet here we all are.

And with that we’re further along in time and I am back on a train, not unlike the one that brought me here. I am heading the other direction back to the place that I woke and will fall back asleep in. Yet somehow, I want to feel different as I rise from my bed in a few hours. I want to feel inspired to pursue dreams in daylight instead of clinging to the dirty, dark and dusty recesses of my mind. I’ve wanted this many times before but it can always seem to fade. You’ll have to forgive this romantic addict, I can’t seem to abandon what I can see as the greatest thing to every happen to my soul.

Whether it was or wasn’t, is irrelevant because it clearly was. Issues arose and continue to arise when I seek some sort of fulfillment for something that had been left so empty. I would wish for something but I know how fruitless that would end up being. Wishes are for suckers and genies.

Hindsight has allowed me to regret what seem to be all the decisions I’ve made. It takes longer to think away some things, whilst others are forgotten with ease. I wonder if genies ever at least try and make their own wishes. I wonder about things for days. I wonder if genies ever regret.

I do. I should have stayed at school that weekend. I should have paid better attention to him. I should have gotten to know him better. I should have never wasted that money on those tickets and I should have never wasted that time in the pursuit of such thinly veiled evil. I should have found out what was wrong before it was too late. I should have gotten over that evil faster because then my timing would have been perfect. I should have called the ambulance myself. I should have been better to him when we were younger. I wish I could have made things work. But I didn’t and now here I am.

So this search continues for that thing that I’ve gotten a handful of glimpses and tastes upon my 5th of a century hanging around this rock. I think I saw another glimpse today but I may never be sure.

I didn’t rise quickly this morning. I seem to be ending a little more solid. It’s been nice to cheat a few more moments, to feel that sadness. I confessed to someone my petrifaction in these, my last moments of boyhood. That all ended a long time ago but I seem to be hanging a few months behind.

This is my announcement of its death. Do not grieve friends, it’s what was wanted. Death to videodrome. Long live the new flesh.

So where to go from here? Well, we could and should start with an issue. A real issue though, not something trivial from my own.

Turn on the tube and see a story about a soldier with no hand anymore but there he is. He’s in the back of a Jeep, waving away. As it goes down street, the people wave back from the sidewalk. It was sweet unless you thought about it a little bit in context. He still has no hand other than something shaped like it that doesn’t move and it doesn’t feel. Treatment mentally and physically will be pricy. Good thing they’ve been taking such good care of the vets when they get home. These are men who are dedicated to an idea that hardly sees it as fiscally responsible to help them anymore.

So I wanted to get some facts about how care for severely injured soldiers, of which there is no shortage. It’s important. Bill Moyers told me so.

That’s not the point though. The point is when I typed a simple search of ‘injured veteran’ an article about a NY Jets who is injured appeared first. Now it’s important to remember that this may only be strange to me. Or coincidental. But it also might not be what I see it as, which is worth nothing I imagine.

A different channel and an attractive blonde woman is stating that something is ‘crazy town’ in regards to politics. I guess you just have to appeal to demographics, right Ted? Now they are worried about smirks and eye contact from a debate where absolutely nothing was said. Here we are, at the most crucial point thus far in the age of primates and disaffection is spread across the masses. We are so consumed in things and mindless distraction. I think most people that call themselves American are working towards this annihilation. They’ve got the best seat.

Al Gore blamed the altitude in Colorado for why the President seemed to have no answers at this staged argument. His opponent said things, a lot in fact. He was just lying the whole time. I suppose that makes Barry better. How sad is that?

I get why people like him, I do. I used to. He has an appeal, especially to the dumb and young. He just seems cool and he’s set to win. Unemployment just fell to 7.8%.

They don’t count the people who have given up looking for a job. So really, more people could have just given up and no real gain in work occurred. I’ll never know. Well, I might eventually, but I don’t know if you will. You could if you’d like to, but you’d have to do it on your own.

We’ll take a slight direction change. This were thoughts in a pizza place, all hopped on barley:

And this world keeps yielding blanks, with no substance coming forth. I wish there was and there might have even been something worth showing, but I ran away too soon. I can do that is I’m not paid attention to, which is exactly what didn’t happen. I was noticed and held interest for a few young women. I’m not mad at them, I just figured I’d runaway before things got too strange. I may have timed this escape perfectly. 

I supposed that I’m in dire need of a new obsession, but if she can be found here, she’s taken. It is the nature of things that happen to me as of now.

The best part of that little bit, isn’t that I didn’t proofread or correct any of it. It’s that I’m not going to bother with talking about it.

I’m going to talk about how it’s funny to see some place of meaning on the news. Obviously there was a crime. ‘Twas an attempted rape after a bout of successful ones in parks throughout the city. Then comes all the latest updates in terrorism.

I’m spoiled really. I get to sit here and look out my window and not see explosions. I get to come up with ideas in decadent comfort. This won’t last though, so the chance to find the merit of such theories is nearly upon us.

It’s been two years that I’ve been doing this. Over two years now, since it’s been a month since the last one. As I stated before, I am a different person now. I suppose that is true for every single one of them.

No, that can’t be. This line in between comedy and tragedy is only one fake bird head away from becoming nothing at all. There is no difference, it’s only how you see it. It is your grand and self sculpted reality, or mine really. I can’t be sure that any of you are real. I’m quite capable of grand illusion, even still.

Especially so, if you consider the effect of the madness that is being a functioning, if not high functioning member of society. This may only be in display but I think I support my means by that. Pretending all of the time only makes me a better actor.

And I found myself in the wee hours of the morn, dressed in my garb from the evening with the taste of boredom still upon my lips. I have since gotten up and wandered around earth for a bit. What have I learned?

I’ve learned that this life is short and is set up to be wasted. I know that I see this, and a few others but most are blind. I know that I won’t be able to live with myself if I do nothing about it. I am unable to do some things but this will not be one of them.

I may fail and chances are I will. That’s fine, I have to try. It’s chaotic and grand. It’s a sad a beautiful world.

Sunday Morning Thoughts 7.1.12

And so it has come to this, yet again. Profound inquires are to be left at the door please and huddle the masses on the hill to see and listen. Read aloud some sort of love letter inscribed on the inside of a book that boldly proclaims that it hold nothing but beautiful lies. Toss the dirt on the casket and mumble something to yourself reassuring the mind that you did all you could. It doesn’t seem like enough though, does it? No, it never ever really does.

I hope I don’t seem morbid, as I am trying very hard to do you the courtesy of at least disguising it well. You can tell me how I did at the end.

I struggle too much to understand things that I know have been going on. Cynicism consumes innocence like nothing else.

All things must come to an end and here it is and here I am. There’s a haze and a daze and if there was anything at all that I could have done it should have been done ages ago, when we were younger and I was less jaded in the real sense. I was only pretending then. Alas, it wasn’t meant and it couldn’t have been set up more perfectly to go hand and hand to guide the creation of a mad man.


You have to understand, that I am rapidly approaching my last year of playtime. Even within all this time, games have been ending to make way for jobs that need to be done. It is enraging and infuriating and just the way things seem to be. One more year and you could hear from me yet.

I would ask about the view but I don’t care to know. I would ask about anything but I’ll just find those, whadda ya call em? Answers? No that’s not it. Solutions? No that’s even further off. Tourniquet? Yes, I believe that’s what it is. Life is a wound that bleeds unless you make it stop, although it may cost you an arm. Regardless of what you call them, I will find them and it shall have to be on my own.


I want to go ahead and say that it won’t always be on my own but it will. All things that live will die and they will do it by themselves. Any thoughts you can produce at the credits will be yours and yours alone.


They will be mine and mine alone no matter how much I fancy the idea of having it done otherwise. It’s just not practical.


There are believers in gods and deities and fates and destinies. I couldn’t tell you if any of those things are or are not but if I had to place a bet, I’d go with the latter. There is comfort in them, I know. I spent most of my life believing those things. When I was learning so many of the things I know now, I thought there was a friendly and vengeful old man in the sky. I remember that I used to pray a lot.


Surprisingly, most of the time it was for unselfish things as was the case when I would pray that people in my family would stop aggressively and destructively arguing over stupid things. I would also ask god to help me with girls, which is dumb on many levels. Baby faced and wide eyed, I used to believe that happiness was something that would be had. My understanding of the thing now is that the only time I feel I will really need such a terrible thing as happiness is at death. Any bouts of that business before then are doomed to only be sadness. Even the love of your life will die someday but if I stay on schedule, I would never hear about it.


So if it is not happiness that makes me be and sends me forward, what the hell do I live for? Why should I feel that I need to do anything, let alone my dreamt up ambitions for changing the world? Well I don’t know why, but I’ll be damned if that’s going to stop me from telling you something anyway.


As of now, I strive for control as all conscious things do. I want dominion over my reality to have it sculpted to what my idea of good is. That will fade though and it only does because the control has been had this whole time. Reality is nothing but impulses and chemicals and electricity with some sort of melody and harmony about them. We are nothing but mold growing on rocks. Sophisticated moss, if you will.


Does that make our lives less beautiful? Of course it doesn’t, don’t be an idiot.


The simplicity is the beauty. I am a simple thing. I like colors and food and feeling comfortable and nice. I’d like to feel loved and I do in some ways. There are smells that please me and sounds that do the same. I have pictures in my head about things that I thought happened and most of them are grand. They’re all grand actually but I get testy and complicated about some. There are flaws in my design as it is still in the test mode.


Mistakes will be made and if you manage to get involved with me, I will cause some sort of ruckus in your life. It all depends on how close you choose to get. I am some sort of man which means I will crave things like feast and flesh. I don’t imagine I can go further than flesh for some time, which is funny if you knew me when I was a virgin. At first, I thought I’d wait out the long haul. Those were in my silly praying days. It has since come to something much more sinister, in a sort of sad way. Don’t try to get close and figure it out, I don’t imagine that you’ll like what you see.

I always used to write about how I stood on the ledge and was looking down at the fall. As of this very moment, I’ve come to realize that I have already made the fall and whether I jumped or was pushed is no longer important. I have the time in between where I am and the ground to learn how to fly or something of that sort. This will be another one of those things that will have to be done without much help. Without any, really.

Sunday Morning Thoughts 11.20.11

Maybe this is my body crashing. Maybe it’s the mold. Maybe it’s all in my head.

There’s no way of telling what is real, but then again there never really has. I remember that the dreams I had the last two nights were related. They weren’t the same, but they were part of one big story. It’s a dark story. I had to kill in this story. It was to survive, but it happened. It was a hostile place. I didn’t like it, but in that world, that’s all there was. There were messages that the TV tried to tell, but they came through poorly and no one listened. There were things and people trying to kill each other. I was alone for the most part, from what I remember at least. It seemed to be permanently night.

Then in another dream, I was talking to someone who doesn’t seem to want to talk to me anymore. I felt cool because their outreach was ignored by me, just to get even. I wouldn’t actually do such a thing of course, but it’s nice to think that I have some ability to stand up for myself.

I seemed to be a hit this weekend anyway. Compliments and congratulations and I even got hit on a lot. I was out and about and exhausted myself and that’s just how it goes. Most of my stuff is still in boxes and I have oh so much to do. This crappy feeling isn’t helping much either. I was hoping that sleeping would just fix everything, but I need more I guess. I need something because I’m so needy that  it’s almost disgusting but it’s really only natural and human. See the problem is, I don’t want to be those things. I don’t want to be normal or human and I should be doing everything in my power to prevent that from happening. Even though, the pursuit of such things may just cause them to happen anyway. In fact I may be less that human now. I very well could be because I feel very much like something that isn’t well.

Either way, I only have to fight for a few more days and then I can rest. I’ve been at this one place since August 8th. I left here once, to go to Manhattan for an evening, which was deceitfully nice. I guess in the long run, that trip has only cause me more trouble and in turn, trouble for others.

I’m sorry if I can’t make any one happy. I make these choices in hope that something good will come forth, but it never does and I know very well it won’t. Now, is that because the bizarre working of the universe creates such a thing, or is my own? Do I make choices that destroy myself? I do, I know I do and I’ve known for a long time now.

This all very small and will mean nothing someday. Or at least it won’t mean then what it means now. Everything will change. It’s only natural. I will grow old and grey and so will you. Our youth will fade and slowly but surely will be left with only our character and that may very well go to shit too. All that beauty that you have will become nothing. Someday I could wake up feeling this terrible, only it will be every day and every day I’ll have to come up with a good enough reason to get up and go on and keep on keeping on. It’s scary, but I assume by that point not much will scare me. I’ll be hardened by the course of my life. I may not have a heart then. I may not have a soul either. I have both of those now, but they could go away. Everything can go. You’re already gone… for now.

You could very well sneak back in whenever you’d like. I may try to put up a fight, but it will fail. I may not even have to. It may never happen again despite how much thinking I do about it.

I wish I felt better because there was so much that I was thinking about saying but now all I can do is whine about how I don’t feel good and how lonely I am. It’s stupid how I can feel so lonely when I’m surrounded by people most of the time. But we are all alone. We always have been and we always will be. All I’ve ever known is what’s in my head and can only guess at the others. I can become close and start to understand things about other people, but I will never know. They will never know me either. I can try to explain, but I know from trying that it’s no use. I can hardly come up with the words so how would I expect anyone to ever know? But I’m sure I’m easy to figure out for some people. I may not be as complex as I like to think I am.