Jameson and Gingers

Desperation can sing such a sweet melody and I’ll be damned if I’ll deny myself something that I foolishly believe is my right. It’s not of course, and that would be why I stare away at the ceiling with thoughts of days past delusions of such grand and forgotten proportion. Romantic ideals are difficult to live up to.

Wonder is all I can do and at the same time the last thing that I would ever want to wish upon anyone. This is my penance or something of the sort. It has to be. It can’t not be, right?

So why am I here with an aching head trying to string together some shapes that make sound in your head? What it really boils down to is the understanding that my fantasy appears to be constantly better than anything that could actually come to be. I’m not ashamed or disappointed, although I am both of those things. I am simply caught in the most beautiful brainwashing scheme that one could ever devise. It’s all my own creation and although many see a monster, I see something beautiful. And I see this again and again and again and again until the roll of film runs out at which point I close my eyes and it plays before my eye lids. I honestly couldn’t tell you if that has happened or not yet but the possibility is always there for anything and everything.

But look at me, because I’ve got all the moves. I’m a smooth talker and a charmer and I go home by myself through the empty aching streets. I wake to find that none of the answers are there because not a person has asked a question besides myself and all I can and am doing consists of shouting and hooting and standing outside with a cigarette, daydreaming that all the things that plague me will be solved as someone turns the street corner.

But for all of this charm, the boy remains in his boxers writing nonsense that no one will see, least of all anyone who can do a damn about it. I’ll keep wandering or something like that. Vague encounters to feast of flesh will get me by until I can stand apart from all this or further apart as I already stand with myself and to myself and by myself.

So go ahead sweetheart, pour me another and I’ll spend a few moments trying to make you laugh. My apologies friend, was this lady your company? I do apologize, just let me get her all riled and wild and then send her of to only have thoughts of me. It is my gift to share the curse that I have, but in the meantime, I say another round for me and my friends as we all march towards inevitable graves that will be marked and cost anyone left alive who cares about what we did quite the sum of money.

I bid you fare the well with a few more words that will mean the same as those above which is nothing, of course. I wish only to have a wish other than those I carry around with me. That is a lie and a terrible one at that. I imagine I could carry on like this until the end of time or the end of my time and the difference between the two is still to hazy to make out. I swear to you know, I’ll die in this place with this heart and there’s nothing that should be done about that. In the meantime, I’ll just crunch the numbers.


The Ballad of a Boy and His Mustache

I want to make sure that I get these thoughts down now before they all slip away by the morning, or at least a few theme suggestions. See, I had just begun to convince myself of some sort of defining moment that I believed that the being I call myself was in the midst of, as I grow to the older self I am doomed to be. I was sure that I had become wiser and somehow more conditioned than I was before but alas, ‘twas only an illusion.

That habit seems to be unshakable. You know, the one where I see something and then make up this whole grand fictional tale that goes where ever my mind decides it should. I have done this many a time and with many different… we’ll say themes. I have even done this same sort of theme before, but somehow the current is appearing to be different.

With that, I bid ye goodnight. I’ll leave you with the promise that I’ll be back to you. It will seem like all this time was nothing by the time I’m back.

See? I told you. Just like that the morning broke and here we are. I’m a day older and if only there was some sort of knowledge that came with this new day. The only thing I know is that my upper lip is cold.

Well, I might as well just say it instead of hinting at it all morning. I used to have a mustache. It’s gone now. I shaved it. That’s why I’ve felt like I’ve gotten older and more mature. My little facial hair illusion. After hearing all the jokes about how I look like a little kid and will never get into a bar ever again, I’ve had several moments where I’ve been able to look off into nothing and think about my life or just life in general. In those moments I’ve come to think a lot about the dark and dripping world and how I am the same boy standing out in the rain.

Is it just fear? I guess it has to be. I’m supposed to be a senior in college and I look no different than when I was a senior in high school, both of which were supposed to be the stages in this life of mine that were to define how cool I could be in my youth. My self-image issues are just as bad as they’ve ever been.  I am just lying awake as the head lights shine stripes on the bedroom wall, only for a moment before they fade away with a hum. I am the little pieces of dust floating so gracefully in the air, seen only when the sun breaks through the window for the first time in the morning. I am coffee stains and whiskey bottles and bong resin. I am the Marlboro boy.

The world was asleep and now sirens scream to wake up all those around me for tests and exams and speeches, none of which will ever really mean that much.

The only sign of age is under my eyes where hues of purple outline my eyelids. I wish I could do more than describe things but I seem to be at a loss for the ideas I felt I should say last night. Give me a moment, I need to turn off this crap CNN is passing off as news and play my banjo for a bit. If I hear this asshole on the tube talk about god making our earthly decisions one more time, I may throw my shoe through the screen. The bible is nothing but the word written by men, many of whom didn’t get laid enough. I guess that makes me an apostle.

My fear of growing up is going to have to be faced very soon and what a doozy it will be. I have been dodging this for some time because it used to be that 18 was grown up and I am nearly 21. Every day is a step closer to some sort of ending. I’ve lost one and soon all my grandparents will die. My parents and aunts and uncles will be after then. All the girls I’ve ever thought I loved will die. My friends will die, my siblings will die and so will I. Not to be negative but it is the truth and I still feel as though knowing that will help me somehow. My youth is fleeting, despite my appearance. My world is on a path to eventual destruction whether it be the hands of man or the universe. Just like the mustache, nothing is permanent.

I’ll find myself different tomorrow than I was today. The day after that I can only assume will be different. It will continue on this way until the next time I feel like I felt today at which point I will try to analyze this whole life thing. I will then realize that maybe nothing is different and it’s all been the same this whole time. Lather. Rinse. Repeat until death.

This may or may not be the beginning of my decent into madness and maybe I only needed some sort of visible change to see that it’s all only a pattern.  Or is it? I certainly don’t know and I certainly couldn’t tell you who does or should or even might. The amount I don’t know is extraordinary and should be much more upsetting to me. I think it’s starting to but I haven’t really seen how much it is. I couldn’t even blame my issues and whines on such a thing. I think the growth into my new potential for facial hair will be the start of this hermit summer I’ve been saying I was going through with. Maybe, just maybe I’ll progress to where I’ve been saying that I want to go.

The time is coming where all of this will mean something but since time is an illusion, some part of this always meant something. I suppose that it always will as well.

I may or may not edit anything grammatically incorrect with this, but there’s Keystone to have at.

Sunday Morning Thoughts 4.8.12: A Manifesto of Sorts

This part was written on a train heading south as I gazed out the window at the Harlem River on Saturday afternoon:


I imagine that all of this will be under water someday, maybe even in my life time and then I could go down and swim around my memories as they stay frozen in time and floating around where they used to be. If it doesn’t go under water, my next guess is fire which would mean that these places would only live in my head and who knows if I could even remember that far. The North American Venice will finally be clean, even if it has to be destroyed.

Or perhaps even better yet it will all become overgrown and green and life will choke us out like we’ve been doing to it all these years. These massive beautiful rocks covered in stone all perfectly lined up in a grid. Thousands of years from now whatever dominant conscious species is around will wonder whether it was nature or god or aliens who did it.


This part was written heading north the next day. I was exhausted and hungover and heartbroken and late to go spend the rest of the day with my family. I suppose you could say I was a little bummed out:


Isn’t it beautiful? There’s so much to see and within my tiny little realm of things, I think that I’ve got it down which is ridiculous because I’m an hour late for my whole life flashing past me and it doesn’t matter what I’d do to make it better because it’s gone. I saw it walk down the street at five in the morning wearing the same fucking jacket that this whole nonsense started with. Cheers.

But other than that, my back hurts and my breath smells. I wish I could fall out of this flesh but I seem to be stuck in it with this absurd identity

But really Brian, who are you fooling? This is the tragedy that you’ve always wanted for yourself. Hope is for suckers anyway. You wouldn’t know what to do so you should just sit here and beat and rag on yourself until you start to believe all this.   This isn’t romantic so would you stop pretending it is and blow out the fucking candles. This conversation was doomed to end and it makes sense and I could only imagine that it’s relieving, and not as an insult, but I suppose I should be grateful as I could have very easily kept going for a bit longer, to the end of time at the very least. See all the absolutes in my speech? I wish there was a way to convince anyone of the power there but I can’t seem to stumble upon one.


Across the aisle from me staring out at the other side of this train, sits a very beautiful young lady that I will never know. I could very easily get up and try to start some conversation with her and probably have some success with it but I never will. She will never know me and her I and that’s just the way it’s going to be.


She just got up and will be getting off and I did nothing to stop her.


This part was written on Monday at around 6:30pm:

This will be the last time that I do this, I promise. Pardon me but I have to finish the ritual properly and after all I suppose this is owed. Don’t worry, I won’t whine. I’ll be trying to say something meaningful and pretty and powerful. Better yet, I won’t even try. I’ll just do it.

Understand that I have felt anything real in a long time so the words that I may have said out loud were not so eloquent but I suppose the booze is partially to blame. I can no longer be sad nor upset nor anything in that spectrum of emotion. I can be numb but I’ve had enough of that too. That doesn’t necessarily mean that I’ll be happy because I won’t be.

I saw the sunrise this morning. It’s getting close to setting now and I may sneak outside to watch it because this isn’t ready yet. I don’t have my mind set to do what needs to be done with this and like I said, this one is important.


This was written after the sunset:


Such beautiful hues of red and orange and blue, they tear at my heart and I wouldn’t want it to be any other way. I have of course seen thousands of sunsets and many that were much more beautiful than this one.

That being said, I would like to make a statement about something although exactly what is unknown and unimportant right now because it has yet to be said. It’s importance will be determined by you at the end of this and may very well remain a mystery to me.

I have been told by many people, some who matter to me a lot and some who don’t matter as much, that I have something about me that is special or different or unique and sets me aside from the other sheep. I am apparently very capable of doing something grand and spectacular in this world that will contribute to some sort of greater good. It’s gotten to the point that I now know that I really have no choice in the matter. I have to do these things because that is my destiny or fate or something like that. It would be a lot of pressure if these things didn’t come with such ease.

So listen to me muse, just this one last time and know that you are stuck forever in my mind. That’s not to say things will continue, as I know they won’t. The last few years have taught me more about myself than I could even realize at this point in time and I may not ever realize it until all is said and done and my last breath slips from my lungs and I fade into darkness. I could very easily say that the time is wasted but that would be a horrible lie and I just wouldn’t feel right saying it. It wasn’t a waste, it was a painfully beautiful experience filled with memories that will ring through my mind for eternity and possibly after. I now have an obligation to continue forward and do even more than I’ve done, which despite what people say has been so much less than I could. I’ll have to stop that, you know, this whole under achiever thing.

We live in a time where virtue easily gets lost in greed and hate and depression. 64 people were killed fighting other people in Yemen today and 22 more died when the roof fell in on their church in Nigeria. Their god couldn’t save them but a better architect could have. So it goes.

Why say that? I couldn’t tell you. I don’t know any of those people but I’m sure each of them had someone who loved them. Regardless of anything I say they will continue to be dead and I will continue, at least for now, to be alive, which is a gift that I overlook every second of the day. I won’t tell you that I will start to value my life so much more now that I’ve stated how fragile it is because like I told you, I don’t want to lie.

I will now proclaim my intentions as I yelled out into streets at 5am Easter morning. I will take over my world and do with it what I believe to be right and this of course, means that I will have to try and take over the entire world. I will get mad and sad and feel defeated as I throw my hat on the ground wishing that by doing so, some sort of energy would be released into the universe to correct all that is wrong. This won’t work because I have tried and it didn’t and it doesn’t and I don’t imagine it ever will. That doesn’t mean such a task cannot be done because it can and will. It is so easy to lose faith in what it good and true and I don’t mean that nonsense that me in collars ramble about on Sunday mornings. I mean the nonsense that I ramble about on Sunday mornings. There is no church for me and no god besides this right here.

I don’t ask anything of you other than to give reading my words a chance. If they bore you or make you sad, then please by all means stop right here because you should have stopped a long time ago. But if upon reading anything I have ever written, you felt something or had a thought that you believe to have had any kind of meaning then trust that idea and take it with you and let it grow. Believe it or not when I was about 13, I was fairly certain that I would become a priest. What a long way I have come in these few years but I didn’t want to do that so I could control peoples live and never pay taxes. I thought I wanted it because then every week I would get to send any kind of message that I felt needed to be said for the benefit of all those people there to listen. Good ol’ Father Sears.


This was written at 9:26am on Tuesday April 10, 2012 which will be the first day of my life:


I have a lot of work to do and I had best get cracking. I’ll get some coffee and go pretend to be someone’s lover until about 11:30. Then I’ll get lunch with my best friend and the only girl I know will never break my heart. After that, it’s on to the rest of the world and with my head held high I will stand before all that is wrong and unjust and make it right. It won’t be easy and you can try to help but after all this time I’ve come to understand there this burden of mine that I carry, is just that. It is my burden and although I’m sure many people will try to tell me that I don’t have to go it alone, they will never understand why I do. I won’t try to explain it because I’ve really gone on long enough but this mission will come with me to the grave that I will rot it whether I finish it or not. I don’t know when that day will be, you know, the day I become worm food. It could be tomorrow, it could be right now before this sentence is even finish, it could be next week or thirty years or one hundred years.

Regardless of when it is, when that short film of all the greatest hits of my life plays before me as my eyes close for the last time, I will see you just as I did as a sad teenage boy on the happiest day of my life. But I am no longer a boy, am I?

Sunday Morning Thoughts 2.26.12-3.11.12: Special Edition – Three Weeks in a Day in the Life

This was on Friday, I think.

And here I sit in a theater listening to people pretend to be other people as everyone does every single day. We spend our time going through these actions and ordeals with our manners and our poses and yet every day for me at least, I wake with the desire to fall back to sleep. I couldn’t say if it’s my bed or the booze but I still ache for some feeling that I’ve hardly ever known. Would it be out of line if I said that I couldn’t do this? Would I be mad for tossing this away? I suppose it would but madness may be the only comfort that I still have. I don’t know is a phrase that I’m quite sick of using but my addiction has left me with nothing more to say.

I will preach when asked and give this rousing advice but it will fall away.

This was written today.

12:33PM `

I’ve decided that this will be an all day, or at least most of the day production. I will start now and continue at various points during my day. Just so you know, I just ran a lot. I don’t know how this is going to make me feel. Also, it’s March. I haven’t written a damn thing in all of these days of March. I may implode. Just a warning. Enjoy.


Clean and fed. Still not quite ready to dive in yet, which would essentially make this a waste. So I’ll try not to waste and say a few things, or better yet, look at this. I took some pictures today. Enjoy.


I’m starting to wonder where this all started. This search for this feeling that I believe I have only felt a few times in my life and when I did it was gone before I had hardly had a taste. It seems to be forever beyond my grasp and I can’t tell if that’s my doing or the work of the universe or something like that. I stand now weeks behind in all the things that I’m expected to do and I’m lying to you because I’m actually sitting.

I’m glad to retreat back into the woods to find where is at all anything that exists to quench this thing that has occupied my mind. I still need to dig further though and spend more time both today and afterward to fill such an empty and aching soul. I need to ask some questions that I’ve been to afraid to even think of. I shall get to the bottom of this. At least I hope I shall.


Someone told me, indirectly of course, that life is a collection of moments that are all strung together. Most of them are fairly crappy but there are a few that are good and you should think about those. Now here comes the conflict. What if that moment is holding me forever there, in that one spot? What if I miss everything that is passing by and only look to see it shrinking away in the distance?

Well, I don’t know what will happen. I try and fight to understand what or why but all I can arrive at is that those memories want to stay alive. Or is it me just keeping them alive? I feel like I’ve said this before and it’s mostly likely because I have. I’ve probably said this many times and in many ways and yet turning this thought into something that could be seen has made none of it go away.

I think that I’ve grown bored with my writing and what it’s been about. It all seems the same to me and although there is more hair on my face than two years ago, I cannot tell if the feeling is real or imagined. Feeling is a stupid word anyway. It’s a stupid concept all together, or at least I think it is at this moment which is supposed to be different from every other one. I, of course, could not tell you whether it is or not. I don’t seem to be able to tell you much of anything. I’d apologize but I don’t imagine you’d like to hear that anymore. Give me some more time and I’ll see if I can’t come up with anything better.


I can’t tell if that nap helped me at all. I woke up a few times and sort of just wanted to call it quits for the day and yet here I am. Why? WHY??

I’m not going to Bay Ridge for St. Patrick’s Day and that’s kind of lame. There’s a parade the next day but to be honest, there wasn’t any hope in all that anyway. Theoretically this freedom should be uplifting but it’s not. If you don’t get it, I don’t care. These are just stupid thoughts that no one but me cares about anymore. All other parties have let this die and have moved on but not ol’ B-ri. He’s hanging on for dear life to something that hasn’t been there since I don’t know when. I’m not going to read anything I wrote then because it’s probably tainted with delusion disguised as happiness. Or was it real happiness? I can hardly tell the difference anymore.


I remember my first kiss and how stupid I was for letting that girl get away. My second girlfriend was very nice too. My third was a bitch but I thought I loved her. Since then my relations with females have been empty for the most part. I’ve been much more successful with girls but that doesn’t make me feel better. I was better of being the quite kid. I was a better person when I was a virgin.

I wonder about how I did on that test. If I can get the job, I can chase my dreams which is strange because I thought this job would lead to just the opposite. I’m afraid of my life. I’m so afraid of failure that I can move forward and yet here I am so far and sitting so highly on the success that I’ve almost effortlessly attained. I could have worked harder and gotten more but then I would have lost my daydream attitude. I want to lose my mind more. I want to fall farther and grab every experience that I can. I want to be happy but not before I do everything else. I haven’t done enough yet. I don’t know my answer yet but deep down I do. I just can’t see it or I won’t see it. Something like that.


This will be the last little bit that I write for this. I haven’t come up with anything of value to say all day. I will hopefully come up with something better tomorrow. My mom asked me what I want to do with my life as far as internships and stuff go. My dad came up with the best answer. He said save the world. I think I’ll try and do that. It may cost me my soul and my life but so be it. I may never have a family or love and that’s fine. I just hope by the time I die, I’ll have self respect.

I also hope that I will be able to come up with things to say that are worth hearing. I hope that I do things that are worth remembering. I hope that you won’t forget me but I guess I’ll never know that, will I?

Sunday Morning Thoughts 2.19.12: Special Edition – The Beginning of the End of the Beginning

Why would this one be special at all you ask? Well to start, it’s properly advertised. It actually is Sunday Morning. Not Monday afternoon. Not Wednesday night. Not Friday just after lunch. I think that makes this one special, or at the very least I’m hoping that it will make it special. There was a reason that I picked a Sunday morning to start all of this. It had a lot to do with me having a mental breakdown on a Saturday but there are other and now more true reasons to have something like this on a Sunday morning.

To start, there is serenity to the way the sun rises on a Sunday. There is a peace that other day just don’t know. Week days are tiresome and full of work for most. Saturday and the parts of Friday that are deemed the weekend end up being just as tiring but in a completely different but necessary direction.

Sunday is also a day that is pleasantly lost. It is supposed to be the beginning of the week but is referred to as the end so often and it doesn’t do a thing to correct anyone. Especially for a man without a god and no temple to regulate myself, the feeling of Sunday leaves this feeling of perpetual motion that would seem to be relentless in the universe.

But none of that makes this really and truly unique. I don’t want to be a liar so I’ll keep chipping away at some sort of reason.  I could say this is a special edition because there are so many other things that I need to be writing like newspaper columns and film papers and yet here I am writing this. Now is that a testament to the magnitude of the work being done or does it just show how truly lazy I have become? I imagine that is as most things are which is just a mix of all the options.

Wait here’s an idea. I sit at my rather cluttered desk and feel the impending weight of so many things that I am required to do in my life and I need something grand. You see, I was talking to the last king of my realm for the first time in a long time yesterday. We decided that the world is our playground, essentially. Now with such a proclamation one would assume that there would be evidence of such a thing. Well doubting Tommy, you can hang around until some more visible sign start to appear but remember they are angelic and celestial, those who don’t necessarily see it, but still think it’s real. I think that’s called faith but I couldn’t be sure.

There exists within all of us, this idea that we have of ourselves and our world and it is our own. Now there is a larger world that exists between all people which is where the tricky part comes in, but only if you’re looking at it with the wrong light. You see, in order to master one you must also master the other. I don’t know the particular order in which this can or should be done but I’m going to guess that it starts at the self and becoming king or queen respectively of that domain. Then from there you just go with it and take all that is yours.

He and I were talking about life, as we usually do. He proposed the idea that life is this beautiful vision that you let guide you in peaceful flow. I will have to disagree, sort of. At least not entirely disagree. I think that life is beautiful and peaceful but there is peace in motion. There is also no peace without chaos. You would not want to live your whole life in peace to have it end in chaos. You have to live within the chaos to find that peace. Meditation in a burning building. Listening to Ludwig Van as your car slams into another. Thinking about a childhood crush as you charge off into war. If you have peace at the end it will be sweeter than any and everything you’ve ever known. If you have peace the whole time, I imagine that the ending will be unwanted and fought.

A life of chaos doesn’t mean bliss in your final moments directly, you have to do certain things first. You have to come to terms with any demons or anything of that sort. You have to understand yourself without being too bold or too modest. You may have to been in a true and heart wrenching love at least once, but I can’t really say.

Sunday Morning Thoughts 2.5.12

There is no music playing right now. It is Friday and it is late, not in the evening but in the week and this is far over due. There were thoughts that I had before and then there are thoughts that I have now. The main factor is that the sun has gone down and I am still without a drink. That is my choosing at the moment however. Well, mostly because I need to get this done first. There’s an order to things.

Now concerning that order and the last few orders that I’ve received, I haven’t received them nor do I intend to. Because I am the hero, damn it. I am the anti hero. I am and always have been the hope and destiny that has been instilled and spilled into the nuclear family. I am the shine of light, or aren’t I? If I am that, then what are you? And if you claim to be that, what does it make him into? Some sort of monster? Some sort of villain or are you the villain, or I? I would bet a dollar on me, but I’d rather drink with it. Would you have a drink with me?

Being the anti villain or hero or chump seems to have worn me out like a shoe or a nerve or something else that wears after time and is inevitably tossed away. we stand at the edge of something and I don’t know what it is but it hums and it glows and it seems to be of some grand importance or the delusion is talking again. I wonder where to go now and what to do and if another pack should be bought and I know it should because I need to stand for what has been forgotten or I will be forgotten and I can’t stand the thought as long as I live. I won’t live to see if I’m forgotten and that may very be the point in all of this.

But allow me for a moment to get angry and develop  some sort of something that I know won’t do but I’ll be damned if I don’t try, try, try again. I want to hope and believe that there is justice and that I can stand for it but half of the time I spend thinking is about how benevolently evil I am which is impossible to be actually aware of. I have to wash my hands because they sweat too much and this keyboard is just plain awful and I never really learned how to type properly or effectively. Some fucking writer I am.

That was pointless. They will just continue to sweat for no reason that I am aware of. I just wanted to get up because this task is just far too daunting. I just wanted to stand and look at how grey my eyes look in the mirror. I like the idea of having grey eyes. I like the idea of having green eyes as of now, but I’d like grey someday. I used to like the idea of blue eyes but that has since gone. I’m wearing blue today, which would mean that my eyes will look more blue. I can say nothing of substance right now. My share of gold for a type writer and some whiskey and the stomach to handle it.

There’s 10 minutes left until I am going to get up and go out of this room and go where the world shall take me. I spent time with people and thought about things and I can only do that more until I figure out what it is I want or am supposed to do and if anything or any of my ideas of anything actually have some worth. I have spent my life wanting to be this lost soul cast away and aside and because of that is cursed to be the sight of intrigue for others. I wanted this and now I have to deal with it and myself. I have to show confidence when there is none by not showing my thoughts but show that I have them. I want you all to know that I spend my time thinking but I will never tell you what I actually think about because I’m ashamed and afraid. Even if you think I’ve told, I probably haven’t despite how much I talk. I don’t imagine it’s actually a very big deal, I just want to make it into one.

Sunday Morning Thoughts 1.22.12

I wish to prophesize and only to combat the fallacies that can come from such lofty tales told by tongues that wag out of fear of losing the ability. There is supposed to be thought before the idea is to be shared. It has to be argued and refuted and repealed and revealed all before it can ever get the chance to see the sun and grab its first breath. If not, it will just fill space and waste time and the sort and that won’t be stood for although it is and it always has and who am I, as my guilt is just as much as any man’s. But all I can ask is to hope for more justice in what I do and say, as my morals are tainted with Freudian undertones that all things and everything can be encompassed under.

Destined to deny nothing right away but rather build it up and up and up until I have amassed all the skill that I could ever wield at which point, I swallow the fear and conquer. You have to be able to crave the right amount of insanity, you see. Too much and you can be forever lost in whatever delusion you may or may not have made for yourself. Too little and you’ll never be mad enough to step far enough out of line to change much of anything. Now there is the risk that it’s not supposed to be you or something like that but I urge you to remember that you wouldn’t actually believe it ever were if it weren’t ever, dig?

I ache to be better but always fear that it just won’t be enough to save my soul from my self which has spent so much time on this all out fully fledged war upon the very idea that it steals its name from. But if I were to just abandon it all and go out to the hills to live without any other or anything that I could not find immediately around me, well what then? Would I forget my name if there was no one to call me by it? Would I find that peace and fall from my body into some sort of serene bliss not tainted with anything at all? With my body pure of anything unnatural and my head free of any nonsense, would I finally be free?

See the thing is, I don’t know if that could ever even be done, at least by yours truly. Why? Ego, for one and that would be a very big one. I’m vain and self-conscious and insecure and cannot go very  long without craving some sort of human attachment which of course will be pushed very far away as soon as it happens because I’ll be damned if I let anyone in, at least for now. There is another part and that’s the part that wants to care about something because what is a man that doesn’t care? A man with no passion is no man at all.

But going back to the whole “Into the Wild” scheme, I don’t believe I could actually do it mostly because I hold onto this idea of obligation to the rest of my fellow fleshy meat sacks who I deem unable to see the light that I myself cannot see. The difference of course, is that I am looking for that light while the rest of my species is looking for the next episode of Idol to get them through their next meaningless week of work. I want to find meaning for myself. I want to find meaning for us. So I will go far away from the woods for now, and dive into the dark dirty city and root out some evil, if I can.