Who the hell am I right now?
Getting drunk, alone, on my birthday, everyone staring at me:
either making the best of my life or completely fucking it up,
or both…
or
neither

*  *  *

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The unfortunate catch of the entire circumstance, the utter irony, was that he was always agonizingly aware of his hypocritical role in his rhetoric, and was always ashamed that he dare think that being aware and adapting to what he was unable to change was somehow making him a better person than the endless procession of sheeple consuming the carrots of technology and information.

In short, he lived in the place he resented the most, and he was good at living there, and he despised his own success.

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“Give me a good topic!”

He started many of their correspondences like that.  It was because he was usually feeling insufficient about his own mind’s ability, when sober, when trying to think of something interesting to write.  He was a great writer once he had something to latch onto, once he was in an idea that someone else had created, because he felt that he could then, at least, share the burden of his insecurity…in case it sucked.

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Before he went to sleep, he thought the same thought he always thought.  It was a bittersweet thought, a reflection, really.  A yearn, a call for help to an abyss, a slight beg to the universe of which he still was not convinced would really help him as long as he stayed where he was:

When am I going to realize that how I have been living, this balanced approach, is just not working?

Sometimes, the voice would respond:

(Why do you want life to be easy?  You have one opportunity.  This isn’t like all the other cliché opportunities you fake to strive for during life.  This life, in itself, is a one-time deal.  Why do you want to be comfortable?)

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I suppose people like me are necessary

You
live from love
from a place of compassion and joy and understanding
for all people
but

who would challenge the human race to improve
if it weren’t for the cynics?

who would push people to question authority
if it weren’t for us who understand the sinister side
of the leaders
as you understand the positive side
of the followers?

af

(written with pen on paper)

“Maybe, if I do not like all people, then I do not like myself.”

The armies inside of him, those responsible for hunting down and obliterating illnesses, those sent to mend up wounds, those that are the traffic cops in the veins capillaries arteries organs and elsewhere, keeping everything inside the body moving, those responsible for opening the valves at the exit points to allow piss spit shit sweat semen snot and all other waste out of the vessel, these armies were immediately sent to this web to douse the surrounding area where these two powerful original thoughts were sitting perfectly aligned facing off for the title of soul-domination with the powder of focused ignorance so that no other thought could stick any where around them for quite some time.  These two needed to stay uninterrupted and the army kept the millions of other thoughts zipping along.

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“Maybe I just do not like people.”

The thought came into his mind and got stuck there because, finally, it was original.  He always regarded the inside of his brain, the thought network, as a loosely woven spider’s web. In one day, we remember less thoughts than we actually have in one single second, and this one stuck, as that random mosquito does in the web, as a few thoughts in the past have, because…because…

“I understand that most of what I remember is what I want to remember because of habit, always rotting on the gluey silks of the web, but the only thing that can explain these new ones that stick are…what?  Chance/Fate and all that Energy/Spiritual crap, or something so technical about the synapses of the mind that I could never understand?  But, the gray area.  I have to believe in that gray area.  So, what else could it be?  Why else these specific thoughts?”

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