And then there was a car driving down the black highway into the mouth of a giant beast pretending to be a mountain. At that point you’re sucked into a UFO full of aliens in scuba gear watching the Simpsons pretending that human civilization was really that simple, minus the mayan pyramids and the apocalyptic calendar that says that it’s two thousand and twelve so go out there and do whatever you want because you only live once, and that once is coming sooner than a gangster wearing shuttered sunglasses to cover the pain in his eyes from seeing his younger brother shot three times from an SUV full of strangers sharing similar pain, trying to find an escape in that dark sheltered allyway, only to find more darkness as they find themselves in federal penetentary. Yeah, those orange suits don’t look so good when you’re jumping from an airplane with goggles pressed into your face, mouthing sweet nothings to the universe. This isn’t a matter of eating an apple to get core ingredients and poison in strong enough doses, or drinking cool powerade provided by douche bag instructors trying to teach you concepts only a lab technition that we all want to become would need. But no, we need to do what makes our heart sing, not our wallets. Unfortunately, every one wants to look good to impress our family, friends, and friends we haven’t met yet. We all listen to cool music in the off chance that we can show someone else and have them love us all the more because of it. We’re all just looking for love in a hopeless place, but we don’t realize that the only reason it is helpless is because we are unwilling to help ourselves. All we need lies within the first aid kit we keep tucked away in our hearts, but getting it out to help the world is easier done than said. We are unwilling to let loose a torrent of secrets for fear that we might actually be the person we think we are. What a shame, the insecurities of man. The one piece of advice every one on earth should know is to keep your insecurities hidden for as long as possible. Keep them tucked in like a raccoon hidden within a tree stump. Keep them hidden like a chunky sixth grader’s first crush that he will never let free because of cruel society. Keep them hidden like the love we have for eachother, so true that everything else is a lie if we are willing to just let it go. Can you let your deepest beliefs go? I didn’t think so.
Who knows where we are going in our faded yeti costumes anxiously trying to escape the frozen woods of our lives? The trees are shivering and chipped like a folded in cake, tasty and savory as yesterday’s breakfast pastries, standing guard over nothing but themselves. Road signs lead us to places people are trying to escape from. Where are we going? Where? We are only able to go as far as we are willing to say in the confidence of another, slippery solitude giving us faith only a zombie would be able to enjoy. Infidelity, lies, deceit, they all surround us like semi trucks full of memories we carve for ourselves. We are sinking wooden ships made of rotten drift wood keeping us afloat only long enough to realize that we are sinking. Sinking down into the abyss of our own misdoings. The perfect part of it all is that our lives are on tracks. It doesn’t matter what we are or what we think. Our lives are happing whether or not we question it at all, so go out there and live your predetermined life. It’s all you have going for you, for us all. Do society a favor and love yourself even if you have no idea where you are going, or why you are going there. Just be sure that no matter where you go you go with your entirety. You owe it to yourself more than you owe flimsy paper printed green to an institution more like an ancient grandfather you’ve never met but trust him with everything because your parents did too. You need to make a deposit to yourself, giving you everything you’ve got, and then dig a little deeper between the cushions to get every single last cent of your being. Metaphorically speaking, you are everything. Literally speaking, everything is you.
tired eyes tired hands moving restlessly across nothing at all. We are nothing but everything and we try so hard to be it all. The hardest part of living is trying to move on without you in my life, but I know it’ll be okay in the end. This end is only just beginning.
Parched lips, stained with Louisiana Hot Sauce gently touch the scalding metal spoon that brings warmth to every inch of the frigid room. Gentle slurps and hard silence are all that exist here. A quick glance and then isolation; we both know where this is going. I comment on the sunshine outside, you comment how much you hate me. Another glance. I put down my bowl and walk over to the window. It’s so dark outside. My forehead makes a ring of condensation on the inside of the window pane, and it brings me back to reality. I turn around to face your ghost. You’re not there any more. I’m lost in my own home desperately trying to find something that was never there in the first place. How can you find something that was never yours to lose?
I guess I don’t really know what all the fuss is about when everyone is trying to be something they’re not when all they really need to be is themselves. People go through this pain alone when they are surrounded by everyone else who feels like they too are alone. If only we were to step out of our skin for a moment and live our souls, we would be free.
It’s been far too long since I’ve sat down and put everything down into a graphically encoded grid of pixels and numbers. Maybe that is a good thing because there is no hiding behind anonymity like there used to be back in the early years of the 20th century when a man could hide behind his narrow brimmed hat and get away with causing the greatest depression known to man, women and children across the world and possibly beyond. No doubt this feeling of angst extends beyond the stars and boulevards that shine from August back to August as the inevitable years pass by. Its times like these when there is next to no thought put into this; it is merely sitting next to him at some deserted bus stop, a lone mercury lamp casting shadows around the desert, extending as far as the eye cant see. The only sound is the buzz of the glowing light house, and the drumming of your heart, beating out a tone to an orchestra composed of instruments that only you can hear along with the music of the bitter widow’s-dress-blue night. But then you see the stars seeing you, and it gives you comfort. Even if you’re all alone at that bus stop, you still have the companionship of everything you have ever been and ever can be. The greatest gift is the preset of the momentous occasion presented to us with every single exhale and inhale. Sure, your lungs will rise and fall, but if you look beyond that, to the level of macro-loving and micro-forgetting, you can be bigger than life and live life to the liveliest point you’ve ever experienced. And it’s all out there, waiting for you right now. The day is yours for the taking, and that’s all you’ll ever need.
Everything is in its right place which is pure chaos at its finest. But no, this isnt some fine dining experience with high chandallers and golden lighting just down the street from the eiffle tower. No, this is everything that makes up who we are as a hole, to be filled with minute experiences and giant blunders. Its like a roller coaster, but without tracks, safety harnesses, or even seats. You just go, go, go, and never slow, lest you stop at some point and come crashing back to the peaceful bliss of alter-reality that is synonymous with the ground. But once you’re there, you have only to blossom, because sometimes its easier to bloom rather than stay tucked into that cramped pod of yours. Just work your way through the cracks in the earth, past the worms and the ants and the civilization. Work your way past all of that to a place where you want to call home, and which has actually been home all along. You’ve always known the way, but you’ve never quite been able to figure out how to get there, that is, until you look within yourself. introspection into the sole soul we own. The soul that possesses us in possession of our bodies. We are nothing but earth ourselves, so why not break through the dirt of our self?
It’s been a while since I’ve last drunk purple Gatorade and sweat beads of food coloring designed to stimulate the senses and get you out there to get your dunk on. That’s really offsetting, when you think that the picture is always taken in ones and twos and threes, you just hold the shutter down until you find what you’ve been looking for even though its been there all along, it just hasn’t happened quite yet. Which is okay, I mean, people wait their whole lives for something like that. Chilling in the clouds has never felt so at home. I mean, people look up to you, see you for something that you’re not, and then they go home and fill their memory with things that may or may not have even happened yet. Memories are all we really have, if I remember that right. But seriously. Think about it. On a molecular level, where introns are excised out and all that remains are extrons in a post-transcriptional processed snake, poly AAAA rocking it out with its guanosine cap. Srsly bro, where do memories come from? Our memories, duhh.
I cant even bring myself to write anything. This shit sucks. But I don’t expect you to worry about this, I mean, you don’t know me. You probably are even thinking to yourself that none of my problems matter to you, yet you’re still reading this. Why? Is it because you secretly are wishing for my misery? Is it because you see a little bit of yourself in me? Is it simply because you have nothing better to do than read stories about others not yourself? See, now my problem is you. I don’t know how to relate to people like you, despite trying so hard on a daily basis, running different scenarios through my head, different rationales for what you do. You’re impossible. And now, your problem is me. Don’t worry about it; it’s not your problem.
His legs are like two iron pipes welded together at the knee- joint in a 30 degree angle, his feet two tissue boxes full of lead. His eyes are weighed down by the tears that are pouring down his face, never giving him the space to breathe. He is drowning mid-stride, and the only thing holding him up is his rusty manacles that the prison master so gratefully surrendered to him. The smooth worn down stone floor has never felt so rough. As he gets closer and closer to the end, he begins to feel the ground give way beneath him. There is nothing more for him than the hole growing beneath his heart. It is a black pool of echoing depth, and he can feel himself falling as he climbs the stairs. The tears let up and let overwhelming sorrow drown out anything a rational being would experience here. He wails pathetically like a wounded sea lion, his pride ripped out from beneath him. He can barely hear the last sounds on earth, and with a satisfying snap, the world falls into oblivion.
