Sunday, July 23, 2017

What was this world always coming to?

Firstly I'd just like to say how distressed and upset I am over the recent terror attacks in Manchester. And so, I do what I always do when something affects me, I write about it. Most people actually get up and do something, but I always preferred to think of myself as the person who inspires rather than achieves. This could also be loosely translated as lazy, but I like to find a more creative way of thinking about it.

Anyways.

Kids.

Are you kidding me?

I can't say I understand violence. I would never hurt a fly. Mostly because the fly would probably win but that's neither here nor there. But violence against kids? Surely this is a new low for us as a species.

Here's the problem with violence. The very act is triggered by evolutionary responses to outside threats and disturbances. I get that, we had to survive during the early stages of humanity and we could clearly never get along. You engage with someone to neutralize or combat a threat. Problem is, whether the threat is real or not, you have still picked a way of dealing with the situation which will only make matters worse. The funny thing in movies is how often the hero wins simply by putting a bullet into the bad guy's skull, never taking into account the friends and family Mr Bad Guy had who will now be seeking revenge. And this cycle of revenge just continues.

Here's something else which no one else really thinks about. When you attack a species, you bring out the strongest in them. You unite them and give them something to live and die for. This is the exact opposite of what you would want when trying to subdue a nation/race/group and ensures that your goal becomes impossible. So will invading other countries and killing more people actually help make your own country safer or will it do the exact opposite?

The thing that really gets me is that those who refrain from violence and aggression are perceived as weak. What some don't understand that it actually takes a much more different type of strength to be able to resist those evolutionary impulses and rise above what makes you human. Because the most beautiful thing about being human is the fact that we are the only species with the ability to choose to override their very nature. And to forgive someone that has caused you pain takes a strength that is simply not natural and it is a mystery as to how it comes about in the first place.

Now to those who act in violence in the name of a God. I'm not religious, but I'm pretty sure that if I was a God and created every single human, I'd be pissed off with anyone running around killing people in my name. He's a damned God, for Christ's sake. He can do his own bloody killing if he wants it. Mic drop.

What about those who confuse extremists with religious people? It would be like sifting through a barrel of nails, finding a bent one, and even though the bent nail is completely out of character with the rest of the barrel, deciding that all the other nails must be bad too. And with any race, group or society, you'll find a few good, a few bad and a few messed up beyond hope. And that's because we are all human, yet the classifications (race, religion, creed) that we cling to in our struggle to find identity don't define us as individuals or a species. What really defines us are the choices we make. I guess what I'm trying to say is that you will never know more than what you see on the surface if that's the only place you'll look. To be more blunt, do you want to characterize the undesirable traits of an individual as based on the surface classifications that you can observe, such as race, religion or creed...or maybe see that the individual is simply afflicted by the human condition in a way that you will never understand?

Maybe all it takes to save the human race from imploding on itself is for someone to put their hand up and take responsibility. To ask for forgiveness. And to forgive. To be the better person.

Now could somebody else please do this.

I am far too lazy.

I hope you've been inspired.



Sunday, February 12, 2017

For My Benz

I don't know what to tell you.

I don't know why you're upset.

But if you are, count me in.

If you are, tell me, and I will try and help.

I wish I could do more than try,

I wish I could fix these things.

And you have no idea what it's like to sit helplessly while someone else suffers.

Or maybe you do.

I wish I could stomp on the face of the person who hurt you.

I wish I could hug you and make everything better.

But I am cursed to a single form, understanding less of the world I thought I had figured out.

All I can do is rage at the rain until it stops.

Scream at the ceiling till it collapses.

And laugh at the stars until they stop shining.

If I had a wing, I would stretch it over you, shield you from the worst

If I could take your pain and make it my own, I would.

For you.

To me, no problem is too petty, which makes it even harder when it's not.

A quarter century isn't enough to comprehend what you are facing.

And if the collective consciousness of all loved, lived and dead has not figured out how to make it stop, what can I do?

But I am here.

There.

Somewhere.

And sometimes, when you're feeling low, remember that I care.

If it all becomes black and you can't find your way, you know where to find me.

I can't say I'm qualified to help, just qualified to care.

And maybe that's enough.

I know what it's like to struggle, but that doesn't mean I can tell you what to do.

Life is about the individual, and each journey is unique.

But we never are truly alone. At least, not for those of us who have someone.

Which is why all I can do is remind you that there's someone who cares.

It might not be a man in the sky, but a nerdy kid with a laptop.

And if that makes you feel better maybe I am worth something to this planet.

Maybe we are not alone.

Sunday, November 6, 2016

Tell me.

As you sit there in the corner.

Was it really worth it?

Tell me.

As you dream.

Do you still see her?

Or is there nothing there.

Tell me.

Can you even hear me?

I shout, I scream, I beg.

Watching you writhe with self-destructive glee

Only to feel the reflection of a light now faded

Tell me.

Or should I tell her?

And in the back of your mind there is a whisper of hope

The ashes remnant of what was

And in the back of your mind you always knew where to find her

Tell me.

Do you think you were left alone?

That the sparkling stars or the mysterious moon were not to guide you?

And now, my friend.

Tell me.

Who told you?



Wednesday, August 19, 2015

Why

I suppose I have questions.

About who I am, why I am here. It's not enough for me to just know that everyone has questions, that everybody is stumbling around in this pointless game with no clue as to the why and wherefore. I need to know. I need to pick myself back up again, after having fallen so low, having sailed so high. Bursting into flames from flying to close to the sun, I lift my charred wings and shake the ash and dust from whence I came, to what I shall return.

I feel hopeless and yet hopeful. I know that the sun shines for us all, yet the warming rays must be sought out. I need to accept the help I have been given and continue on my path upward, out of the dark and gloomy mire of depression which has been my state of being for too long. I need to find a way home, to light and happiness.

If happiness is simply a state of mind, what is it that is keeping me away? I have everything a boy could need, friends, family and extended support. And yet all I feel like doing is breaking down and crying. About all the past and what could have been, about what I have gone through and what I am going through. And I feel that no one knows what it's like to be me, even though people know me better than I know myself and I imagine they have a good idea of what I'm going through.

I just don't know what I need to be happy. I'm always afraid, always running.

I suppose I need to speak to someone about the crazy events that led me to this place, but who would believe me? What do you do with an impossible theory that you can't let go of? How do you deal with the fact that either you or the universe is twisted beyond belief, or that you may have figured either of them out?

I suppose I don't know what to do.

But I suppose the answers will come to me.

What do you do

How do you knock down the man
Who has already beaten himself to the ground
How do you kill the man
Who is nothing more than a shadow of a ghost walking
A fragment of a dream still stalking
Hating the souls he claimed to love
The pasty reflections of a once glorious image
An image stored only in the imagination
Of a devil afraid of his own demons
How do you strike the soul so stricken
With grief and greed and hope forgotten
How do you press the man who is so unimpressed
Yet so hard pressed he is but a flat man
Living in a world too round for him to die
Living in a teardrop, yet afraid to cry
What do you say to the blind to make him see
Or scream to the deaf that he can hear?
How do you terrify the man so afraid
That he invented a world of fear
What does the man alone do
When everyone he loves leaves
When he is left alone to grieve
A love that was never his
A life he never lived
What do you say to the man who is a mountain

But afraid of the mustard seed that would compel him to move

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

So, where am I?
I’ve announced myself the conqueror of my own torments far too many times. And too many times have these same torments caught up with me before I was completely rid of them. I won’t make that mistake again. A few weeks ago, I last declared myself finally fine. I felt brilliant. And I think I would have remained fine if I had not had an awful chat with a friend leading to a conclusion too painful for me to wrap my head around. So much so that I, ever relentlessly curious; I with a firm belief that acceptance of the truth is the only way forward, I, with the belief that I could conquer anything; had to remand my curiosity, accept a half truth and remain defeated.

I am at a vantage point. Able to look back on my pain and sigh sadly for the poor child so cruelly crushed. Yet no longer the poor child. And I hope, no longer still wallowing in my own pain, but moving forward. I’ve recently discovered myself unable to add two and two together. Unable to put together the most obvious circumstances to form the most reasonable conclusion I could hope to have.

And I’m wondering when I will stumble upon what’s been keeping me from moving forward all this time. But to be honest, with the amount of effort I have spent analyzing every possible scenario, I am sure that I have stumbled upon the answer. I don’t know what I want as far as the future goes. I want it to happen.

And I want the past to be over. Done with. That’s all I could hope for. Maybe it was my stubbornness which prevented me from trying to grieve properly. The desire to be ok ironically kept me from being ok. But I love irony, my life is full of it.

And here I am. Not brilliant. But not completely broken. I think I may be ok. Funny how that word can have so many meanings. It can be a stamp of the highest approval, or it can be a mediocre shrug of the shoulders. So yea, I’m ok. And depending on just how bad, the word will adapt its meaning to me. Sometimes certifiably awesome, sometimes only hanging there. But hopefully never back to where I was.

Saturday, December 13, 2014

Not You

You came back. I’ve danced this dance before, heard the echoes of a story too familiar. You came back and things were the same, except different. I was a little bit stronger, and just as unwise. And all I heard were the things I tried to say, hoped to say and ended up not saying.

Wondering how a guy could deserve a second chance. He could have called himself the luckiest guy, he should have, why didn’t he, how didn’t he, it doesn’t matter, he didn’t. Yet I dub him the most unlucky of all guys. If life is cruel and unfair, if Lady Luck smiles only upon those who recognize her face, if the circumstance, the tune, the chord, the faintest of melodies are what shape the decisions you end up making, then he is but unlucky. Maybe I’m being kind to call an imbecile as nothing more than tormented by fate, as the rhyme and reason for absolutely stupidity.

I wish you knew just how much a guy like that should mean. If Gods and men demand a higher form of punctuation to pronounce their significance, he gets none. For he is neither. A noun as common as any. Every morning when he was blessed enough to wake up besides those auburn locks, he should have thanked every angel, every curse and demon that put his path besides yours.

And I stand here, looking. My head turning at every gorgeous face, miniscule hemline and shining pupil. Seeing the beauty and wonder before me, wondering who would be the next. Truth is that you’re not the most beautiful person in the world. I can count many more with better symmetry, style, substance or stance. But there is one thing that makes every face worthless in my eye. They all have the same problem, that same flaw.

They are all, not you.  

And I know that to you, I’m not even a second glance. I know where I stand and I know just how far it is from you. Maybe you’ll never see me as anything more than a child. But it doesn’t really matter, because last night I stumbled up the stairs after I stumbled through the last phrase I uttered to her gorgeous face, awkward and ambiguous and always overly ambitious to anticipate anything more. And I finally shed a tear for someone that wasn’t her who is not worthy to be named.

I don’t know where I am, or where I’ll go from here. I know I’ll hope, I know it will crush me. But like I said, I’ve danced this dance before. And maybe next time, I’ll know the steps.