here I am.
Happiness is over rated.
I had a party this weekend. about
I’m not sure what I want to write about at the moment. My thoughts are escaping me. They abound when I’m sitting in traffic, or talking with friends, or observing flocks of folk from a distance, but lately they’ve been shy as I try to place them to paper.
I’ve been desperate lately for a female in my life. My actions have been aggressive, yet hesitant as I calculate the appropriate trajectory to show my interest.
I’ve been all over the place.
My real desire is to find a life.
I need to read more. And write more.
What are my goals? What will move me into action? What will keep me on the straight and narrow and maintain my course?
I’ve been giving thought to times in my life where much has been accomplished, and the times that come to mind are when my progress has been pre-planned, and designed around benchmarks. These marks serve as indicators of progression, and also as a signal to celebrate the efforts of my work.
Currently I haven’t a plan, much less a direction. I have a sense, an intuition as to where it is I’d like to wash ashore. California keeps calling my name, but I’m not sure if it’s due to a yearning for escape, or a desire for adventure. And I suppose these are one in the same: escaping the monotony, the mundane, the routine, the predictable. I want lush. I want to dive down and pluck rare experience from the uncharted sea floors. Or venture into space, into the celestial constellations and weave my own narrative among the stars.
These are my dreams.
When I dream, my life seems overwhelmingly oppressive. My relationships feel like polyester, a fabricated comfort, inorganic and deceptively safe. Until a little friction arises. Whatever that means.
Here I am. I am no longer the center of attention. Life no longer revolves around my unearned blessings. I am a lone star, a shooting star, passing through these rigid bodies that blot the sky, the space, the sea of sparkling nether.
I am but an arrow that shines and sheens as onlookers peer above, looking to other stars for their direction. And I am majestic. I smear the heavens with dazzling colors, with an array of enchanting trails, and then I am gone, lost over the horizon, orbiting some new pull.
And passion begins to press itself into my veins again. I can feel their pulsating warmth rub me from the inside. I am home again. I sing, to myself. And it pours and gushes from my fingertips, into the world, into your eyes, into your ears as you mouth my memories, and they drip from soft lips.
I watch my mind being molded by the forces that vye all aound me. Where am I? I speak to an empty room. Where am I going? And I look at those around me being swept up in the currents of popular convention. Their dreams, like mine, are facsimiles of another’s. I am chasing tradition, and losing myself in the process. Ties, white collared shirts, popular man. And no heart. A brain, but no mind. No madness. No shock and awe to jolt the senses alive.
And we sleep.
Breathing brushstrokes with my mind, with my chest, it caves and colors the air around me with meaning. It craves more, and it sucks and strangles and I lie and die, waiting for something to breath life once again.