i write

I write. Yeah I write. What? Poetry, stories, questions, answers epitaphs for anorexic monkeys. It makes me happy. One of the few things that do. Reason – too complicated maybe too simple. Why bother. My rooms littered and dirty. I love saving crap. It’s a habit. There’s a chart with crap on it (took a lot of time), pink Floyd dark side of the moon cover (heard it once sounded hard looked cool), half empty bottle of water (also half full) a dead clock (waiting for an epitaph) cigarette butts (addicted with good reason) a newspaper (never read it never will) aaenied by Virgil (uncertainly grabbed from library). I like saving crap without good reason. I’m the prodigal son. Only I never came back home. Father innocent angry sweet mad caring delirious hopeful hateful. Mother confused, loving, stubborn, broken, perfect, vindictive, and beautiful. Me screwed up. Don’t blame them. Blame sloth.
I failed. Miserably. Quit my last course. Ran when I got scared. Ran and hid. Senile? Give me time. No one waits. Give me time. No one believes. Give me time. Arguments everyday. Why? I couldn’t it was too hard for me. I would never be happy doing it. Then why complete it? So people wont know. You’re screwed up but that’s our secret. Give me time. You’ll run from this too. Journalism now is it? Phaw. T’cha just because you can scribble a few words here and there eh? What do u knows about it? Name a good journalist? Who’s the finance minister? I don’t know! What do you know? I love writing. I want to get better. Isn’t that good enough?? Phaw t’cha. Nothings good enough.

I have a brother. I love him. He loves me. Simple equations are beautiful aren’t they? He wants to be a businessman. He wants to be happy. He’s busy now. Making others happy. Give him time. He has ragged hair. Like kids growing on railway tracks. He’s handsome yet. Am I? I believe I am. Well I convince myself I am. Makes it easier to live with a handsome screw up. Vanity is a necessity in my case.

Where does this all lead? Where am I taking you? To neverland. I just keep flying with words I never land. Landing means confronting. How was the trip? My you’ve grown thin? How’s the weather up there? Phaw t’cha.

I’m in love. She loves me. She never lands either. We fly together. A duet wrapped in distant kisses. She’s not here. She’s there. She kissed a stranger. She told me so. She was drunk. I wish she’d kissed me. She’s not here. She’s there. She loves me. I love her.

I’m running short on words. No that’s a lie. I’m just tired. I want to go on but I’ll say goodbye. Life is hard and we question why? Maybe life’s just hard cause we question why. I don’t know. Give me time.



dedicated to Donald Barthelme for his "See the moon?" a lilterary masterpiece in my eyes for having inspired clarily in random thoughts! touche!

contradicting sloth

I had found myself left wanting of words a few days ago. Suffering through the inevitable crisis of the aptly termed “writers block” I found the whole deal rather worrying. I felt guilt for not having ensued my relationship with the keyboard. Looking upon it like an impotent husband staring at his loving wife. The need to fulfill my want was becoming but atlas the fear of falling short perplexed me. Waking up today morning I was pleasantly terrified by the barrage of words that flew to my fingertips. So cautiously I began to imprint them onto permanent matter almost afraid a sudden move might jolt this revelation away.
Today my thoughts pertain to the devious sin “sloth”. This topic had become the one in question among my good friends as a result of my habit of being easily comfortable with this subject in hand. The conversation was more honest and more invigorating than normal due to wholesome amount of alcohol consumed the same evening. I shall not bore you on with the hapless events of the evening and proceed to the subject, which I pertained to earlier. My friends as I recall were terrified by the concept that I was but easily adoptive to a lazy and jejune living. I will not try and justify myself, for a sin is but a sin and deserves no such treatment. I although shall tell you as I told them why sloth is so easily evolved into me. Sometimes in life I find clarity only when I cease running and watch as the world zooms past me. We in our driven races striving to achieve the pinnacles of victory often are absolutely unaware of the smaller beauties in life. We are like horses with blinders on. completely unaware of the beauty that surrounds us but instead focused only on this long winding road stretching far and wide before us.

Now my perceptions might me correct but I realize it holds no true value since finding contentment in today only but hampers progress. Now we might be so bold to ask why do we need progress. Weren’t we better off without it?? Yes we would have been but sadly we humans are incapable to deter the lusty calls of progress. Hence like the saying goes “if you cant beat em join em ’’. Besides if the early man was content with raw meat for lunch and caves for homes and animal skin for clothing, life would have been rather sodden now wouldn’t it?? Lets not be so nescient as to say the early man was happier than us for we are but unaware of his trials and hardships. If he could be brought for a visit to the present I could bet my left hand that he would but be in awe of the fact that we have the luxury of worrying over trials that are far away from food and shelter.

So this contradiction of myself and the drunken arguments with my dear friends has helped me to the realization of this- “succumbing to sloth is unintentional suicide since it hampers growth and harbors contentment with ignorance. It encourages a life of procrastination and a life uneventful. Clarity must not be sought in sloth but instead in moments!!” so thank u dear fucked up mind of mine and thank u dear fucked up friends of mine for you have provoked in me a conviction that finally will stay.