Memorial Day Redux.

I remember a time and place when the winds blew and the thunder pounded. The skies darkened and opened up their souls upon the merriment of the humans. I sat there in the rain and shivered. Join me now in that memory, put yourself in my thoughts. Return to the crashes and heavy droplets. Let me stand with a brave woman and see if lightning can strike again. Be my rod, then would all truly be divining.

Hatred is a simple rude statement out of misunderstanding.

I tend to do the wrong thing, but only in social means. The advice of a friend once given to me makes me ill, “…never try to fix things immediately, and never talk to anyone every day.” If we are social animals, then I am most assuredly the wretched and lowly scavenger. I go out each day for whatever I can find of social feed. I often get an upset stomach from it, as I imagine a raccoon would. I however transform into a bear with a honey pot when I find conversation as sweet, sitting quite contently in a single spot with my snout messy in the thick of things.

I find it odd that I am not the one to get sick from such a life style. Indeed, it is almost exclusively others who find themselves without the stomach for it. Perhaps it is some sort of vulgar display in their eyes. However, I continue to gorge myself upon it.

I try to give back to those who provide me the feast, those bashful bees. I am generally a supportive person. Sometimes when you try to hold up an animal and try comfort it, they will bite you out of fear. We are all social animals, and when do not understand something we fear it. I promise that I will not bite for I have removed my fangs. I know when you bite, it is because no one can fathom a man who can talk endlessly at one point, and has nothing to say at another.

Scavengers do not eat everything; I tell you I am thin for a reason. Someday I will eat for years. I hope that until then, all of those bees that allow me to stand central to them whilst they buzz, shall continue to dance for me. I know that conversation leads to many things, and I want more of those things. I want everyone who ever made me laugh, smile, cry, or best of yet left me speechless to continue doing that for the rest of my days.

Thanks to the dandelion, a snowstorm at 85 degrees to reflect my soul.

Thanks to the dandelion, a snowstorm at 85 degrees to reflect my soul.

At the point of eve, I gave up on myself. I wallowed wanting to go to bed, wanting to be in a coma of sleep for years. I sat bruised and skinned, with marks added to injury and emotions causing the most discomfort. I reached out in bed to a former best friend who somewhat skirted the role of conversation partner. I made efforts not to illicit pity and just let it be known that I existed. My eyes watered.

I returned downstairs to sit in front of the computer. I texted another former best friend. No efforts were made to escape the fact that I felt like crap. I wanted to let him know how much I appreciated him and just wanted to walk away at that point, but he made an attempt to redeem me. I talked to another friend who I was trying to make their role expand, giving effort to stay above the water.

I contacted my very best friend in times past, a girl I loved as a cousin and a friend. She had little to offer. I thought she was someone she no longer was. I laid it all out on her and she made little effort to empathize and offered very little in consolation. Yet it still felt more genuine than any other. Our talk was short and I confided that I missed her greatly.

I made a comment on Facebook. It was about the interconnection of the problems of others, and I made no effort to bring my woes up. “I want to say a prayer for an old friend who needs it, and a new friend who wants it. A prayer for someone who isn't a friend any more and a prayer for someone who might end up being a friend. All to be given a path to better days.” I didn’t want an old friend to die. I didn’t want my confidant and religious supporter to lose faith in what she believed because I needed to draw upon her kindness so much. I didn’t want someone I loved who didn’t talk to me to hurt anymore. I didn’t want someone who I could see my fondness grow, to take the abruptness that contributed to my sadness and throw out what connected us. I also didn’t want her to be sad, even if that meant she went ahead and got rid of our opportunity to be friends in lieu of the love she lost.

I wanted them all to be happy. Mike would say that no one would believe that this is true, that someone could selflessly want others to be happy. More than one of those folks ignored my attempts to wish them well. I hoped he was wrong.

In the morning, I woke up in a sweat. I could not control my dreams in the lucid morning, so I woke up. I spoke to someone a week prior that I never have sex dreams. That morning I had one that was strong, and I forced myself to wake as if it was scary. I was actually upset in my dream about my conscious desire to be with one girl. I felt guilty and ashamed just the same as if I were to look at a girl and think dirty thoughts about her in amidst a depression over wanting to be loved.

Ironically, I awoke to think about dreams in a different sense of the word. Could not control these dreams when I am awake either, at least they move slower. Every effort was turned to surviving. Eventually I was able to join up with friends for some bullshitting. That led to a bar run with another set of friends from years past and more bullshitting, which lead to me seeing two cousins and more bullshitting.

I was pretty happy for that moment.

There was a girl who joined us who was with one of the guys there for many years, and they broke up. That and the other aspects of her life overwhelmed her. The tears were familiar, but she said softly. “I was in love with him, and I will likely remain so for a year.” I thought about a year from now, what would find her? I thought about what would find me. A girl worth her weight in gold, might have to wait for a year as well and might still be hung up, will she give anyone that chance? What about the girl that refuses to be in love? Will she ever feel that pain, or will she hide inside of her current pain?

Life is Messy. That was a brutal way to say a true statement and tell someone to buzz off. I don’t want to make anything messy, but if I want to stay alive, I might eventually have to. Until I find someone who wants to clean up with me, I will hold my mess together with my magnet. I seem to have myself on board, but when can I become persuasive. Without the tongue of the sophist, will my feelings ever be accepted as fact? I haven’t played the drums in weeks, my heart doesn’t play the beat to drive my feet.

Yet I prayed, and in some fashion, all of the parts were answered. Much like an injury, those people will never be 100% again. We never will be 100%. I just hope all the people I have held in my brain with esteem will at least get to above average. I will always love, just like I will always cry, just like I will always worry, just like I will always over think, and just like how I will always believe I could do better. Let us all do better.

I cannot decide if I am the leper or the lover.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wu2TPvtOTEw

I kinda feel like both.

Sometimes, the only reason to blog is to respond to another blog.

The pain of knowing in your head that you will never have that life, the one that coined the term Rockwellian, reverberates within your head when the weight of the world pulls you down. You can only focus on that life, even at the expense of your own. This life is so real, because plethoras of others have achieved it. A life where your concerns are no longer that of yourself, a life where joy is external because you have created something so internal that it transcends your inner existence and mortality, a life where your achievements are necessary beyond your self, a life where we can be more than an island is what we all crave.

I find that those who take all avenues towards this goal are the ones who are happier in the path. Those who run towards it are the ones that are disappointed when they get there. Those who build their lives towards it are the ones that cannot go one when it falls apart. Those that say they do not want it find they have it already in their compatriots, or are too afraid to be vulnerable because if they fail their lives will fall collapse back into singularity. No human shall ever be an island because the beach is always made up of more than one stone.

If your thoughts are elsewhere; if they are about getting good grades, making it to a personal goal, losing weight, or earning a better job with better pay, you will find yourself more successful in a pragmatic sense. I, however, believe you will find yourself poor of spirit. I believe you will never be truly happy, although you will say you are. You need to be able to do this for yourself at some point in life, to get by. Yet you have to realize that the internal joys of accomplishments are lost to you because you are worried about that picket fence and those components of what could be.

The individualist who stands with two feet on the ground and the dreamer together, it seems as if that is required of you to succeed. When I get the most done, I get it done for the people that matter to me. I worry about getting the chance to teach my son how to shoot a hockey puck, or if I will ever be able to buy my wife a gift just because it is Tuesday. I know that there is a chicken and an egg, but which came first is perplexing enough without trying to have to make them yourself. A friend runs, not to run away but to find herself. Another runs to avoid finding someone else, another stands his ground to scare off others like they were crows after his corn, and even more do not know what they move for.

I have many theories on many things, and most of them would take a lot of time and understanding to see. You ultimately are not required to know any of them, but are required to take care of yourself and work towards that social level of acceptance. A Saturday morning watching your boys play football might not be when you want it, they might not even be playing football when the time comes, yet if you observe it then it will happen. We just tend to be messed up on the details, and sometimes we just do not know when to be about ourselves and when to be about someone else. When it starts to rain again, I will stop worrying about fire and start worrying about floods. I hope we can be there with some sandbags, together.