Sunday, June 27, 2010

Trepidations

I sat in a chair looking for the world to find me again, and got quite mediocre at it.

It was what everyone else was doing, though some more mobile than others. I realized that everyone was hooked, tobacco had nothing upon this. There were those who started with live journal like it was drinking in high school. We all started drinking at MySpace State collage. Indeed, some of us experimented at this college far beyond what could be considered safe while listening to some really crappy bands. Then it seems as if all that experimenting was leading towards making progressively worse decisions, eventually culminating with moving on to the hard stuff.

I speak of course of Facebook and Twitter. Which will be known from now on as crack and meth, respectively. Sure it sounds like a great way to meet new people, yet the people you meet seem so distant, most likely because they are all floating along like you are in your drug crazed newfound existence. None of this is readily apparent to you, because all experiences seem new and heightened. You make excuses, like this is what everyone is doing, and I am just fitting in socially. You try to make it look like it makes you so much wiser and deep. Status updates that sound like song lines, or even worse using song lines as metaphors for existence.

All it takes is a little encouragement, someone likes what you have to say might as well take another hit.

Then you see a response and they pass the needle around, shouldn't have to worry about where this is going...

Before you know it, you are sneaking crack and meth at work, paying big bucks to be able to pick up your phone and get it quick. No big deal, it makes getting through the day easier. However hard you try, it starts to get in the way of your work. Pretty soon, the thought of what is going on with crack and meth consumes your world. Maybe you will take a hit under the table at dinner with your parents, or while your boss is in the other room. Then it comes to the point where your real life relationships become strained by it. Slowly but surely you lose touch with real people, though some check in from time to time, mostly so they can gossip about you and hide it from you. Others seem to be on top of their addictions. She doesn't seem to be abusing meth. Crack makes him interesting. They just do it to get ready for parties. Why is this hitting me so hard, am I somehow broken?

Well, then it gets really bad, and you then go far outside your circle of friends looking for people who can make you feel good again. Shady characters hooked on this stuff themselves share inauthentic. Before long you are strung out and you have nothing to offer the meth/crack heads. You just float along stinking of shame, teeth rotting out behind a new profile picture, incoherent ramblings of impending doom on a virtual street corner, and you become territorial while begging for someone to give you some hint of normalcy through the drug that you still deny is at the root of your problem.

I sit here like I did for so many days since I took up these filthy habits of electronic social medium. Trying to suppress the urge to look to see if anyone noticed I was gone from the corner, to see if taking refuge in a church nearby or dead in a gutter. I sit shaking from withdrawal, I sit fearful about my future. This is the thing about the drug, it will change how you think and feel. The good and the bad will never have the same context again. I sit and wonder what I can salvage, and how long I can stay sober. I just do not want to be tricked again by my eyes. Trepidations.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

This new interpretation leads me to think Hall and Oates were evil.

Subconscious turns to machinations. Perceptions just plausible enough for me to deem that not only have these developments manifested to bring aspiration and elation unbound to my tired soul, but that these events are substantial and substantive. I suppose this is why they are called dreams, though it seems more like my brain is teasing ever part of me, rubbing it in that it can reject reality for 20 minutes of REM sleep every morning. Worst yet, my mind has studied well and can postulate that it is far more manageable and devastating to make the tormenting part be when I am awake in bed. Falling dreams are no longer the penultimate of nightmares, dreams where the world opens up and lays at your feet a modest and most welcomed set of achievements marked happiness (paid for with dues) have usurped the mantle. You never hit the ground in dreams, at least experientially, when you wake up it is a different story. Thank God that someone put this mattress here, otherwise this might have hurt a trifle more.

If you see me today, there will be a smile worn on a tired face. Optimism and meditation to drive back the subtle waves on the rocky shores has changed the course of my life. Still looking for the lighthouse, but at least I didn’t nick anything. Soon I will go to sleep again. One-day in-between the daylight and the twilight, there shall be my face staring back at me mischievously. I am going to slap that sunnavabitch right across the cheek. For if my dreams turn to putting nightmares on the precipice of my new days, I will just steal the aspirations and sanguineness from deep within. It is far too sunny and warm outside for it to stay inside.

I know my mind has taken notice, someday you will too…

Friday, June 4, 2010

Chicago, never bleed red forever.


I am quite upset with the number of "hockey fans" in the area are rooting for Chicago in these Stanley Cup finals. Never mind the fact that Pronger is on this Flyers team, or that Philly fans have the fans behaving badly market cornered. You cannot root for Chicago if you are a Wings fan, not only for our past but for modern day dealings with the team.

Does no one hold reverent the fact that they are our rivals? Does no one in Michigan draw ire when their crowds chant Detroit sucks? DOES NO SON OR DAUGHTER OF BLUE COLLAR SWEAT AND TOIL WANT MISERY FOR HOSSA FOR WEARING OUR COLORS BUT NOT BLEEDING THEM!!! To those raised in the moraines, by the factory stacks, on the shores, or any who actually care about Hockey in its purest form and of its roots, do not root for Chicago. Even if you have enjoyed their majestic city and their hospitality whilst collecting your tourist money, root not for Chicago not on ice, for they would not do the same for you.

We have rebuilt their city with our timber, we have built the cars that travel all the roads that lead through Chicago, and we have all pulled for their Cubs to be freed from embarrassment as we would for the Lions. They would not even undo the selfish acts that threaten the lively hood of our lakes with Asian carp and various invasive species, and still there are amongst us those that root for their success. When it comes to our histories, we have ebbed and flowed with them in importance and glory, to which they have emerged superior for now. Yet ON ICE, we SHALL NEVER YIELD TO THESE HAWKS!!! 11 is greater than 3, and even with the leagues desire to see that number grow to four we shall out number them in all aspects of the game. As they try to steal our system, our players, our management, and our success, they cannot steal our sportsmanship, honor, and glory.

Most of all we shall out number them in class, as we never chant Chicago sucks. Class is important to me, and our organization is rich as such. Class is not an issue here, we true fans of the house Howe built, we who know Ted Lindsay was a true MVP, and we who know that while many might wear the C or 19 only one man can be called Captain, we know Chicago is not our friend. Hossa deserves no cup, Kane punches cabbies over 60 cents, and Toewes can NEVER be Yzerman, we know not to root for those Blackhawks.

Indeed, we know that there is NO ONE that they shall play to make us root for them to win Le Coup de Stanley, except Sidney Crybaby, of course. You have been schooled, and if you doubt me, go ask Dr. Cox. The Second City is no Hockeytown, let them stick to blowing Winds and meatpacking. There are those who try to argue this with me, and I say what would your grandfather think assuming he enjoyed hockey. What would your father think? What would you think if you watched the last twenty years of Red Wings hockey without being fair-weathered? The answer is that for someone that Detroit does not suck, nor does Chicago. I do not expect them to root for us, and I do not expect you to root for them.

If you don't believe me

http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://justinharger.com/images/Detroit%2520Sucks.jpg&imgrefurl=http://statestreetsports.wordpress.com/2010/03/10/detroit-sucks/&usg=__OsFBcvnRuzwn-DE251EeIfIHyF4=&h=600&w=800&sz=143&hl=en&start=1&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=XntNcBNyHJMd6M:&tbnh=107&tbnw=143&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dblackhawks%2BDetroit%2Bsucks%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26tbs%3Disch:1