Thoughts and Introductions

At some point in life everyone realizes that they are not the center of the world. They are not the main character and life doesn’t wait for them outside the walls of their own point of view. I was probably nine or so when this happened. I remember thinking, what the hell am I supposed to do now? Most people spend the rest of their lives trying to become the center of the universe when they learn this, while others climb into a hole and hope to be forgotten by the world. I think I tried a little of both. My younger years, and by that I mean up until now, were defined by the former. Always trying to be the best was never something I was good at. It’s so much easier to fall into holes. Lucky me, I did that once. It seems I took this bit of insight too literally. Contrary to the belief of some, every hole has a bottom. Definably I think a hole requires a bottom in order to be what it is. The hole I found was no different, and after a moment of doubt in my journey in said hole I was enlightened to that fact.

Concerning the world, I hope that my readers do not share the same fate as I. It fucks with your sleep pattern. I guess you could say that about many things though. Third shift jobs have the same effect. Silly me, I did that too. If your sleep pattern doesn’t change after doing either of these, then try combinations. Girlfriends can also wreak havoc on your sleep cycle, especially after a breakup. I say all this to make one point. I don’t know when to sleep anymore. I haven’t worked a night shift in a year now and still I always find myself getting too much sleep or much too little sleep. I think it is completely possible to go insane if you are given enough time to yourself. I surround myself with friends usually once every month or so, and spend the next three weeks avoiding them in any way I can. How could they keep up with my sleep pattern? I can’t even keep up with it.
For the record, tuna fish and beer do not go well together. It sounded good three hours ago, but here I sit wanting to shit and my hands smell like fish. Try sleeping with me or better yet, share a tuna beer dream with me. Pardon me while I laugh myself awake.

Now for some self-narration. I reach down to pull out a cigarette from my half empty pack and fish around on my couch to find my lighter. I was previously overjoyed today to find out that my lighter was finally finished having its period. You know that period every lighter goes through where it doesn’t work and you keep it anyway because you just bought it and want to get your ninety-nine cents worth? A few days later you instinctually grab for it and voila’ it works. This has always led me to believe that lighters are feminine. Matches never have that period, but in turn they always smell after being used and they are only good for a short span of time. This leads me to believe that they are the masculine aspect. I always enjoy matches more anyway. What kind of dude doesn’t look cool when he pulls out a pack of matches and lights one with only one hand for a girl? Lighters don’t work like that. Even the Zippos.

Alas, this is not a story about incendiary etiquette. At some point in my ramblings I hope to tell a few stories, share useless insight, and otherwise confuse the hell out of you. It really is the simple things in life that bring me joy. That and talking about how complicated that saying is. Maybe we can look into it at some point.

Recently I’ve grown tired of my music collection. I remember one night I spent a few hours staring at my itunes music and talking to the albums and my disappointment with them. Is it just me or is there something seriously wrong with the music of this millennium? When was the last time you sat down to listen to an album that meant something to you on many different levels? Every band I hear lately is either a passing fad or a copy of a copy of something legendary. In my frustrations I did something almost regrettable. I deleted almost half of my albums, and began focusing on the more meaningful bands instead. This alone hasn’t made me feel much better but it was relieving to be rid of some of the noise. I can finally hear myself think. Now if only I had something to think about.

Music. I begin again hoping to reiterate thoughts and make my point. I have always been passionate about music and I enjoy both playing and listening to it. Many people these days will tell you they are open to any kind of music and don’t limit themselves to genres. I discovered that this of course, is bullshit. I figured that out when I caught myself telling someone the same thing on one occasion. I came home to find that I might possibly be the most narrow minded of them all. My Dashboard collection is right next to my Taking Back Sunday albums, which are on top of my Emery cds. Hence, me previously telling you of my music burning night. I decided that most of what I owned was more for show and conversation than for personal enjoyment. They were nothing more than medals that soldiers wear after being shot in the ass. Useless. So much of everything I do is just for show. So much of the world these days is just for show. Soldiers carry big guns that can put a hole in your chest after being fired through a row of tanks and a battleship, business people buy Starbucks coffee just to be seen at that store, rather than a corner gas station that charges three times less. Shop for clothes at the mall rather than Wal-mart. We drive our thirty thousand dollar car to work that is two blocks away. We buy trendy and sell out. We have all become Barbie and Ken dolls. We live for the next episode of Lost or the next Harry Potter movie. Guilty. What has become of the late once great planet earth? Wait a minute, I forgot for a moment that as humans, we have denied ourselves and embraced our typical nature for thousands of years. It takes a strong person to admit that he is following the flow of traffic. It takes an even stronger person to pull himself out. One can always hope. As for me I sit here on my couch with my signal on, but I missed the turn a mile back. Maybe it isn’t too late. Maybe it isn’t too late to see the finale of Heroes. Choices send my head into the arm of the couch and sleep overcomes my under worked mind.

Wake up. My sleep cycle is interrupted once more, and I put some aesthetic music on in the hopes of finding Neverland once more. No luck, and I begin typing again. I wipe the sleep from my eyes, and consider what is on my mind.

I didn’t go outside today. I found myself entombed in my apartment, left to what devices my fragile mind and body could conjure. Apparently I am quite the busy body as of late. I spent the day cleaning what I could find and unpacking what was left of my books and various belongings. I just moved again, and unpacking is part of my routine now. I usually do it right before I begin packing again. Keeps me on my toes, which I like to keep in my warm black slippers. Somewhere during procedures like these, I get meaningless retail jobs just so I have something to complain about other than the weather that drives my toes deeper into the black slippers. It also pays the bills.

While we are on the topic of myself (which, just so you know, I doubt we will ever leave the topic of myself as long as I am the author), I feel I must inform you of a recent revelation. I do not exist. At least that is what the government is implying. I was as you may not be aware, the victim of theft a few months ago. I have no ID or Social Security card anymore and my Birth Certificate is not any kind of proof as to my existence according to law these days. Who knew? The many branches of government refuse to replace my identity now and therefore I must have none. I do not exist. But I am not dead. Maybe this is what a true zombie is. Once again I find myself falling but this time it is more of a figurative hole. A hole in the government. Yes, the government has those. Surprise.

My toes recede just a bit further into my black slippers as my skin is assailed by yet another cold chill. If you have gotten nothing out what I have said in the past few paragraphs, maybe you understand what I have been trying to tell you. I am cold. I tried writing a poem about it a little while ago.

Awake the endless bitter cold
In winter’s flight and days of old
Our passion now sleeps
Under a blanket of snow

Minds stay near our hearts so dear
Afraid to leave the comfort of our homes
A fear we now hold ever near
As we defend our shelters alone
Of winter’s fight and tales never told
The winter night leaves me alone


It seems my skill leaves something to be desired. Whatever that means. I wonder what a real poet thinks when he is writing his masterpiece.