I don't know!

Sometimes I feel that every thing is only a figment of my own thought. How preposterous you say? What's to say that I am not in such a deep sleep, such a deep trance that I cannot break. I look at the world in the present, but one can only see so much. I mean the present is only a few seconds long, long enough to remember somethings and forget others. For the most part I reside in the past. Although it is easy to seek refuge in what is certain, I do so not for the safety but the comfort it brings half knowing what is about to happen. For certain the course has run it's cycle and all that we experience are the tiny deviations and the occasional absurdity. I'm not crazy when I say this. It is just in our best nature. I thrive on those wakeful nights in which my dreams get jumbled with reality. When it has come to this point, it's about time to stay awake, and awake I stay tonight.

I wouldn't mind if someone came out of the wood-work and told me I am special. I like to think that I don't care what people think about me, but the truth is I have forgot my old ideals. I think that in some way shape or form everybody is like this. With everyone urning for this, no one can seem to find relieve. All hope is lost. It's a tragedy if you think about it. Our selfish, juvenile world has no reciprocation.

I loath you. You fooled me. You bamboozled me! It is so true that you were too good for me. Somehow I deceived myself to think that it was possible. I am just really sad about it all. The least you could have done was tell me. The most considerate thing you could have done was give me a chance. I weep in your memories. Thanks.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat...

As of this far life had been a let down. We grow up thinking our parents are some clairvoyant, magical people when they are not. We are led to believe that we are unique and special only to find out there are a million other people just as gifted and "special" as us. It is astonishing how we manage to get out of bed everyday knowing we are repeating the same vicious cycle that has stolen our childhood. The day seem shorter now, but then again, there are less of them than there were before. They are numbered in some leather-bound book along with everyone' s date of departure. Some how people get past this and make it though the perforated barrier to the other side. Not I! For reasons that I do not know, I cannot. It's like a skipping CD that can't get past the first song. By playing the system, the system has played me. It's like I wasn't supposed to follow the rules and be good and all that shit. No, it wasn't.

Raining Sunshine

You lead me down the path that goes through a meadow filled with wild grasses. Green and yellow litter the land that we meander through. Your footsteps sound confident and calculated the longer we walk. As a gentle breeze sweeps up the fragrance of the red wild flowers that dot the land scape, you put your hand on the small of my back, half smiling as you do so, and give me a nudge in the right direction. I go left, accompanied shortly by you. Whether an hour or a month pass, I fatigue not. We pick us a steady pace and walk with our heads down, eyes on our feet. I am barefoot, you are not. The further we go, the more the path narrows with foliage. First the supple touch of juniper bushes, but this quickly dissipates and is replaced with pyracanthas. Their berries tempt me. They taste so satisfying, yet are poison to me and me journey, possibly a delay if not a shortcoming to this new adventure. "I seek their forbidden fruit no more!", I say and continue on. They pierce my soul, claw away at my delicate skin until I scar and the pain is too much to bare. At this point I am shuffling sideways with my arms high above my armpits in an effort to avoid the inevitable. And still I move on without question. I dare not question. You take me to this extravagant perch located at the edge of a cliff; red rocks scatter the land scape and envelop my senses. You put your hand on the small of my back, just as you have a dozen times, only this time with a grin; more or less a smirk. I think nothing of it. You insure that I go over. I look up only to find that I have been bamboozled! Walk away as should. You turn your back and retreat in search of another.

Coloring Book

We are entitled to our own flaws. That which set us apart from the rest unite us in the most wholesome and beautiful way. For those who make a conscious choice and commit to being the most anomalous person they can, I commend you. I could not express greater loath toward those who think it shameful to be different. Break out that box of crayons, color the day in the most vibrant hues of gray.

Now I speak to you, phonies, impostors, and pseudos, you are not fooling anyone the way you idolize those who are the most pure definition of different. I see through you like a window. I'm not saying you can't pull inspiration from others around you, just do it in a way that creates a unique musical anecdote worthy of telling the world.