Happiness. Contentment.
These are the things everyone strives for.
Silence, quiet, peace. Things necessary for relaxation.
I no longer bemoan being single.
I find it quite liberating. I go where I want, when I want. I do the things I want and say whatever I wish.
I love the peace and quiet of my home. It is so nice to be able to read without distractions.
Yes, my life is finally complete. All I ever needed was me.
Friday, December 28, 2012
A brief moment of life
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Words come true
But in a twisted perverted way.
I'm the hermit on the mountain, trying to help someone. It's just a matter of time before that person beats me, robs me, and leaves me for dead.
And why does it happen? Because I'm a nice person.
Who dies today. I refuse to help another person out. I have to only look out for myself.
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Monday, December 10, 2012
Mr. Fix-It
People are stupid.
That was simply the conclusion he had come to over the number of years since he first realized that he had a super-power. It wasn't a cool super-power like Superman had. He couldn't fly, no x-ray vision, and he was fairly certain he would die if someone shot him with any sort of projectile weapon. He really wasn't interested in actually finding out either. That whole one life to live thing seemed to resonate throughout him.
Mr. Fix-It was the name he gave to himself. Nobody ever really seemed interested in giving him a SuperName. Instead, they just came to him with their problems. "Help me," they called out. "Save me," they pleaded. His good nature wouldn't let him ignore genuine calls for help. Sometimes he really wished he didn't have a damn conscious.
He really didn't mind listening to other people's problems and helping them reach the logical conclusions that they would have eventually worked out on their own. He didn't mind being quiet and letting people reach logical conclusions on their own. Quite the contrary, he enjoyed helping people seeing clearly, learning how to think, how to analyze the situations that they found themselves in. He got a warm feeling knowing he helped someone become a productive member of society.
What he didn't like was what typically happened. People would beg him to listen to their plights, beg him for his advice, and then turn around and do exactly what they were going to do anyway. It was as if they purposely went out of their ways to do the opposite of what he was guiding them towards. And when things didn't work out the way they wanted, it was always filled with shouts of disdain and admonishments of his inability to help them. It was a never-ending vicious cycle of hate and resentment. He hated and resented these people. And they still came back for more. More advice, more problems. It never ended.
Mr. Fix-It.
The most ironic thing to him was that his life was probably no better than half of these people. Worse more than likely. He lived alone, eschewing the company of others, paranoid to the point that he trusted no one. He never let anyone close for fear that they would hurt him. And on top of being a paranoid social pariah, he was in love with a woman he could never be with. He never understood why these people thought he could solve their problems.
That was until the day he met Otis. Otis was an old black man. He came across Otis one day at the park . Otis was just sitting on a bench watching the squirrels gather nuts, passing time away. Mr. Fix-It was tired, he had been walking for a while thinking on this problem, the dilemma that he was facing. Taking his leave, he rested his bones beside Otis.
For a while, they sat there in companionable silence, Otis watching the squirrels, and Mr. Fix-It lost in thought. Clearing his throat a little, Otis spoke, "You're Mr. Fix-It, aren't you?"
"Oh great," he thought, "Here it comes, another problem. Great." Mr. Fix-It nodded slowly, preparing himself to listen to the man's question.
Otis continued, "You listen to people's troubles, right?" Again, Mr. Fix-It nodded. "But now, you gotta problem." Mr. Fix-It frowned, unsure of what to do. Otis kept right on. "You're problem is you don't understand why peoples want to tell you all their cares and worries. Right?"
Mr. Fix-It just stared at Otis in surprise. He was flabbergasted that this random old man had seen right to the heart of the problem.
Otis took his silence as agreement, still watching the squirrels chasing each other around, and proceeded on with what he had to say. "The reason they tell you their problems is because you listen. Because you care. The whole world, it's messed up. But here you are, quiet, calm, a rock in the storm. The things that bother them, they's the same that bothers you. But for some reason you gotta better gripe on things. Don't beat yourself up over it. Things have a way of working themselves out."
And with that, and not another word, Otis nodded, and stood. Bowing his head slightly, Otis walked away leaving Mr. Fix-It staring after him. The words still thundered in his ear. He wasn't sure if it was going to make his life any easier, but he knew it didn't matter anymore. You are what you are, things never change. You can only do what you can.
That was simply the conclusion he had come to over the number of years since he first realized that he had a super-power. It wasn't a cool super-power like Superman had. He couldn't fly, no x-ray vision, and he was fairly certain he would die if someone shot him with any sort of projectile weapon. He really wasn't interested in actually finding out either. That whole one life to live thing seemed to resonate throughout him.
Mr. Fix-It was the name he gave to himself. Nobody ever really seemed interested in giving him a SuperName. Instead, they just came to him with their problems. "Help me," they called out. "Save me," they pleaded. His good nature wouldn't let him ignore genuine calls for help. Sometimes he really wished he didn't have a damn conscious.
He really didn't mind listening to other people's problems and helping them reach the logical conclusions that they would have eventually worked out on their own. He didn't mind being quiet and letting people reach logical conclusions on their own. Quite the contrary, he enjoyed helping people seeing clearly, learning how to think, how to analyze the situations that they found themselves in. He got a warm feeling knowing he helped someone become a productive member of society.
What he didn't like was what typically happened. People would beg him to listen to their plights, beg him for his advice, and then turn around and do exactly what they were going to do anyway. It was as if they purposely went out of their ways to do the opposite of what he was guiding them towards. And when things didn't work out the way they wanted, it was always filled with shouts of disdain and admonishments of his inability to help them. It was a never-ending vicious cycle of hate and resentment. He hated and resented these people. And they still came back for more. More advice, more problems. It never ended.
Mr. Fix-It.
The most ironic thing to him was that his life was probably no better than half of these people. Worse more than likely. He lived alone, eschewing the company of others, paranoid to the point that he trusted no one. He never let anyone close for fear that they would hurt him. And on top of being a paranoid social pariah, he was in love with a woman he could never be with. He never understood why these people thought he could solve their problems.
That was until the day he met Otis. Otis was an old black man. He came across Otis one day at the park . Otis was just sitting on a bench watching the squirrels gather nuts, passing time away. Mr. Fix-It was tired, he had been walking for a while thinking on this problem, the dilemma that he was facing. Taking his leave, he rested his bones beside Otis.
For a while, they sat there in companionable silence, Otis watching the squirrels, and Mr. Fix-It lost in thought. Clearing his throat a little, Otis spoke, "You're Mr. Fix-It, aren't you?"
"Oh great," he thought, "Here it comes, another problem. Great." Mr. Fix-It nodded slowly, preparing himself to listen to the man's question.
Otis continued, "You listen to people's troubles, right?" Again, Mr. Fix-It nodded. "But now, you gotta problem." Mr. Fix-It frowned, unsure of what to do. Otis kept right on. "You're problem is you don't understand why peoples want to tell you all their cares and worries. Right?"
Mr. Fix-It just stared at Otis in surprise. He was flabbergasted that this random old man had seen right to the heart of the problem.
Otis took his silence as agreement, still watching the squirrels chasing each other around, and proceeded on with what he had to say. "The reason they tell you their problems is because you listen. Because you care. The whole world, it's messed up. But here you are, quiet, calm, a rock in the storm. The things that bother them, they's the same that bothers you. But for some reason you gotta better gripe on things. Don't beat yourself up over it. Things have a way of working themselves out."
And with that, and not another word, Otis nodded, and stood. Bowing his head slightly, Otis walked away leaving Mr. Fix-It staring after him. The words still thundered in his ear. He wasn't sure if it was going to make his life any easier, but he knew it didn't matter anymore. You are what you are, things never change. You can only do what you can.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Ahhh who cares
Decisions. Choices. Thoughts. Regrets. Pain..sadness.
Emotions.
Things running through my head. My tooth hurts and my subconscious runs amuck. Amuck. Amuck. Amuck.
I realized today that I'm not crazy, I'm just mad. I know the difference between right and wrong. I know the difference between sanity and insanity, yet I still talk to myself. And sing badly to songs that I don't know all the words to. There, my secret life is out. In the open for all to see. Now, doesn't that feel better?
Except, we can't let all the secrets out. Got to keep me locked away deep inside. The little secret that no one knows. Except me. Damn my eyes.
My tooth hurts, my guts hurt, my chest sometimes hurts (I think that's mostly gas.) I'm dying. Well maybe not immediately, but it's going to come one day. I mean, in that sense we are all dying. I just suspect mine is sooner rather than later. But then I court death. Living on the edge.
I hear voices outside my window. But that's not possible, I'm thirty feet off the ground. Maybe I'm just hearing voices.
Ohhhh the stories I could tell. I should be writing those instead of these sad pleas for help. I am slowly accepting the course for my life. It's hard fighting pre-determined destinies. Another life I will find my happiness, just not this one.
I try to be happy, I try to move on. I gave up trying to forget. Easier to forget my own name.
I gave up. Trying was too hard. Acceptance is easier. Resistance is futile.
I laugh at myself. I try to stay positive and it goes to shit. The worst part is I know you're reading these.
Never question my ninja.
Time for happiness in dreams.
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Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Failure
I failed.
No matter how hard I tried, it failed. I could have done more, I should have done more. It wasn't enough. I failed.
I could have been more, a better friend, a true confidant. I could have listened better, been a better friend. I could have paid more attention. I failed.
Life goes on, but not for me. Trapped in the sea of disbelief. When it mattered the most, I could not produce, I failed.
I wish I could do it all over again. The choices made different, the words left unsaid. I failed.
The one thing I swore to do, I failed. The only thing that mattered, I failed.
My word was not good, there is no happy ending. I failed.
Failure was not an option, it was life and death. The result was death, and I failed you.
Could I have done more to keep the barrel from your head?
Could I have done more to keep you from being dead?
I failed.
Life isn't always roses, and what we want can be unattainable as the moon. But we don't always get that second chance. And we have to make the most of it. Failure is as part of life as success or death. It is all intertwined, intermingled. No one could have stopped that bullet. And life goes on.
Without failure there would never be successful. Life goes on, and I have to live with my failures.
No matter how hard I tried, it failed. I could have done more, I should have done more. It wasn't enough. I failed.
I could have been more, a better friend, a true confidant. I could have listened better, been a better friend. I could have paid more attention. I failed.
Life goes on, but not for me. Trapped in the sea of disbelief. When it mattered the most, I could not produce, I failed.
I wish I could do it all over again. The choices made different, the words left unsaid. I failed.
The one thing I swore to do, I failed. The only thing that mattered, I failed.
My word was not good, there is no happy ending. I failed.
Failure was not an option, it was life and death. The result was death, and I failed you.
Could I have done more to keep the barrel from your head?
Could I have done more to keep you from being dead?
I failed.
Life isn't always roses, and what we want can be unattainable as the moon. But we don't always get that second chance. And we have to make the most of it. Failure is as part of life as success or death. It is all intertwined, intermingled. No one could have stopped that bullet. And life goes on.
Without failure there would never be successful. Life goes on, and I have to live with my failures.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
If only things would never change
Rain.
It comes pouring down, beating hard upon the roof. I lay in bed, listening to it come down, missing you. I wonder if you miss me, I wonder if you even realize I'm gone; so caught up in your world.
Life ends, life begins.
A friend shoots himself in the head. A child is born to happy parents. Both happening at the same time, and I'm a bystander looking at other's lives.
I once thought I would be there, be the father, stand by your side as a husband. I never thought I would be alone. And yet it is so fitting. Exactly what I deserve.
Rain. It continues to fall.
There are days where I wish I could forget. Forget how awesome you are, how happy I was to hear you laugh. The silence rules my life.
I know it's for the best. I was never a part of this world, so I can't enjoy the fruits of life. I am the ghost, nonexistent, ephemeral. A specter, a dream, a figment of imagination. I will soon wake from this dream into the next, and my journey will continue.
Rain. It's my only consolation.
I wonder if you lay there, listening to the rain, thinking of me. Can you hear my heart beating? Do you understand? Do you feel the same? Or am I only dreaming?....sorry, 80's moment.
I wish my head were an etch-a-sketch so I can shake it clean and forget how wonderful you are and how you made me feel. I never expected anything different. I just want to forget perfection.
Rain. Let it wash me away, like a ghost into fog, and vanish in the night.
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