Coincidence

OK . . . there's definitely been a glich in the Matrix . . .

Howo do you process a seemingly endless need to go back to the beginning . . . with life seemingly falling backwards through time to a certain time . . .

As if this were Quantum Leap but the life I time travel through, linearly at that, was mine?

Kinda freaky, right . . . but that's the best way I can explain it . . .

This is all getting really cerebreal . . . really quick . . . but I kinda like it . . .

So what is the right action now?

What 's the next move?

How do I stay perfect?

Truth is . . .

There is no right action . . .

There is no next move . . .

You merely do not doing.

" . . . and all faces look the same . . ." (Scylla and Charybdis)

Ok, Ok, Ok . . .

Maybe it's just me and we all know I'm halfway out of the mind that's half insane, but . . .

All these faces look the same . . .

Maybe I'm getting older and maybe I'm just . . . I don't know . . .

I mean from old friends to ex-girlfriends . . . I keep seeing the same faces everywhere. They have different names, but that's about where the differences end . . . it's mildly disconcerting when exes have the same personality traits . . . it makes you wonder how good your decision making is . . .

Anyway, on to something related but not . . .

I was at work the other night and a co-worker comes up to me and proceeds to tell me a story about how I remind him of this guy he used to know. I was ready to take this as a compliment outside of the obvious racial (not racist) remarks about my hair . . .

Well, the story ends with him telling me that my doppelganger drank all of the alcohol in his house and pissed his wife off so they don't talk no more . . . and I'm left standing there like "thank you?"

I wonder why people decide to tell fucked up stories and disguise them as compliments or worse . . .

But I digress . . .

In my search for a point of reference I come across the same bridge. The first time, I took the first step, the second time I swam across the god-damn, and the third time I just kinda shrugged my shoulders and accepted the company . . . now mind you my interests possibly lie elsewhere, but . . .

You know, I should just say "fuck it" and tell everyone to get fucked and mosie on down the road on my lonesome . . . take Hetfield's advice and be the road warrior that I've grown and adapted to be . . .

But I've done that already, and to tell you the truth, I'm ready for change . . .

I find the biggest problem is that you either take it too serious or not serious enough and you're always trying to make up the difference with pennies . . . it's quite tedious and painstaking and you always end up that one cent short of a hundred so you dig everywhere for that last penny, only to find you had it all along and just miscounted . . .

So what is the answer? Where is the divine, absolute truth in this . . . I mean even scientist say we aren't meant, engineered, or conditioned to be alone . . . but is that based on "normalcy"?

What if "crazy" works for me?

. . .

Anywho, I don't know . . . Chino would say he could " . . . see it comin' over his cloud", Ed Kowalczky would say he "could feel it comin' back again", Plant would say he "could feel it callin' him the way it used to", and Maynard would say, "Been through this before" . . . but where does that leave me? What do I say?

Times like these I go back to thinking that I think too much, which leads me to think too much about thinking too much . . . after that I usually go to sleep . . . and think too much subconsciously . . .

But I swear I'm not crazy . . .

The Buddha says to walk the Middle Path . . . he just failed to tell you about the tripwire, howitzers, guerrillas, claymores, plasma grenades, semi-automatic rifles, air strikes, and torrential downpour that accompanies your Eightfold Path through Hell . . . ok, Purgatory . . .

Fuckin' philosophers . . .

Crazy Little Thing Called "_ _ _ _" (Part II)

I'm watching the Devils seal the deal on a win, enjoying the irritating but clean smell of bleach . . .

I've been playing devil's advocate with myself for the past week and a half . . .

I didn't realize just how cynical I was until I saw the same cynicism in someone else . . . the fact that they are an interest makes the point all the more poignant.

Now I have to consider everything that I've said and done . . . looking at it from the opposite point of view . . . which is a daunting task . . . my walls have already been built, I've already set my ways and spirit in a certain line of thought, and I've committed time and energy to maintaining an abject refusal and denial of the present situation.

But now I have to consider all this work as detrimental to my mental and spiritual growth . . .

I mean, is it really that important? In our modern society, the notion of having ideal is regarded as naive, foolish . . . even to the point of being retarded. No one else plays by the rules, there is no honor among thieves . . . we all should just go out there and take what's owed to us . . .

But then I look at the world around me with my own eyes, removing the veil . . .

All the people that I know who think in the aforementioned way are, in fact, miserable. They take everything they want to take, they have everything they feel is important and yet they are still searching, hungering for more. They put all of their stock in material things and are still wanting . . . why? The object of the game is to have the most stuff and pay the least for it . . . they should be happy they are winning . . .

Unless there's more to this . . .

I've lived enough life to have first-hand experience, assurance, and knowledge that there's something else at work here. To document all the proof here and now would one; take more typing then I'm prepared to do right now and two; take away from the overall point I'm trying to make here . . . perhaps another blog . . .

Anyway, to sum it up, as many times as I've been handed the short end of the stick is as many times as I've stood atop the mountain, arms raised in a "V".

But it's lonely at the top . . .

Ironically, I've been on a kick, listening to all the music I used to listen to right before my life fell apart (the first time). That situation involved a job and a girl (she was a looker, too) and it ended with me quitting the job (for reasons I will not disclose) and being called a bum (by the looker). All the people I've ever had in my life are around for the good times and run for cover like cockroaches to light when hard times hit. It seems I have a knack for stepping over the edge when things are going well and clawing right back up when I fall on hard times . . . some would call this resilience . . . I'm more likely to call it lunacy.

I've never been good with relationships, my family life sucks, my friendships are rocky and I spend most of my time alone. Consequently, it has an impact on the way I look at life, people, and society in general. In short, I have severe trust and abandonment issues . . . to the point where they cause a significant degree of paranoia and schizophrenia . . .

I wrestle with my humanity.

Naturally, I seek to procreate as any human does, but, as strong as nature is I am equally, if not more driven to secure and further my "man-thought" . . . I quest for immortality. I've even toyed with the theory that there is something important for me to express or create, and my own immortality has created a flaw in my personality that will not allow me a successful relationship so that this life's work can be completed.

At first blush, I considered this to be quite outrageous but then I thought about the connection between one's brain and spirit. Psychologically, if someone can create mental blocks of traumatic events, then the notion that I could have sub-consciously pushed love interests away in pursuit of spiritual fulfilment doesn't seems so far-fetched. In fact, it's a better theory than just writing myself off as an asshole . . .

Still, the question that remains is: How can I accomplish this great task without experiencing a complete life? You know the saying: Behind every great man is a great woman . . . well, we're not in Japan . . . you can walk next to me if you wanna . . . at least that's how I see it . . . my problem is I can't find anyone that can keep pace with me . . .

But this is supposed to be about compromise . . .

This is where it gets hairy . . . if I slow down for someone else, will they speed up for me? Truthfully, I'm more worried about being a detriment to the other person, fuck what they can give me . . . I don't need much more than someone to come home to. I probably wouldn't be so unstable if I knew there was somebody in my corner . . . I'd sacrifice damn near everything just to know what that's like . . .

I often wonder if there is anyone truly capable of dealing . . .

My acquaintances and most of the women that I meet know me to be "happy-go-lucky", "entertaining", "funny" . . . you get the picture. Little do they know that I'm a walking emotional train-wreck. They see me as this "knight in shinning armor" who will solve all of their problems and sweep them off of their feet . . . they want me to fight for them but they are unable and unwilling to mend my battle scars . . . they don't know how to smith and they can barely cook . . . you can't fight on an empty stomach.

People in general have no idea that I had to find a reason to get out of bed this morning that didn't involve a revolver. They think cause I got a baby face and a pretty good vocabulary, I got it made. They can't see the stitches, lacerations, stab wounds, and all the cybernetic parts that make up this charming personality . . . I'm humorous cause I laugh at my own misery.

It makes me wonder if this is even for me, cause if I wasn't miserable or lonely, I don't know if I'd have the same outlook, say the things I say or smile the way I do. But then I think about how much more engaging I could be if I were truly happy . . .

So I remain Strider until I find a reason to come out of the shadows and take my rightful place as king . . .