Left Behind

I’ve changed so much since my days of going to the country school (which is closer to me then the high school I’m going to now) and I think I may have left a huge part of me behind in those halls.  I only realized this by driving past it for the first time in three years.  My friends knew me back then. After going to a small school with a handful of people for 10 years you can know someone really well.  You know their past, you know their present, you know what made them who they are, you know them through and through.  And I was tired with that, I wanted to be another face in a crowd of un-knowing people.  It’d be more comfortable or something like that.  The only way I could complete this self goal was to change myself.  I wanted to be different unique and that’s okay.  But the thing is I’ve worked so hard to change myself, my musical taste, my style, my thoughts, that now I don’t have anything left to change.  I’m a new person and I have left some of myself behind.

My friends don’t know my past that well, and I don’t want them to.  Can I be true friends with somebody who does not know that information? Have I finally got what I wanted, to be faceless within a crowd?

Oh boy oh boy oh god

Watch my face. Watch it closely. I’m so tired of acting like I’m unique and different then everybody else because in the end we’re all the same emotion and laughter grabbing as everybody else. Where did all the serious conversations go? Why can’t all the lives I lead connect?  No more money no more food.  My body can be the mechanism of my mind and I’ll never be able to say what I mean.  The words out of my mouth these days never come out right.  My speech is somehow slurred and people actually notice.  They look at my bottom lip (my brother used to call it fat and it hurt me but I’m over it) and that makes me all the more slurred.  Fuck if you had a speech impediment I wouldn’t stare, I’d accept that you’re different (but really the same) and I’d get on with life.  I wouldn’t hurt you.  I wouldn’t be mean and spiteful.  I’d let it go and whatever right?

We all begin life the same, and end it the same just in different manners.  We all feel the same emotions, use our senses, think, want and need, and communicate so why should I be treated differently then anybody else?  Why do people laugh at me?  Why do people talk about me when I’m not around?  Why do people imitate me and mock me when I’m not around?  If I were a religious fanatic I’d tell them that one day on judgement day they’d get what they deserved but I’m not.  Wish I was, but I know the truth and I know it like the back of my hand because I’m the truth.  Yup, my flesh, my blood, my hair, my eyes, my fingers, my calves they are all real and don’t lie.  If you were to break everyone down to itty bitty pieces we’d all be the same. Scientifically speaking, matter is anything that has mass (something along those lines). “Hi, I’m matter” “Hey! Nice to meet you matter, I’m also matter!” Well that conversation went well.

I had a traumatic dream last night. Trauma sucks.

Conformity and Distractions

And in the beginning I hate the conformity, the rules and regulations, even the people. But lately, I’ve been contemplating the end, because I know I’ll look back and reminisce about the relaxing quality of the sameness, repetition, and distractions.

Just a Sec

In a second it all dawned upon me.  From the minute you opened your mouth to the minute it took for you to close it I knew you spoke nothing but truth.  I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to.  I called you a badass (Imma bamf) and I meant it at the time but I’m not sure if I think you’re a badass anymore.  Whatever, it’s all up to the trees now!

It’s comfortable, knowing, all the words.  It really is.  I feel you in me, I see you on me, in the mirror.  Blistering rumours, aren’t that loud, manageable.  Again, those voices, aren’t in my head.  I’ll choose, to be, what I’m not.  It is rainging, cats, then dogs.  He’s entranced by the boobs, melons, and then hope.  The clay set, you bought, knick knacks.  I can’t, stay united, anymore.  The lone tear, gave me fear, on our cheeks.

Body Out

Out of fucking body experience. I turned off the bathroom light because there was nobody needing any light inside. And I took a handful of those knock off candies (nordic not swedish) because on some level I think they’ll make me feel better. When I feel gross I look for something to eat. I open the fridge and just stare. I open the freezer and just stare. I open the pantry and just stare. I’m so fucking numb all the fucking time. I don’t think I’ve been able to breath in a while. I need to start doing yoga or something. And I’m scared to say how much I like your girlfriend because I don’t want people thinking that I like her too much (compared to your boyfriend). I’m ready for what my brother has, but not what my sister has. They are two totally different spectrum’s I suppose.

This is me craving more. This is me not crying. This is me dreaming and hearing cats race around on the roof. This is me frustrated and craving craving craving. This is me lusting. This is me stuffing my mouth. This is me being completely irrational. This is me seething. This is me listening to ‘new stuff’. This is me trying but not hard enough. This is me petrified of 1000 people. This is me not knowing where to go. This is me fantasizing about doing shit to you. This is me pulling my hair out. And this is me being me.

The Lone Trail

Excerpts and based on the song ‘The Lone Trail’ by Robert W. Service

Narrator: very dramatic, reads the original song
Narrator 2: describes the scene
Camper 1: eager, outgoing, interested
Camper 2: sensitive, thoughtful, and positive minded
Camper 3: jokester of the group

Narrator: Ye who know the Lone Trail know few follow it, though it lead to glory or the darkness of the pit. Ye who take the Lone Trail, bid your love goodbye; The Lone Trail, the Lone Trail follow you till you die…
Narrator 2: The sounds of the night enveloped a group of adventure seeking friends. Everybody was immersed in talking about how their days went except for one person, their guide. There was a long pause in the conversation and everyone gazed into the fire, tired and content.

[group is set up in a semicircle in front of the audience]

Guide: [leaning back in his chair] Would anyone be interested in hearing a story?
Camper 1: [startled that he had spoken after being so quite for so long] Oh sure! What kind of a story do you have in mind?
Guide: Hmmm… [Scratches beard] I was thinking of a story about a place not far from here.
Camper 2: That sounds cool!
Guide: [clears throat] The trails of the world are countless and most of them have been tread upon. You follow in the footsteps of many until you come to a fork. One of the paths lies safe in sunlight while the other is dreary and foreboding…
Camper 3: [whispers so the guide doesn’t here] What does foreboding even mean?
Camper 2: [whispers frustrated] Shhhh!
Guide: ….yet you look curiously sideways at the Lone Trail, and the Lone Trail lures you on. You’re sick of the highway, with all its noise, its needs and its predictability and you seek the risk and mystery of the trail fore you know not where it leads. It could lead to a mountain top to the light of a campfire just like ours…where do you think it leads?
Camper 3: [says sarcastically serious] It could, it could lead to the South!
Guide: Absolutely! It could lead to the swampland in the South where the orchids grow where you could catch a fatal fever and someone robs your lonely corpse of its clothes!
Camper 2: Ewww!
Camper 3: Shhhhh!
Camper 1: It could lead to the North too…
Guide: Yes! Go on…
Camper 1: [begins the sentence slowly while thinking and then picks up speed] It could lead North where the…the scurvy softens your bones and your cheeks become sunken in and you spit out your teeth one by one like stones!
Camper 2: [sounds disgusted] Gah, you’re all so morbid…you know, it could lead to a good place too!
Guide: Well, where do you think it leads?
Camper 2: I think it leads to…a coral reef in the wash of a weedy sea. Where you can sit and stare at the endless blue sky and white sand with the sounds of gulls and the water lapping gently on the shore!
Guide: Mmmm, it could also lead to the arctic where the snow freezes your weary feet and you whittle away your impending doom by crawling on your hands…it is possible that it leads somewhere like a beach but it probably leads to pain, if you’ve stood at the entrance before you’d understand! And yet even though there’s something inside of you that tells you to not to go on, part of you wants to tells you to keep going. And until the day that the end has been reached no one knows where the trail leads…

Narrator 2: The weary campers gazed out into the darkness uneasily. They huddled a bit closer and their wide eyes glinted from the light of the fire. It’s safe to say the guide’s story didn’t let them get to sleep any easier, but it did get them thinking. Is predictability really what they want? Or could we all use a little more mystery in our lives?
Narrator: Bid goodbye to your sweetheart, bid goodbye to your friend; The Lone Trail, the Lone Trail follow to the end. Stay not, and fear not, chosen of the true; Lover of the Lone Trail, the Lone Trail waits for you.

Fred Marsh

He works at D&M Foods as a greeter but he hates it. He only applied for the job to make Helen (his sister) happy and it really did make her happy. He liked that bit of the job but thats all. He holds onto the past but I don’t have to tell you that.

I’m There

I’m there, well almost. I’m in it, all the way. I’ll listen to this cd all the way through. I’ll try to be unique, through art. I’ll be who I want to be, and I’ll become what I want to be. I’ll be something new, something interesting.

I’m tired of doubting, I’m tired of questioning, I’m tired of being stressed, I’m tired of being guilty, I’m tired of feel sick, I’m tired of being whole, I’m tired of walking, I’m tired of thinking, I’m tired of religion, I’m tired of people, I’m tired of being accused, I’m tired of feeling paranoid, I AM TIRED OF FEELING PARANOID. I shouldn’t have to be, I know that, but I am. I can’t help it, I can’t! I’m always looking over my shoulder, I’m always thinking what they’re thinking, I’m tired of thinking of what you’re thinking. I hate that I do it, but I do it and thats all there is to it.

Communion

He sat there in his pew with his collar buttoned up tight, wearing those black shoes. The silver plate whose reflection bounced off the ceiling in weird formations was making its round again. All he could think about was which piece of bread he’d get. It was in his dad’s hand and his eyes zeroed in on the piece that would soon be in his stomach. Then it was his turn, plate in hand, and eyes on the bread. The pastor said the line and everybody ate. It didn’t mean anything, it didn’t reaffirm anything, it just was bread. No symbolism needed. Fulfillment in its blandest form.

I never meant to break

I know what you are and I’ll tell you someday because I know that you know you don’t know. I really do have a lot to say to you. I’m almost all caught up now.