Deep-seated

There are aspects to the human condition I find cycling.

We go year periods with little to no change. From there a big life moment happens. We book mark it, tab it, photograph it. From there we live with that new addition. In the same pattern since birth our life cycles, yet again. This time however, with the new addition.

Almost like a growth, you get used to this thing being in your life, surrounding you. Then another life moment happens and the thing is gone. More quietly your life finds a cycle again. Living without this thing. All in all, one day you realize that it’s like it was never really there. Cycling.

If we can always get back to where we came from, get back to our patterns, then what is the point?

I think the fear of losing something special is hiding in my midst.

Blips

I’m running as far away as I can from anywhere. All directions. Seeing all points falling into the distance, I still run. There’s too much in the air that’s left. Too much resonating. I feel the vibrations in my skin. I know I’m still too close. Still to near what it was I was running from. I can’t stop. I must continue to move forward. Forgetting careful steps. Forgetting paths. Forgetting direction. Just away.

****

I like to hide.

Finding a safe place that’s just my own. I can be myself here. The vulnerable self.

Like a Turtle, I have to gather strength for the day. The morning ritual. Alarm. Let dog out. Take shower. Coffee. Breakfast. Day.

Counting down till the moments when the day is real again. Inside my cave the time doesn’t matter. It’s “real life” that takes the hours.

****

Forceful vulnerability is one of the most cruel and unusual punishments.

Morning-side.

Why do we hold on? Ever fearful of what’s to come we trudge. Calves sore, feet salted from sweat. The ground hot like the beach thick like mud. Continuously traveling uphill.

A treadmill set at incline 10, pack on back, summer sun, forgot breakfast.

At some point we tell ourselves it’s worth it. Who’s worse, us to ourselves or others to us? I knew there were liars and thieves, away from me and in the distance, but never have I felt so comparable.

But it’s worth it.

Wondering what “it” is.

Lately I’ve been practically in-able to wake up. It’s as if no matter the dream it is better than the awake. My comatose reality plays tricks, however, creating strange awareness and frustrations.

I tried to start a book and I couldn’t focus.

I need to focus.

I need coffee, for life.

 

Disjointed Applications

Adjustabilty of my minds mental process has been compromised. Juxtaposed into the previous nights thoughts. Dreams. Replays. Here I sit stunted. Wondering all those pathetic wanders. Compromised. To produce any structural comprehension…there is a screw loose. Needing a prescription for growth hormones, specific. Targeted.

I look out my window. Weather report. Jacket no jacket. Start car. Robotic. Method madness. At least these certain things I can do blindly. Memorized. Second to nature. Second to doing this since birth. Second to started my car after exiting the womb. Second to.

Band-Aid me. Neosporin. Hug me and let me cry.

Thoughts are like Farts

Realizing the limitations to the human design. We hunt, we gather. Surviving, barely, we make positions. World views. Generalizations. Assumptions. Rough guesstimations.

Every turn down every road leads us back to where we started. Because the questions that really matter in life cannot be researched and studied. Not in large part and not by those who research and study life without the faith of it. You can give me an answer to a question and what I realize is that I could live just as I did before, without it. To me it makes no change in my attempt at living successfully.

Human flaw: answering a question with a question. Hello people, punctuation? It’s a good tool to use when proofreading.

So here we are, just like the long road, looping around. What are we, why are we. Religion. No religion. Purpose? I have a view, you have a view.

I feel stunted at the place where, quite definitively, you tell me that a large part of my view is a generalization. Case in point. All views are generalizations. We can hope for the masses and that’s all we have.

You live your live, I’ll live mine. Until it’s over I’ll debate with you as to whom is doing it right.

Me.

Small Bits

Driving. Ears clogged. I’m trapped in my own inner workings; digestion, realization, thought. Not in a bad way but almost in a comatose state. The thoughts are foggy, sounds echoed and I can’t get my mind to waver.

Pop. Pop. Ears trying to find some release. Here I release as well. Set free from the coma and thrust back into reality. Leaves me wondering, “When did I pass Fred Meyer’s?”

In these moments I’m trapped like the pages of a diary; forever reliving a moment. More a montage of moments but instantaneous. From listing off characteristics of a boy I like to speaking in code about my unhappiness.

What we write never is exactly how the moments play out. They can get close but the tangible note-book page feeling never gets there.

I wish words came with emoticons that you could press and actually feel that emotion. For what it was. For it’s complexity.

These waves help me process small bits of my life. What I feel, why I feel it. I like to understand. What I don’t understand is why I let myself get to these places where reflection is needed , “hindsight is 20/20.” I wish that in a moment I could pause and choose to continue. Yes or No. Sometimes clicking No.

I want to have more control.