Living in a Caste-less System

He walks the street at night searching for half used or discarded cigarettes to smoke. Dirty, unkempt, he smells of a hundred days of sweat, but by what laws of man does it say he is doing it wrong? Those of us lucky enough to be awake right now cast our judgements. Make our off-handed comments as I stand amongst them silent and not caring. I do not fear or respect this man however I do understand. I understand his plight to do as he wishes. I understand why he makes his pilgrimage here every night looking for the things that others don’t want. If only we too could have his conviction, but he serves more as an example to why we can’t than why we should. We can’t all take our shitty useless jobs for granted. I finish my cigarette and leave the part left on the bench next to me among the other unfinished ones. In an act of charity I leave another brand new one with the others. Unlike most in his situation he won’t accept charity though I have tried once or twice. He however will take anything discarded by chance. Silently I walk back into the building. Go back to my shitty job that I could give a fuck about, but need more than I’m fully aware of. Trapped in this box within another, and yet another.

I’m tearing at my stitches and wondering if this is the right thing to do. Examples displayed to me by fate or God or what the fuck ever would tell me it’s not. Yet each stitch of my very existence begs to be popped. Dwelling on such thoughts and such actions is not healthy to the system in which I am confined too. I often wonder who it that is imprisoned in this world is it the free or the damned? I’m hanging on by very little these days. Becoming unhinged I would say. With death metal drums beats bouncing around in my skull I want to get violent. But why? What for? What I have to say is so far from violence and more to do with depression. On point with torture than violence. The feelings dig deep, stitched together by the reality that none of this really matters. How I feel has nothing to do with living life only a byproduct of how I choose to feel about all of this. Life is ever-changing. Constantly evolving and it is how we adapt to it that dictates the outcome of it all.

Diary of a Broken Soul

I’m a miserable self-loathing piece of shit. I’m hidden, in hiding among the insects, between the cracks all around us, waiting it out, and then again I am nothing at all. Everyone always wants to know what I am doing. I lie and say nothing. When really I’m writing down every stupid thing they say, every unfortunate thing they do in my mind or right onto the paper. Profit off of their in securities and their secrets. Each one forming a character inside my head. An excuse to make sure in some way they are dead. I don’t know it’s a process of letting go.

A lady, a bitch, a person with a vagina and tits told me today. She told me the corn tortillas are too hard. Too hard compared to what? Flour, I’m unhappy. I’m not sure at all. Have something to say. It’s on the tip of my tongue. My mind clicks, gears churning trying to not get stuck, trying to not destroy myself from within, and no words come out. A simple smile and nod as visions of beating her to death with corn tortillas dance in my head. No one speaks to me here anymore so, I thought I’d share some words with myself. Madness, I live in a world of madness. It clogs up my brain. Full of nothings and repetitive bull shit. She was white in case that matters, but here in Texas we are all Mexican at heart. Denounce our true existence as if we could hide our bronzed over skin or retarded fucking accents if we get the chance. Ingrained and in breed the sun seeps through the cracks on the walls. It finds its way in for no reason at all. Taunting us to come outside and see the big ass Texas blue sky.

I fail to heed the call preferring to stay inside the majority of the year. Winter, spring, summer, fall doesn’t matter the season I hate every second here. Every moment that I have to deal with these people. These outsiders that come from all over the United States bringing with them their problems they thought they had left back home. Instead they only tow them right to our door step, right in our face, and all they do is complain about how this isn’t like this or that or who gives a fuck. Why does it always seem like the hardest thing is to let go even if you wanted it to go all along? Why move to a place only to change it to where you came from? Transplant city is confused. Segregated by not only directions but by the people themselves. Each with their own set of problems, concerns, and morality. Falling apart at the seams, it seems the stitching has come lose after so much wear and tear. Inspiration is lost on me as of late. With so much mediocrity shoved in my face day in and day out I’ve lost track of who I am. So lost in a sea of lost souls. Doesn’t matter anymore how I feel or what I have to say. As long as I shut up, do as I’m told, and get this fucking lady some soft corn tortillas.

So much of this is beyond my control. So much of this is beyond anything I could know. I can’t control how I feel. I like to think that I can or that I could, but how much can I really control? We don’t choose who we are born to or when we are born. Though they factor into our existence every day, but not by choice. The way we think is ingrained before we even have a chance to think about how we process information. Some say we are born this way. If that is the case then all of my outside influences don’t even matter. I would think this way and feel this way no matter who or what I have come across in my life time. A bunch of shit if you ask me. Born this way? Genetic hatred for everyday life? I don’t see it even if I feel it. A slow progression built up over time. The distance I’ve traveled. The assholes I’ve met in between made me who I am. Each and every knife dug in and drug out of me has molded me and shaped me into what I’ve become.

Yet I like myself. The perfectly cut scars, the misshapen features of a monster, and the overall decomposition of my soul. What’s not to like? It’s the people around me that I hate. With their Caesar like actions waiting to cut out what is left of me. But if I wasn’t in the shadows where is it that they lie? In the light or in the darkness with me? Do I ever really shed them off or are their knives and their influence truly part of me? I think about this as I pick the scabs. The never healing wounds of my past. If I hadn’t been beaten as a child would I be who I am? If my father had stayed by my side would it have made a difference? These questions have no answers. These questions therefore are not real questions at all. They are only lingering thoughts that haunt me in times of sadness and despair. Try to not focus on them, to dwell on them, but I always know they are still there.

My daughter has become a constant reminder of these topics. I look at her sometimes as she sleeps, as she plays, and all I can think is how could anyone walk away from her? Walk away from their child? Hurt their child or another person’s child? Yet I am proof that it can happen. Not only a witness but a victim and still I don’t understand. A real thought turns into so many real questions. Maybe it was meant to be this way. To feel this way. Maybe I just so happen to be a better person because of the knives. Again no real way of ever knowing. Eighteen years from now my daughter could be a drug addict, a murderer, or worst of all conservative because I stayed. Life proposes too many what if’s for one day of reflection.

Even More Broken Thoughts Over Time

I really like playing the asshole, the liar, the thief it’s so much easier than it is to be me.  I just can’t take the loneliness. I’m lonelier now than I was before I gave it all up. The voices in my head have taken over and there is no telling what they have or haven’t said at this point. The long conversations I once had have given into a world that I have created. My life has been a long spiral down to this point. I’m at the bottom and I really don’t feel any worse than when I was at the top. Gone are the days where anything makes sense, the days of innocence, and the days plagued by truth. Here and now is hell. No longer am I waiting to grow up. Now I’m just waiting to die. I’ve never felt any more at home than I do now.

 

The best known secrets are the ones everyone already knows, but are too afraid to admit. We all give up on our dreams or on ourselves at some point. Natural progression of life I assume. Best example crotch fat. Fucking kill me at that point. Why would we even store fat there? How the fuck is that even an option? Did the ass run out of room and the belly declare it is too full? I’d cut it off with a rusty knife. What exercise is there to even fight this? I guess at that point you are just fucked.

 

A customer just told me that the artificial sugars in gum are basically poison. So she buys a thirty pack and heads on home.

 

I got the best house on the block, the fear of admiration by my peers, and the whole world waiting at my feet. What more could I possibly want from this world? I’m no longer hungry and that scares me. Frightens me to the core of my very existence and yet I will do nothing about it. I can’t anymore. The times have come and gone. A new era of my life has begun. One where I am no longer poor. One where I have everything I could ever want. All I have to do is maintain and I’ll be fine. Throwing more cash in the fire I leave for France tomorrow. I don’t even like going there anymore. I’m going to go. My life is so sad it depresses me.

 

My mother got remarried. I don’t like to talk about it much, but it makes me feel like an outsider in a distant land. Family events have become horrible because of this. I feel out-of-place and disconnected from everyone else. So much so that I spend most of the evening hiding as if I’m not even there. My mother’s new family are all nice people, but they are strangers none the less. I think it is so hard for me to connect with them because there are so many. For most of my life it has been me and my mom. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and any other family gathering event. It was always just the two of us and now there is only a room full of people I don’t know. I’m not at a family event now but I am supposed to stop by after work. I won’t be going tonight though I lie and say I will. It is easier this way. Maybe too easy for me. I’m sure my mother will be heartbroken and she will wait patiently for me to walk through the door at any moment. This is probably an over dramatic realization. Too many movies have rotted my brain. I’m sure a room full of people will not miss one more. As I said the easy way out. Push everything a side and move on. The times have changed from what they used to be and I need to get used to the way things are.

Becoming Nothing More

We’ve all got our reasons to be here tonight. Every night. For some of us it is our crippling lack of wealth. For others it has evolved into the only way we know how to live. A violent transformation of shit. A hurricane with no eye. We spin and spin watching the world go by in a blur. We learn things too late or not at all. We are at war? We are on the verge of going bankrupt? We are to be fired? News of the world is nothing and means nothing. There is always a job to do. Most everything beyond that comes as a surprise though we could never really understand the word at this point.

Numb, depressed, destructive these are words we can understand. These are words we live and believe in at this moment and time. My fear however is that they will be replaced with home, suicidal, destroyed. Blending into the madness is hard at first. At first everything is difficult. Time has a way of breaking you in. Grinding you down into the monsters we have become. Humanity, justice, sleep are all lost on us. The very idea of those words disappear in the darkness of our minds. I’ve given up hope that they will return anytime soon. From what little I can recall of the words and their ideas, the thoughts they convey, only make you weak.

Weakness will kill you in this prison of freedom. We remind ourselves that there is always something worse, but is there? The day walkers ask us if we are able to balance life at work and at home. We lie something we all have become masters at. We lie and say we can. We hope this lie will free us, but it never does. How can we maintain lives with little to no sleep? Am I alive? Yes. Do I live a life? Can you repeat the question? Hobbies become sleep. Self-worth becomes units per hour. Desperation becomes an everyday occurrence. They push us harder into the madness. More cases, new product, revolving door of people, shorter deadlines, and on and on. “Never good enough. Should have been done already. Maybe if you were faster. Don’t worry we are getting some more new people in here.” The quotes and shit they say goes on and on. Hate the day walkers. Fear the day walkers. Wish you too could become a day walker.

Though after what we have been through how could we ever quit, walk away, do something else, and then what would have all this been for? Start at the bottom again. Start over with nothing. Start over damaged. The company is a good company to work for I’m told. They pay you well. How do you like it? What can I say? So I say nothing and harbor my pain and sorrow. Could always be worse. Worse than feeling not good enough each and every night. Worse than a nightly reassurance that my worthlessness has driven me beyond a point. A point I will never return from. Becoming nothing more than destroyed, suicidal, and at home.

About Time I Suppose

I always feel the need to do something more tangible. Something a little more personal. The thought washes over me like a wave. A tide that I’m slowly drowning in until well here we go. Recently I finally purchased my own little piece of where ever the hell I am now. You are all welcome to never come over so, knowing where that is, is irrelevant to the situation. Point is that I finally got some land. Not much one to two acres out way from most civilization. Enough to pretend that nothing else exists, but still close enough to get decent internet.

I even got all the things needed to take care of the land. Riding lawnmower, a weed eater, and whatever else. I got everything I tell everyone who might ask though no one ever does. The problem is though I don’t like to be outside. I like the idea of being outside, but never see the point of being out there. It’s like how I like the idea of walking around naked in my house, but I don’t because it’s not practical. What if someone comes over? We’ve spent hundreds of years perfecting inside. Why the fuck would I want to go outside? Needless to say the yard has become over grown and there is a fine layer of dust over all the things I needed to make sure that this didn’t happen.

Letting the yard go was a mistake. Not because there might be snakes or rodents or even monster out there. Who the fuck knows I don’t go outside. It was a mistake because apparently despite my best efforts I do have neighbors and they have a son. Nothing unusual, nothing too strange about having a child. I have one or whatever. The problem is that they saw my laziness as an opportunity for their son to take on a challenge. Never a great start because who the fuck what’s to do something their parents want them to do? I’d be a doctor by now if I had listen to my parents, but things work out how they work out. Or as my mother likes to remind me, “There’s still time.”  I’m half dead. There is barely time to do what I am already doing.

So I hired the kid because his parents were brave enough to knock on my door and speak to me for more than thirty seconds. Yes, that’s all it takes. Anything to get them away from my house. I would have given them the keys to the house if that would have been an option, but my family needs a place to stay. They are weak and too afraid of what is in the tall grass. “Sad,” a quote we can all use now. So the kid comes over once a week to cut my grass and watch me walk around naked in my house. It was awkward at first, but there might be things out there lurking in the grass.

Choking On The Feeling

Do you ever feeling like there is no place for you in the world or that you think you know your place, but maybe that really isn’t your place? My cousin recently graduated from the Marines. Horrible pick for employment given the current leader. The point is though that for as long as I can remember anything about him he wanted to be a solider.

From a young age, the last time I happen to even see him, he knew his place in the world. Good or bad choice aside he wanted that and he got it. I don’t have any feelings for him. No sense of lost memories. We could pass each other on the street tomorrow and I’d keep walking, but I feel so happy for him right now. I am happy he has found a place and a place he wants to be. I’m about to turn thirty and I have no place. So sense of purpose in this world. I want to be writer, but I have my doubts.

Growing up all I ever wanted to do was do something in music. Having no talent, no friends to piggy back on, and no aptitude to even learn an instrument I dove into the part I was good at. Writing lyrics became writing poems. Writing poems became telling stories. It took a long time, but that is where I am now. Trying to write stories to find my purpose. At this moment in time I have published nothing, sold nothing, and with every passing day doubt myself and any talent I might have. I don’t even know another writer. Part of the reason I wanted to be a writer is that I could do it on my own. Which is becoming less and less true as time goes on.

It takes a village or so I hear, but what does it take if you don’t have one? What am I fighting for if there is no hope of winning? I have everything I want, well need, I want a lot of shit I don’t need, but writing didn’t get me the things that I wanted. The people around me did. My mom, my wife, my daughter, and the guy who hired me at my current job provided me the opportunities to be where I am today.

Lost, but still here. I hope writing pans out. I hope it is my place in this world. Not really sure I have enough time to find another and start working towards that from the ground up. Maybe I am thinking about it too much? My cousin was only a kid when he said he wanted to be a solider and technically he is three months in to his place in life. Five years from now he might not even want to be a solider. I’m fifteen years into mine and all I want to be is a writer. Well a good father, a good husband, and a good son. Sometimes it may feel like we have no place in the world, but all that means is that we aren’t done fighting yet.

Really Lost the Meaning

Locked in a box that is known as America. It is easy to pick out the problems that each of us faces on a daily biases. Rich or poor we are always finding faults in the way that we live. Continuously we bring these faults on ourselves. The rich blame the poor and the poor blame the rich for each and every one of their problems. It is easy to see how we have gotten here over time. How each and every great nation, country, or whatever bull shit you want to call it has gotten here. Flipped through history and you will find countless tales of the same issues. Immigration, security, taxes, lack of education, etc. These problems we are faced with are not new or even that interesting anymore because they will always be problems. Someone always has to be the one with the short stick.

Call it God, call it fate, call it the devil’s own way, but whatever you call it, it is still there. What’s interesting is the lack of understanding of the problems and why we are faced with them. Most if not all of us would be okay with all of it if it was only a little bit fairer. Granted I understand that giving an inch will only lead to a mile, but honestly the top 1% control the bottom 99%. I wonder what kind of world we would be living in if it was more 60/40 or even 70/30? It would feel like a god damn utopia for at least what 2000 more years? Who the fuck knows. What is known is that there will always be someone above you, over you, or fucking you in some way.

This called a constant and the way of the world. Won’t change no matter what primitive cousin to the primate we put in charge. Man will find a way to fuck it up. We will find a way to destroy it because we still haven’t figured out how to fix it. The whole history book thing. Though we are getting better at drawing it out so, I guess that is something to be proud of. Still hoping we can figure out the whole bathroom issue sometime soon.

I feel like this is really holding us up as a society. We could do what they do in Japan and just have every public restroom be a hole in the ground. No that would be too simple and the legislation too short. What is a bill or a law if it isn’t over a thousand pages making sure it disenfranchises at least one person? Hippie propaganda.  Really lost the meaning of what I was trying to say here at about the second sentence.

America has problems, yes. So does every other nation in history up until now. Some have gotten some of it right and others don’t have a fucking clue as to what the word right even means. There are continents with major issues. Looking at you Africa. Seriously what the fuck? I mean the continent has a serious anti-homosexual stance which is fucked up enough. This alone would be like hey we need to talk about some stuff here. Please take a seat. But then on top of all that they are also mutilating innocent little girls because? They are fucking up vaginas while having a serious problem with homosexuals. That’s beyond we need to talk. That’s some dark shit. I never met the man, but I feel like even Ted Bundy would be like that’s a little too far or he’d clap. Really could go either way with that example. Do you like women or hate them? So confused on the overall message a large part of Africa is trying to get across. Where do you transition from there I’m not too sure.

Slave labor in other countries, human trafficking, mass starvation, or religious extremists? Honestly I can’t get over the bathroom issue and how unjustified it is. Something needs to be done god damn it. We invented greatness (patent pending) and we can solve this problem. We need to solve this problem before it ends up like another one of those big-ticket issues such as abortion or global genocide. I mean are we not heading to another civil war or are we not heading to another civil war. The chaos and panic in the streets is horrific and must be stopped. I mean we could put in place a higher minimum wage, free higher education, and free healthcare. I personally know that having a billion dollars is not enough to live a comfortable and sustaining life. I need every one of those dollars for things. Things made by people I don’t pay or care about. It’s a cycle but it looks more like a pile of shit. Luckily I happen to be on top of it. Make America great again? How about taxing the rich again? Are you out of your mind?