Yellow House, Brown Shutters

So this is what it is like to belong? Belong to a family? Feeling useless or pointless ninety percent of the time. Feeling awkward in a room full of people you tell half-truths too in order to feel superior or make them feel proud of you. Family is nothing more than a group of strangers pretending they give a shit. Society, in general, is the same thing. Thin little threads made of lies hold it all together until it is time to fall apart. My thoughts are my own but on some level, everyone in this room is thinking the same thing.

In some ways, I wish I could read minds. Not that I would have too in moments like this. More or less we are all the same even if we don’t want to be. We are all self-serving, egotistical assholes yet we can’t get along for five minutes of a real conversation or thought. When such a thing even comes up the room goes silent to the point that even a whisper is a scream because everyone is afraid to unravel the lie that we all get along.

Maybe we aren’t meant to get along? Maybe we are supposed to yell and fight and hate each other in the open? Maybe just how we feel inside is what it means to be human?

“What are you thinking about?” My Mother asks. “Nothing,” I take a bite of potatoes, “Nothing at all.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she smiles…

Being An Ass At The Center Of The Universe

It is different, it is profound. You speak as if you know everything and nothing at the same time. You speak as if you are the human race trapped in time and space. The words fill the page but they have no real meaning. Because truly words have no meaning other than the ones that we give them. A book like a list of words is lost on those and anyone who reads them will little concern. A story is nothing more than a beginning, middle, and an end. You travel with and against the story as if you have something to say. But as I listen I quickly realize there was nothing there at all.

This is the story. These bits and piece lost between the big words. The nothingness of it all is all you are trying to say. As I watch the cigarette burn down to ash. As I watch the thought escape my head in between everything I’ve said and everything I have not. A thought crosses my mind. A profound and different existence on a lost plane of suffering.  But is this life? Is this the truth that every great writer is trying to say?

Nothing matters when everything is said and done. Your words have no meaning as mine don’t here and now. History spreads their lies in order to prove that we must survive. We’ve faced much worse yet look we are still here. We’ve said much worse yet we are still fine. They say actions and words have consequences, but they are only temporary. So say as you please, do as you will. If religion is truth then nothing you say or do was your choice. A running theme and I wonder why? Puppets of a story with no time and place. The world rattles out of control. Yet you stand right in place. As “God” has intended you stand right in space…