Rock Star / Psychologically Challenged

You don't have to prove yourself

to anyone

even though

you may have something to prove,

stand for something instead.

"No Accidents Permitted."

The tin sign in my mother's guest bathroom still cracked me up whenever I read it. But I was long gone well before then; I laughed at everything those dark days.

"Your dinner is at the grocery store," I read the sign on the mirror which sealed my agonizing fate: I was probably going to starve to death. I tore the note down and flushed it down the toilet. I giggled and remembered how this was going to be the summer of my liberation, reinvigoration, inspiration... and god dammit! I was going to make a big deal out of it.

Of course I did not know how I would execute this fluffy goal. I used my new dance technique and waltzed the hallway pretty well all the marble floor was covered with my shoes and ended up I the kitchen. I grasped a butter knife and imagined myself cutting an onion loaf, then gasping as I cut the bread while it shrieked in agony. I said softly and condescendingly, "Bread. You are food and you shalt not scream," to which the poor loaf replied, "Take the margarine! It isn't even real butter!" I roared madly and swayed over the cutting board dizzily contemplating my state of mind.

Man, do I need a plan.

I need a plot: A sketch, a motive, an order; a lot of rich ideas in a conscious and chronological structure to guide my inattentive idleness in a clear direction.

I tossed the fake loaf into the trash and headed out the side door for a morning stroll through the swampy, wealthy, expensive, gated neighborhood. I headed east with my pocket compass functioning - I tended to get lost with or without it - but I had it so that this way I had something to blame for my directional mishap, should the case come up.

The deep south had a strict manner of informing and reminding one how unnatural the great outdoors were when one found oneself outside in the thick of it. I sweat like the born northerner who I was while the bugs of impossible shapes and sizes collided with each other in midair trying to bite, sting, kill and who knows what else they had on their dirty little cell-sized minds when they hissed and spit at me. From the moment I had shut my mother's screen door to when my new Converse touched the asphalt of the sidewalk, the waves of buzzing tore at my eardrums. The nagging lack of stability and my unusual equilibrium was a growing concern for me as I grew older and less balanced, but today's disconnection I encountered in the southern heat was all too much for me - every time I staggered towards it.

Centuries later I was at the end of the driveway, I wiped the sweat off my brow with the back of my forearm and gazed at my mother's house reconsidering my walk and other life decisions that only I could remember. Instead of going on or turning back, I stretched my arms in front of me my hands facing outward in front of my chest and I fell straightforward, down into the thick swampgrass of the lawn - a move of nonstrategic condemnation - where I expected nothing else but my mind to take inventory of my intentions.

When faced with a decision, I decided to make up new options despite all the luxuries of the power which came with sitting on the momentum of making people wait.

The human eye perceives hundreds of thousands of images daily, yet our brain dismisses probably 99.999% of them. But this is not why I am gazing through the day nor is it why I am daydreaming while I stare blankly meantime ignoring my synapses taking in nothing, and I would like to also point out how much this doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that I point out my perception of not grasping much these days; after all, I am still no better off knowing that you are reading this and thinking that perhaps I am on to something.

My favorite color is blue. My favorite color is clear. My favorite color means that I am singling out a shade that the sun has reflected through the earth's stratosphere and delights me more than the other effects of the prism. I hope that everyone knows my favorite shade of sarcasm. I hope that the color blue doesn't taunt navy because of it's shade and the grey tint that RGB thrusts into it's pallate. I hope blue doesn't brag about my fondness for it; blue is general and ambiguous - in fact, blue has not even bothered to be present this week... and I am out of my mind with sensory senseless writing and rambling this morning - i should go to bed but i have bigger things on my distant mind.

I found a person who loves me enough to make me hate myself for not being a better person. Jeez.

Changing the first thing you want to say to the world is never easy; it's not impossible and it is inevitable - if you never try to change anything you want to say anyway, and you never change, do you?

I can't believe my eyes can roll so far back into my head that it hurts. And yes, it IS because I am drunk. But not that drunk to write more.

Go on and ask me to forgive you while I am surrounded by my own helpless survival. Facebook has room for all of us though, eh?

What do you need from me? I forgot to answer the question because the words are wrapped around my spine and were thumping on my temples.

What do you need from me? Here's a little lesson that I pray no one of my friends has to learn.

Break down the reasons which you think that you need reasons from me for: then ask me again. I will be as pure as the driven blows you proudly pounded upon me for reasons for reasons for reasons. I am never going to forget your reasons but I will tell you now that I forgive you if only for myself, because I want everyone to be happy and move on. I won't ever forget you. I won't ever regret you. I won't ever forget to remind myself that I am my past and my collection of experiences makes me the charming alarming rock star scholar who I am, and you are a part of that. But I wish you hadn't broken my heart into one million billion pieces.

What did you think I would say to you? Did you think I would say no? At worst, I may not answer you - not because I don't forgive you, but because I don't know how to explain that you should have broken someone else's heart and I can't recollect the stars for you nor am I able to give you the peace of mind that you seek.

If you steal and break and commit crimes against a person, you can't come back. But you did. But you and I know that my friends forgot what happened to me back then, and you don't know how long it took me to make them trust me again.

I forgive you anyway.

I forgive you because I am not the person you are asking to forgive you for your wicked games and safe return to humanity. You know what you did to me. I know what I did to you. I let it go.

I let it go and then you brought it right on back.

Changing the first thing you want to say to the world is never easy; it's not difficult either - if you never try to change anything you want to say anyway, and you never change, do you?

Here is a lesson I have been hoping to learn.

I rehearsed for years before you let me audition. I wrote words for myself until I told you I was writing. I want to start over. Maybe get a new job in a new town; maybe the short side of the stick will be the method I take to find the path and I will be on my way. Maybe everything I don't like and all the wrong I see along the street each day will vanish and anything I say will be the right words and I won't have to rehearse and all of this will be okay.

My little spell on you that I cast was just a fraction of the world and a decimal point farther than the grammatical issues you all are facing every single day. Don't be shy; I have the resources and won't think at all about explaining the correct way - for sure I will ask you something about a problem I can't solve someday.

I have to be grateful for those who have destroyed me as much as I am grateful for those who have mended me.

Your name is still as uncomfortable as my recovery rendered me - as lost as I was - I lost myself because you happened to me. No way, man. I forgive you. But I never got a chance to say Fcuk You. 

Here's a little lesson I never wanted to learn.

* Random quote from the heart:

"Drink up and be somebody!" - Denver Joe

"Can't you see that I am in peril?" I knew all eyes were upon me; expected that my nerves would cool and I would totally break this recognizable yet unusual entanglement and I cursed under my breath, but that action tickled my throat to no mercy. I got the hysterical giggles at our Lucky Strikes show in the middle of "Stars Go Blue" which is a hilarious song to begin with.

Everyone should enforce good manners.

Everyone but you.

Anyone but me.

Back to the story.

Sometimes its the story starts right smack dab in the middle.

This is where I would like to begin. So yes, that is agony without the delightful hope which is sometimes a denotational intentional noun - intangible. I am on Mark's laptop and I am unemployed but that is just twice this month... I feel shame. Peril. No hope. Happy to be alive and scared to the living end to be alive. Keep in mind, I can't control my head's little mental _____ but I sure as hell am feeling that this is no time for me to think, my love. I have to be a player and I am not savvy to advice but I suggest that a sound judgement of me that would be adorable to boucily resonate around my head while I pace about and my stupid stuborn brain is thinking that maybe my bad luck - MAYBE - "How am I living?"

Now I am having a Class C panic attack.

I have to do what I have to do

Because it is what it is and

I can only do what I can do

and

If the universe ....

NOT EVERYTHING is PARALLEL!!!

Not on my time. No way.

No one deserves the right to make you feel like a bad person.

Today and yesterday won't compare to next Friday.