The Laziest Gaze.

Parents.

Isn’t it all quite frightening? and by it all, i of course mean life. It’s like we’re born completely empty and just with limitless potential. In that way we are equal, but for the first five years…and for some of us (namely Me) 20 years we are guided completely by our parents. Our character mostly, if not completely is shaped by these early years. 

I remember conversations with my father from my youth. Conversations that mean the world to me. These dialogues and interactions with my father are what i think of when i imagine what it means to be a good person. Funny thing is though, my dad doesn’t remember not one of these conversations. He was still figuring himself out when he was raising me. He was a boy still, but he still did a marvelous job. I mean, my early childhood was pretty uneventful. I mean that with the utmost sincerity, and lack of malice. I can not recall any tragedies that shaped me. It was all good memories with a soft rough patch here and there. 

When my father was my age he had two children and was going to college. A natural athlete, haha my sister got that skill i on the other hand did not. but i did get something from my father that my sister nor any other sibling got, My father’s ability to set back from the world and quietly reflect. I have yet to achieve his patience or calm, but i have a place to set my feet upon and look up from. 

It would be foolish not to mention the person who i get most of my personality from, My Mother. Two words can describe my mother “Tenacious Intellect”, I am not saying my mother is so shallow that two simple words can encompass her entire personality. But those two words make a great jumping off point. 

My mom had a hard life, but she made the most of it. She found what she likes and she never stopped pursuing it. In that she was found happiness. She has become a pillar which supports others. Be it a Mother, a Daughter, a friend, or a teacher she is there for anyone when they need it. She asks not for anything, save maybe a smile. In many my mother and father are the compliment to one another. and working in tandem they are doing an amazing job of raising us (their kids). 

I not as smart as my mother, nor am i as patient as my father. I am lazy, and short sighted. but i know where to put my feet, and i am aware of where i stand in their footsteps. One day i would like to stand with them as equals, but not today. 

I love my parents very deeply, and i let them know this every day. 

The Unethical Turtle.

His name was a lie he tells when he wants to make an impression. His face is a mirror, that shows exactly what you want to see. His voice is a subtle timber that can only sooth you when he wants to. He is whoever, and he is he. 

This young chap, starts each day out the same; Alone and flirting with the idea of actually trying. Today,  he opened his eyes to a ceiling he did not recognize. If he had woken up sober, his breathe had quickly remedied that. His eyes trailed across the room, his gaze hugging the night before. He saw how he entered stumbling and graceful like a sexy little oxymoron. His hands race across a belt, now laying across a bookcase. A shirt that he tore away at the moment he knew he would feel most like Clark Kent tearing away his disguise. Naked in the light he took off his disguises. Smiled, looked down and kicked off his socks.

 In the bed he saw his previous incarnation, but could not for the life of him find his socks. This is when he saw it, what terrified him the most. There was another person in this bed. He look around and found no sign off a condom. This lack of thin latex is not what scared him, he feared that in her drunken stupor she had seen him standing at the foot of the bed naked in every sense of the word. Heart beat increased,he took the night and walked out of the room with it. 

In the hall, he gave the girl a name. he called her “Last night”, this is what he called every woman. He would give her a story, a back story and a story of the future. This second story he would tell himself to justify would he did next. He put his clothes on and walked out into the real world. He would wear his drunkards smile and his leacherous smile on the same mask. Completely satisfied he would ask you to stop reading now, for what happens next he wouldn’t want anyone to see. 

He took off his dry face, and covered it tears. He cried, and he cried. He wished and he wished he could go back to freshman year in college. He wished he fought for the one he let get away. Every woman he slept with was just a way to forget her, and after he was done some six minutes later. That body that he left was always hers. He saw her in every thing, and he saw that she couldn’t see him anymore.  The one time they had crossed paths  she didn’t recognize him, or she hadn’t let herself. 

After awhile, he will die. Or at least that is what he tells himself. Wouldn’t that be the most horrible joke, if this wasn’t the end. If he had to put up with himself for the rest of forever,  it wouldnt be worth it. 

Whats in a Name?

To me that name of hers ____ it will always mean something. If not my first love, then at least the first time i trusted another person. That name i say whenever i want to remember a feeling of happiness, is also coupled with the feeling of unfathomable sorrows. I say it, and i don’t even picture her face i just remember a feeling. It’s good or it’s bad, whatever it is. It is where i am at right now. You take the past, and hold on it to only to learn from it. You don’t try to live there, It’s a reminder of how far you’ve come and of how far it is you can go. “You never know your own limitations, until you first exceed them”, 

Lame Attempts at taking breathes

Sitting here, half awake and a quarter asleep. I notice something my friend mikey pointed out. I got his ex girlfriend an expensive birthday present and he got her a t shirt last year, and this year I would get him and Del presents whenever i could. I also have never said no to any person whose asked me to do something.

I think this is in engrained from childhood, I am aiming to please people. I found from a young age that making other people happy is what makes me happy. Now this may not be the thinkings of a person who wants to be a writer. Actually this flys right in the face of what Kurt Vonneguet said, but i’ll be damned. I was “writing” before i could read. Creating with only thoughts and semi coherrent ideas, thats my dream. Actually no, i want to affect one soul throughout my life.

Slow Words and train Cars

Wonder why, i idolize drug addicts so much? Maybe it’s because they have found something they can throw themselves into. They found something they will give up food, and sleep for. I have not found this thing, Even when i was in love I hadn’t found it. Yeah there’s that or Maybe it’s because my father really liked Red Hot Chilli Peppers. It’s a little funny to me, my father has really built my character. Funnier than that is, i haven’t realized this until just now. 

Trite Banalities.

I went for a run today, just to not feel so damned sad. It felt good, focused on my breathing and had a good sweat. I let my inertia get the best off me as i took a nap and failed to wash myself. I sat content in my stench for the rest of the night like some random hobo. Sometimes i swear the only difference between me and a bum is i can’t grow a beard. In some respects this is a point of envy for me. 

 Some times i wonder if my life would be better, had i been born a little dumber. If i didn’t know my own potential would i be more comfortable working the till in some mart? Would i be happy with myself? if only, life was like that. You could load a save from an earlier time. But life is dangerous and life is deadly. If life was easy, people wouldn’t have made a game just so you could “win”. I can promise you everyone you meet will die. 

:)

I can’t stop watching this Girl play the violin. My heart beat races with her pace. I want to get up and dance,  i want to stand tall and smile for all the world to see. I feel absolutely happy. I like it.