I was talking with my father recently and he said to me that he has wasted his time & money on me. And well, that did not break me so much as I would have thought, except that I realise that I have been feeling rather guilty about being alive. It is like as though this life business is a tremendous responsibility and one is suddenly born and forced into a whole bunch of stuff and told they not only must appreciate it, but then too are expected to do a bunch of worthwhile stuff. Like schools and jobs and social things. And one must be burdened by the implication that one has no choice but to partake of this and that and can do no other than such & such. And what if one wishes for neither of these things? But let’s back up.
We asked for none of this as it becomes apparent, but did we really not? Sperm swim mad hard to get to egg and fertilize, and still must work hard to burrow in deep and make it in before some other guy. But check this, are all sperm not created equal? If it is to be one sperm versus another, would it be some other Joe or Jane and not me? And so we’ve got the survival of the fittest bit coming in real soon and real quick. Was I…fighting for the win or did I just happen to be the victor? So it is like as though life is just one great fight after another, and then death & then it all plays over again? But double back again some more; consciousness. At what point did I decide that, “I want this?” Did I just get to be born and must fight real hard to find or define purpose? Was I already born with that burning desire for this life business? And if it is surely that, how then do I seem not to be born with any burning desire for this? Further, was I robbed, then, of something tremendously great and voted most likely most essential at birth by my parents due to their own thoughts & desires on how I ought be and what sort of life I ought create? Further still, how then do they dare, with any of the various things? Surely, surely this last is some manner of mistake.. OO?
On another note almost entirely, how to retrieve an inconceivable thing one can scarcely but imagine?
Dreams. We do them because they are different than what reality brings. Why then dream of reality things? Who does dream and to reality clings? It is a sign of wanting, that one should covet when one wakes that waking does break the only true beauty in living: Dreaming. And that dreams should be the only true beauty in living, is not that life’s prime sad thing? The true meaning behind maddening? The mystifying basis of wanting, that one should live one’s whole life wanting to escape; and that there should be no safe place save when not awake. And yet it is the waking – that which is living – and that sleep be Death’s cousin, could that be why we ache for dying? Why we fear death but resign ourselves for its taking..?
The questions resound, all, for contemplating and, resonating, do add clarity to my day.
1984 was a whack year. If that even is the year it was. It was one of those things you thought was a movie, and then it did not end so you hoped it was a dream; so you fantasize about waking. And then you got hit and realised you were not sleeping. It was real, and while you were failing to recognise reality, talking about how everything is not real and all is nonexistent, you ended in being someone else’s meal. Sad really, but today, that is not the story we are telling.
Now is the year after 2016. Everything is changing but the attitude toward change is remaining unchanged despite living in a world that needs changing. Everything is good but the people, and they are who are to be leading. The learning man gets the rope, the cats and dogs get chained and locked away, while at the helm and leading is scum, and some guy with scurvy. This tale though is not about the ruling trash, not about the ropes and the chains, nor the beating of the drums. This is one of those real life things that fairy tales are made from, and where fairies get their sparkle drained from.
Ha. The story is untold but the telling has already been done. Welcome to the new reign; 1984 is done.
Writing on the wheel
Rabbit’s got the fuckers
And the farmer didn’t squeal
Stay lining like the bakers and the heel
Makers and the reel
Flakers and a Queen
Empress on the scene
Force is never seen
Horses never ween
Cost of butter creme
Pies ain’t never been
Lost in rhyming timing
Now the Sea just got the Z
Zee zazzer feddy woppin’ to the top
Went to see the bottom now I’m heading up the gwop
Lost with no words
Swerve without curve
Chains gettin’ tighter till you don’t know what you’re worth
Babies stay bawlin’
Bringin’ on the calming
Momma’s here hon, don’t you worry
What’s the problem?