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| What do you do when you no longer have anyone to hold a decent conversation with? ... stop talking. right now. Scene. | | |
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We live like a cycle that spins itself around,
until the gears wear down and it falls to the ground,
what used to go round doesn't even make a sound,
and our laughs turn to cries like the old blood hound.
I was and I am until I will and I ought,
looking back at the toils and the troubles that I fought,
wondering when I would reach everything that I sought,
looking back at 'what could have' instead of what I just got.
Because the last time I checked things were going all well,
and I stopped for a minute to catch the day before it fell,
I looked up at the sky for sunshine and summer smell,
but I blinked too soon and all was red skies and hell.
Too fast too quick, too thin to spread far,
too much to grab at once out of the cookie jar,
our wants in a nutshell, our war before the scar,
our choice to live a life way beyond our destined bar.
But the last time I checked myself I do lack,
the right and the title to yell this kind of yack,
because for myself too, I never cut this kind of slack,
and I fell between the crevasse I did myself crack.
So what more to do: this cycle I will run,
until the gears run rust in the hot humid sun,
start fresh, start anew, t'is the way the game is won,
because the last time I checked, the cycle's re-begun.
Scene.
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| I wonder if anyone else remembers an old serial horror show called "The Tales from the Crypt." I never used to watch it enough to call myself a loyal viewer, nor did I particularly enjoy the episodes I saw. During those days a single episode of "Unsolved Mysteries" was enough horror to keep me shitting chickens for months (and I'm talking about the old-school episodes hosted by William Shatner: what a bone-chilling mother phuker.) Anyways, the only episode of Tales from the Crypt I remember vividly was about a young attractive woman who was determined to resolve herself of her financial difficulties by marrying rich. She visits an erie fortune teller, who prophesizes that she will meet a man (a horridly horridly ugly man) who will inheret a vast fortune, but will immediately die thereafter. The man falls deeply in love with her and they marry, but she lives everyday waiting for the fugly man to earn some money and die. To summarize briefly (spoiler alert), one day the woman wins a lottery of some sort. She comes home, gloats to her husband that the money is hers and hers alone, and immediately begins packing her bags in preparation to leave him. In an emotional stupor, the man murders the woman while repeatedly yelling the psychotic phrase, "If I can't have you, no one can." The episode ends with the man inhereting the lottery fortune, but immediately put on death-row for first-degree murder. The point I ENTIRELY missed to address via the reminiscent synopsis above was that while this world is full of surprises, one way or another our expectations are usually met. I am not where I want to be, but I'm better here than anywhere else. I've achieved many of my goals, but I can definitely say on many occasions I've received much more than I bargained for. Hm. Xanga's quite fun. Scene. | | |
| For the better, for the worst with every blessing and every curse with every door that opens wide and every soul that dies inside each day is more demanding our convenience notwithstanding so instead I'll look and love my Salvation up above. | | |
| People take comfort for granted. No wait, let me start over. People have a misconception regarding the notion of comfort (there, that's better).
Comfort - noun: A feeling of relief and consolation. Solace.
It is not the definition of comfort that puzzles me however. What I am most concerned about is the pursuit of comfort. The pursuit of comfort is often synonomously expressed with the pursuit of happiness, and as a result regarded quite highly among the many pursuits we have in life. ...Or is it? If you had to choose between eternal hardship, or eternal comfort, I'd imagine almost everyone's choice would be the latter. The problem arises because comfort, relief, assurance, whatever the fuck you want to call it, are all highly subjective notions. One man's comfort is another man's poo stick. Someone may consider having a steady job that pays good salary and offers ample vacation time as comfort. Other's may find comfort in following the wind and forever cruising across North America in a classic drop-top muscle car. The two scenarios I've depicted are the exact opposite. But yet, both fall within the definition of comfort, assurance, relief, and solace. We all find different things comforting. We all take refuge in various aspects of social life. The question arises then, which ones are the good ones, and which are the bad? Is true comfort relieving yourself from all stress and worry? Should society accommodate the drifters, hippies, and plain-ass lazy to promote their pursuit of comfort? Or is economic security true comfort? Should we give up our vacation-time and become mindless drones? Is this world just a bee hive or an anthill; is true comfort storing up honey and food that we will never see again? I hope I find an answer soon. Literally, my life depends on it. Scene. | | |
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