Here I go again, streaming my conscious self, and speaking to you in the form of my written confession. I am here to reveal myself.
Or perhaps I am only thinking once more, out loud, and with no limits.
I have nothing left to hide.
Anyway, it’s time.
There is no one else to stop me, keep me still, or prevent me from going forward.
I am free now and free in ways that I never considered.
But either way, I am free nonetheless.
I am here.
Always here. Just know this.
Then again, where else would I be?
Who else would I be if I was not me or coming back to this same place every day?
If I were not me and you were not you, I wonder where I would be?
Or would I be anywhere, if not here anyway?
Then again, I made you a promise.
So, I will always be here, hoping to gain some ground or get a peek and see another vision of you.
My dream.
My heart.
Or in other words . .
My all!
What else would I do with myself if I were to move on or do anything different?
Why would I do this if I don’t want to?
Even if I have to . . .
But wait.
Would I trade my existence and if so, would I like what I get, or miss what I had?
I think this is a valid question.
I also think this is a question that none of us take into consideration.
I will always miss what I had
– even if what I had was not real or just a dream
– I still loved every minute
I could be someone else, just like that.
But who would I be?
I am thinking about the best of my days as opposed to the worst of them. They are the same, however, and in all fairness, I recognize the interconnected features that this is life.
Take it as it comes and act accordingly.
All the best and my worst days add and compiled and worked in conjunction, somehow.
Do you understand?
Everything has connected me with the Yin and the Yang of life.
Up and down. High and low.
Peaks and valleys.
Rooftops and pavements.
Penthouses and basements.
Or what about this one?
Park Avenue and park benches.
This is life. Yin and Yang.
Into each life, a little rain must fall.
Or, so I have been told.
Again, you win some. You lose some.
So it goes . . .
Life on the unexpected terms of real life.
Everyday is like catching lightning in a bottle.
I failed to see this.
I didn’t realize.
But we always realize things, after the fact.
I have done nothing to prepare myself for what happens next. I have done nothing to ready myself for the next steps or the upcoming chapter.
I think about what I was taught when a doctor told me about “the three majors.”
The doctor explained about the three most major changes in our life.
This is our home life, our love life, and our work life. Seemingly, I have undergone changes in all three things.
I am still alive, or at least so I am told.
I am still breathing or like the gangster at the end of a movie, bullets flying, enemies approaching, and despite their will, the gangster screams, “I’m still sanding!”
I am too.
I am breathing as well.
But I have news. I am no gangster.
I am not tough.
Far from it.
At the same time, somehow . . .
I am still standing.
I am still breathing and while times are often confusing, I still find myself reminiscing about my walks in Miami, heading through the streets of Little Cuba, smelling the food from nearby places. ah, I close my eyes and dream to inhale.
These are things which led me to dreams of places and beaches that I have never seen before.
My body is not what it used to be.
Neither is my life nor my heart or my soul.
Do you see?
I think the doctor had a point about the three majors. Of course, there is more to this trinity or should I say I have other trinities as well.
There are more than one set of three.
For example, the body, mind, and soul.
All of these are things that I have yet, I still look back and regard the summer’s eve or the inestimable beauties of a sunset.
I remember.
Miami –
The memory is warm to blue the sky and warm to the touch.
This is warm to the heart, warm to the soul, and warm to the world around me.
I love this.
I love the wild abandonment, as if to say “Fuck it!” and “Now is time to live,” even if only for a day or just for that moment.
Again, I view this as better than my uneducated versions of heaven or the gates, which hopefully welcome me home.
(Someday)
Even if my beliefs are inaccurate or the truth is not true at all; or even if what I had was false or not real enough to be real in real life, then at least I had this moment, spoiled and ruined or not.
I saw what I saw, brighter than the sun, cooler than the moon, and more brilliant than the span of an angel’s wings,
And sure, I have lied.
I’ve been lied to, just the same.
I am no better than the accused nor am I able to sit and prosecute.
I am equally guilty.
Then again . . .
We all are.
I laugh about this.
In fact –
I notice the opposing side or the finger-pointers.
I see those who forgive themselves for their dishonesty.
Meanwhile, I see them crucify others for the exact same thing.
Hypocrites.
All of us.
Hypocrisy, ah the word offends me.
I hate this word.
I hate my connection to this.
But to be fair, it would be dishonest of me to deny that I have committed the same sins.
Likewise, I know the love and the depth in my heart is honest and true.
This is not me.
“It was not you,” is what I say, nor should I blame me or you or anyone else for that matter.
Nor should I look to blame anyone at all.
This is life.
Just life.
This is the mad crazy world we live in, always changing, always beautiful and always revealing truths in tiny sections at a time.
Suspenseful as hell.
Isn’t it?
I get it though. I can see why it is easier to believe in the pretty lies.
Bu I hate that word too.
Pretty . . .
I go back to the best days of my life, which I will compile in journals like this one. Thus, I have my plan to board a train.
I am closer to this. I am closer now, far more than ever before.
I’ve planned this for way too long now.
I am done with the last chapter and good to be done with the ones I’ve closed.
I am done with the irredeemable version of my sad or past self.
I believed though.
I still do . . .
Believe, I mean.
I believe in what, you ask?
I don’t know.
But I believe that there is something out there and somehow, I will find my way to the place I need to be.
Soon
Ah, the train.
My lifelong idea and image of relief.
I have my plan to take the scenic route and start from this side of the country.
I plan to make my way across America, and it’s just like the song says.
“From sea to shining sea.”
I imagine me here, looking out of the window of a moving train. Going fast but the scene moves slowly.
I am anxious and excited and hoping to view the beauty of different places.
I want to see different scenes, and different landscapes.
I won’t call from the road and perhaps I will disappear, at least in some ways.
I can take this ride and take breaks from my notes.
I can eat little sandwiches to fill myself.
I can pause my endless thoughts which I funnel on these pages, and cram them in to my run-on sentences, without caring about the grammar demons or the critics and what they say —I will be live and streaming my conscious thoughts and unfolding my subconscious self.
All of this to absolve me from me as I reveal myself to the world.
I want this.
I want to see the beautiful things in the middle of the country. I want to see things that no one talks about and pass through the countryside or the mountains.
I want to see the train pass the endlessly vast stretches of fields, which I imagine are more beautiful than I have ever dreamed of.
Beautiful, see?
Que bien te vez, mi amor,
How beautiful you look . . .
Que bonita es mi mundo
How beautiful is my world . . .
(you are this to me).
Por favor . . .
stay with me, please.
I never use the word “pretty” anymore.
No, that word belongs to someone else.
Maybe this is why I hate it so.
Besides, I don’t want to be “pretty.”
That’s someone else’s role.
I want to be beautiful.
That’s what I want.
Perhaps my trip will show me something more.
Maybe I will see something and realize that beauty is something more than I considered.
Or maybe I will find out that I have outgrown the scared child.
And yes, finally.
I’m not afraid anymore.
I want to notice how everything changes as the train moves.
Life is this way too.
Everything changes as the world moves.
But this is nothing new.
I can sit at my window seat on the train and write or confess what I see.
I can confess my sins.
I can reveal myself, mutually, while viewing how my country reveals herself to me.
This is like love for the first time or how two bodies finally connect after too much time has passed.
And in the heat of passion, I can see the strap from her bra as it slides from her shoulders.
Beautiful!
I don’t know what I will do when I make it to the Pacific.
I don’t know what I will do when I make it to the other side.
But methods will not matter.
I can say, “it is accomplished” and rest my head in such a way that even the Penitent Thief, Saint Dismas would understand me.
And, alas, I am forgiven, cleansed or washed in the Blood of the Lamb.
I am right again, as in redeemed, as in purified by the sanctity of my hopeful salvation — lost in the abandoned guilt and freed from the bondage of self.
Yes, of course.
It is time for me to go out into the world and see what I can see.
I can see me now, as I was (that time, in a day I call way back when) walking the last walk I took in Los Angeles.
Sunset . . .
This was more beautiful than anything I have ever seen.
Wait no.
Nothing can (or will ever be) more beautiful than her.
Nothing.
My three majors –
My home life, my work life, and my love life.
My mind, body, and soul.
My hopes, my dreams, and my drive to make them true.
These are mine.
This is my trinity:
In the name of The Father—
and of The Son—
and The Holy Spirit—
As it was in the beginning,
is now, and will be
forever . . . (Amen)
I’m ready.
The Written Addiction 