I think I’ll just let this entry roll without any thought or interference from the surface.
I’ll let this one come from the depths of me.
And so, here I go again.
I have things inside of me, brewing, and I know there is something on the way or there’s something up ahead.
I don’t know what it is.
But I know that the clock is turning and as sure as this is; I know that all things will be revealed.
Someday.
I do believe that life without the feeling of life is death.
And yes, there are those among us who are both near and close and yet, they go unseen or unnoticed.
And no one knows what this is like, least of all from another’s perspective.
No one sees these things, or as it appears, no one cares enough to pay attention, —and dig it, I get that no one wants to hear about this or in our case; no one wants to read about these things.
No one wants to read this from anyone else, least of all from someone like me.
Who am I anyway?
I’m just another person or another number or piece in an ever-elaborate food chain.
There are those few, however, and there are some who understand what it means to purge or to bleed openly.
There are those who understand the need to scream or let off steam before the world around us explodes into something hateful or hostile.
We all have life happening to us.
We all weep. We all cheer and we applaud.
We have all been part of the crowd and on seldom occasions, we have all been the one on stage or the focus of rare attention.
I believe this.
We see and we think and we feel and we learn.
And, if we are lucky or fortunate enough, we have a life that we can look back and consider our best times with a soft and loving regard.
Life is always going to happen.
I know this.
We all have ups and downs.
We have all seen battles of our own kind.
Therefore, my reasons to resign my comparrions are meaningful enough to realize that no one knows what I see or feel what I feel.
And this is fine.
My favorite position in life is to realize that this is life, and rest assured that no one gets our alive
—so, make it count!
I do realize that my life is mine. And so are my thoughts and visions.
However, not all people are so different and yes, there are people who understand.
There are people out there who know what it means when I say that we are often dying alive.
Life without love
love without life.
sex without meaning
meaning without purpose.
and as for my person . . .
life is pointless in an otherwise wasteland or sunken in the emotional quicksand to which I drown in frequently.
Maybe I am alone
Or maybe I am more relatable.
There are some who struggle to a greater capacity, to which I celebrate them.
I cheer for people like this.
I cheer for the underdog or the unnoticed and the unexpected resurgence of those who hurt and yet, they wake up the next day, despite the faults and flaws and despite their losses or pain, and somehow, they show up!
They are like heroes of the damned or like St. Dismas the Penitent Thief
He is another hero of mine.
I celebrate people like this because no one else will.
I admire their truths because I admire the secrets to their endurance.
There are those who bleed in black and white and some who bleed in color, or secretly, or out loud and there are those who brave themselves and there are others who whither or die slowly. And too, there are some who suffer or slip away in the silence of their own regret.
I say there are countless beauties in this idea.
I say that there is beauty in sadness and yes, I cherish the truths of souls like this.
I applaud these people for they are the salt of the Earth.
At least, I can say this is what they mean to me.
We are all essential. I understand this.
We are all a variation of the body and soul, however, there are those who I have grown to love or appreciate and admire.
There are people who have dared beyond the typical bravery, and despite their oddities or differences—they dared to be themselves no matter what anyone else told them.
There are those who walk among us, simply weaving and navigating, and yet; there are countless stories about them, which are unheard or unsaid.
And without them, the world would be otherwise be tasteless and wastefully the same.
I dare the world each day, but not as brightly or as brilliantly as others.
I try.
Still, I dare because I have been inspired by those who would otherwise be seen as unsightly or unaddressed because their beauty is not common or commercially fit.
And to me, life without people like this would be life without the variation or beauty or color.
I have to say this
I have always wanted to be beautiful
There are those who understand the substance and the fabric of what it means to live without life.
There are those who smile in public and return home to a quiet loneliness and yes, they understand the difference between living and existing.
I have existed for way too long.
I think I want to live now.
There are those who know about living lifelessly.
There are those who “get it” and know what it means to be lost; as if to be abandoned like a solo leaf that fell from the trees of commonality. There are those who know what it feels like to be the leaf which has fallen from grace. There are those who know how it is to lose the wealth of our common population, and thus, the leaf lands on the top of a stream and drifts pointlessly, or seemingly endlessly, and waiting to reach the final sea . . .
And maybe there is something sad to this,
Or maybe there is something sadly peaceful.
I suppose if beauty is in the eye of the beholder than so is the perception of being that leaf that moves across the surface of a running stream.
I know they
say the rivers eventually meet the sea. I know this but I have never taken a
river boat to the end, nor have I ever sat to do research like this.
No, I have been to other places and gone elsewhere enough to say that I have done two things. I have lived and died, consecutively, several thousand times.
I have seen things.
And so, I write . . .
I write what I see the same as an artist or painter paints what they see.
But art is subjective and of course, so am I
I suppose.
All the snow had finally melted from the previous snowstorm, which was far bigger than expected.
I have managed to escape a few traps and dodge some of the local landmines in my recent path.
And it’s just another day in the life of me, another madman in this world, no more or less crazy than the next person in the world.
I took my train ride to work this morning. I took my usual seat by the window and made my way to The City that Never Sleeps.
New York City, my loving Mother of all.
I saw the mixture of the world to which I realize that we all have our own story.
I took the E train Downtown
I saw a woman on the subway make a face,. She did this as if to remember what she forgot.
She reached into her pocket and removed a round pill holder, —and I thought to myself, “I guess now is as good as any other time to remember about birth control.”
She didn’t want to forget her pill . . .
There was a tall, beautiful woman on the subway.
Only it was evident by a few small things that she was not born a man. And yet, she was free to do what she does or live how she chooses.
I noticed her staring at me.
Then she smiled.
I smiled back.
She got off at Spring Street, and that was all –
I am not sure or definite about too many things.
I am not sure if I have the meaning of life nailed down and nor can I say that my perspective is the right one to have
All I can say is I see the hope and the eventual promise that spring is on the way and soon, I know the winds will blow warmer.
The northeast will thaw . . .
All things can, do, and will change.
And so will I
My search is not over by any means.
My love is on my side and I know she is out there. . .
smiling now and waiting equally.
However, my fears of not finding my port or trailing like that lifeless leaf on top of the river are real to me.
I do not want to be lifeless or meaningless or aimless.
I do not want to lose to my life like water loses to a drain.
I do not want to live lifeless, hopeless, or loveless or be empty.
I never want to be this constantly running faucet, tirelessly working to better myself and failing to see the results without the rejoice of a long-needed shut-off or a break.
I go back to a memory of an old man who was always too positive.
I hated him.
I hated his slogans and his little positive affirmations and phrases.
I could not stand him. Nit at all.
I wished for his death to be violent.
I could not take him, especially when he would tell me to “Keep coming back,” or “Don’t quit before the miracle happens!”
One day . . .
I snapped at him
What fucking miracle?
I let loose . . .
I hate everyone.
I am alone.
I failed out of school
no one will ever want to be with me
I have no education.
I have no real friends.
I have no money.
I hate my job.
I hate my life.
I hate everyone and everything
The old man’s face changed from his previously jovial approach to something more heartfelt and painfully understanding.
He asked, “How long are you clean now?”
I had just made 90 days not too long before this.
The old man looked at me with the most honest expression on his face, like a father would explain life to his child as he said, “Son, after all that you just told me and yet you’re still here; if you don’t call that a miracle, then I don’t know what a miracle is.”
I suppose we all are miracles in our own right.
I think this is worth remembering.
God rest you all
my friends who went on
and as for you –
I know where you are.
I know you love me
I know this is my life
and in my heart
so are you
The Written Addiction 