The rain fell hard last night. I could hear the raindrops hit the rooftop which kept me awake for a while. And so, I laid back and looked up at the ceiling.
I thought about the hours and the days and even the minutes I spent elsewhere, looking at life with all too much confidence that nothing is threatened because tomorrow would always be there, —until it wasn’t.
This is how things go when we are young.
We never seem to think that age is real until it creeps up on us.
Age is something that happens to old people.
And one day, we turn around to realize that decades have escaped without leaving a sign and much of our dreams have all gone deferred.

“Are you back again?”
I suppose so.
“Did they give you anything yet?
I’m not sure. But the voices are louder this time.
“What about the smell?
Of the people you mean?
“That’s when you know it’s real.”

I don’t think I know if anything is real
(anymore)

I heard the cages banging last night. There was a threat of prisoners looking to riot, which is nothing more than another day here, alive, and living with the beasts.

In all fairness, I have to admit to the truth. And the truth is I am afraid. The truth is I am afraid of everyone. And I’ve always been afraid.
I was afraid to care.
I’ve been afraid to be the fool or afraid to be hurt and I have always been afraid to be weak or soft and used.

I was thinking about the way we speak with each other. I was thinking about the words we use and their value to us.
Or more to the point, I was about how we invest in the words we say or hear.
Then I started to think about our selective hearing. Or maybe it would be better for me to tick to the plan and explain about my own selective hearing.

I was thinking about the most important and meaningful three words in our English language
I was thinking about words like, I love you.
Or how about the words, I need you

Or what does it mean to you when someone says, “You mean the world to me!”
What does any of these words mean when someone says these things and yet, we struggle to feel them or believe their words are true.

There was snow over the weekend in Purgatory. There wasn’t much. But there was enough to coat the ground and keep the nighttime from being as dark.
Alone above, the moon took on the bluish hint and the holiday lights made the season feel more festive for a while.
These things are bitter sweet for me.

I don’t mind the snow. I don’t mind the cold.
No, really.
I don’t mind these things at all.

I have these dreams, which are not dreams at all. They are more like pictures and memories of times, long ago, or back when I was old enough to understand but to young to know that I had the right to question the life in front of me.
I am sick now, late in some regards, and older, achy, and unforgivably defiant against the ideas that yes, “this is it!” and this is as good as it gets.

No. I refuse this.
I know there has to be more.

There are memories I have. I swear.
I was young once. Wild too, and I was crazy in the best ways possible.
I was eager and afraid.
And I remember.
I remember the ideas and the thoughts and the cravings which came over me like a wave as it falls across the shore.

I remember some of my drives, long ago.
I remember driving over the 59^th Street Bridge.
The Big City. And there she was.
New York, New York.
She is bright like a dream and complete with every urge or desire.
She is complete with every idea or every kink or fetish.

And hey, don’t judge.
Or don’t knock it, until you try it.
You never know.

There comes a time when silence is best.
Just be quiet. Be still.
Let your eyes close and let your breathing slow down.
Relax.
And when there’s nothing else, then there’s nothing left to lose.
So, sit still. Be calm.
Close your eyes and fade.

The truth of the matter is that no one knows. No one cares. No one is paying attention and yet, we assume that everyone sees the same thing that we see.
Not true.
The fact is that everyone has their own life. Everyone has their own motivation, their own agenda, and everyone sees from their own perspective.

It is all too often that we take on more than we need, and I say this with the ideas of people, places, and things.
I have talked about the deception of our perception and the inaccuracies of emotion and assumption.
This is a link to my greatest downfall.

The meds from last night hit me hard.
My grogginess was amazing to me.
Literally.
I could hardly understand my whereabouts, yet I am where I am because I was where I was.
This is for sure.

The handcuffs are figurative but tight. Then again, so is the reality of fiction and so are the details of today’s courtroom proceedings.
Here we we go, I suppose.
Such is life under the watchful eyes of those who study the inmates in our private Alcatraz.
But ah, the benefits of the accusers and how they try to lead me with their advantages.

And so, I have to ask . . .
What have you seen that made you change the way you see the world?
What happened?
What changed? Or what snapped?
What broke and never went back into place?

It has always been hard for me to believe in the terms of God, or God the Father. It has always been too curious for me to look around and see the hurt or the destruction of our everyday life.
How could there be something all-knowing, and all-great, yet here we are, living on this rock, which is third from the sun.

Are you who I think you are?
I am . . .
And in walks the devil without remorse for the fire.

The guards told me to be on the lookout.
They said you could appear at any moment.
They tell me you feel at home here.

Well . . .
Here I am.
I can see that.

And in he comes –
just like that.

Beware the smiles you see, I was told.
Not all of them are friendly.

Be careful who you listen to, I was told.
Everybody has an angle.
Everyone has their own truth.

Tread carefully . . .
The weather gets rough from time to time.
I heard the guards whistle this morning. I assume this was one of their many codes to warn one another.
But I don’t know.
At least, not for sure.

I remember hearing two of the more famous questions, back when I was a kid. “What the hell were you thinking?”
The second question was “Why?” to which yes, of course my stock answer was always the typical, “I don’t know!”
Maybe this was age appropriate. Or maybe there’s truth to the saying that I have run away more as an adult than I ever did when I was a kid.
Maybe it’s hard to make better choices when our minds are elsewhere.
Or maybe we act accordingly.

If I’m being honest, I knew why I did what I did.
And I knew what I was thinking. .

The mind is the trick.
I know.
And as for thoughts?
Our thoughts are just thoughts and feelings are just feelings.
Emotion is emotion and life is life.
We both understand this.

I know that we are all involved in this big project which I often call Project Earth.
And therefore, what i tell you is something that I have to tell you.
I have to say this because leaving this unsaid would be another sin for me to face.

Dear Mom,

I know it’s been a while since my last letter to you. I suppose so much has happened that I don’t know where to begin. Then again, I find myself like I often do. I am a stranger in a familiar territory and here I am once more, facing a new beginning and another learning curve.
But like you always told me, this is life.

December, and the year is moving towards the end. So much has happened and yet, I am in the same place and doing the same things, and somehow, the year is about to change. I have seen more than my share this year. I have lived as much as I have died. But then again, this is life, which is what I always say.
This is life. We live a little and we die a little.

The world is turning right now. So much is happening as we speak and yet, the oddness of being still or waiting for something to come can be enough to drive someone crazy.

I had to stop for a moment and take a day off. It’s been a long time since I felt this sick. But a promise is a promise, and a commitment is a commitment. And so, here I am, defending my life and placing my thoughts in another entry.

Suddenly, I am thinking about the times when there was someone there to care for me. Then again, no one was there. Least of all, someone else who cares for me.
And fevers?
Fevers are a bitch . . .
I know.

I see this as the morning after. This is just another page of real fiction and so, life keeps moving like the pocket watch that’s hidden in the inside pocket of the watchman’s jacket.
Or to be more precise, the word “after’ means to follow the preceding rank of either time, people, places, or things.
And this is after. This is a moment before the next aftermath, or known as a moment of clarity and a spiritual awakening.
I can learn from this too.
You know?

This too.
This is a moment after the morning of awareness or as I see it, this is a pivotal moment which took place beneath the eyes of The Lord, and so, I see how we follow like a convoy and travel in single file.

They decided to let the workers have a day off today, which means purgatory is closed for the day.
I am told this was done so that those who choose can spend the day with their family, friends, or whomever it is they prefer to spend today with.

They say the purpose of today is dedicated to being thankful.
Thankful for what, you ask?
We are to be thankful for what we have. Even if we don’t have much, I am told that we all have something to be thankful for.  
Although, I am sure there are people among us who believe otherwise.
Just ask some of the other inmates and you’ll find out pretty fast.

The dampness in the morning is rough on the joints. A man can only see what’s in front of him. Yet, the darkness of morning before the light is hard for me. I’m not sure if it is darkest before the dawn.
I see myself where I am. I know the courts await and the cell, although not ideal, has become somewhat understandable to me.

I know what I am. I might not know who I am to anyone else. But I know who I am to me.
And who am I?

What does it mean to stand up and shout? Or better yet, what does it mean to scream out at the top of your lungs?
Could you imagine?

Imagine climbing up to the highest peak of a mountaintop. The sky is blue. The sun is bright. The air is cool and thin and everything is crisp.
Imagine the outfit you’d wear and how this would look to you.
Think about the last few steps of this climb and how you made it after all these years; finally, you made it to the top.

Imagine what this would look like to you.
Imagine there is no one around.
Now, scream. . .
What would you scream?
What would you say?

I remember being asked by someone, “What if I told you that your prison cell has no bars, no walls, no ceiling or roof?”
He asked me, “What if the guards were not guards at all, and the judges, or your accusers, and the prosecutors were not real?”
Even my warden was nothing more than a figment of my imagination.
What if this were true?

What if my challenges weren’t even a challenge? What if my room was not a room as much as a place or a momentary location, to which, what if there is far more to this world than I have ever seen?
What if the answer to this is simple?
If it is, am I ready to find out?

I know what it means to want more.
And yes, I know what it means to want more and settle for less. Only, I don’t ever want to settle again. Not now. Not ever.
No, I am here for a reason.

I have not come here to resign or make some kind of tearful confession.
I have confessed my sins enough and I have done this to a power of the highest authority. Therefore, no judge or gavel can condemn me.

I know who I am. I know myself very well, in fact, because I have always been me.
Even when I was trying to be someone else.
I was still me.
No matter what.

I have started this idea, which is a journal like all my other journals. Yet, this one is taken from a slightly different angle. Although this is fiction, there is truth to the stories the same as there is truth to all stories. There is truth to the facts that life will not always go according to plan.
Dare I say this or dare I say anything, but I am only a character in this script—this is me, of course.
Or maybe this is a version or maybe this is a different side, as in the unseen side.
I am the one who sits and waits. I am the one who paces the cell, plotting and rethinking, and wishing I had gone left instead of right.

If ever there was a day to be a new day, then let’s make this day the right time to be a new day.
And who doesn’t want that?
Who doesn’t want a new day or a new beginning?
So, let’s go.
Now . . .

We have all been through the gears and the windings of this so-called life. Each one of us has had our share of ups and downs. We have all been hurt. We all have our own scars or cuts scrapes, bumps, and bruises.
No one gets out alive. No one escapes this part of life.
We know this.

I wonder. I think all too much and I find myself asking questions.
But still. And what about this?
What about these questions?
I ask because when we find out, I wonder if the answers will be what we thought they’d be.

There are times when we go left instead of right. And there is a moment in our head when we question if this was the right way to go.
Maybe there was something better waiting for us in the other direction. Maybe life would have been different if we stayed a little longer to see what would happen.
Maybe I left before the miracle could take place.

I like to think about myself in other places and doing other things. I see this more as something that I do for medicinal purposes, which helps restore my mental stability.
I say these are the things that keep my soul alive.
I dream. I see. I breathe and I hope.
I close my eyes and ready myself for departure.

I like the idea that the mind can somehow slip-away, and if we allow it, we can go anyplace or anywhere. We can go and dream and then we can return, just fine, and in good shape and ready to face the day.

I suppose I know what I have to do. I know what I need to do as well. The trouble is the more popular question which is this – what am I going to do now that I am here?

It is dark before the dawn where I am now. Purgatory decided to dress for the holidays a little early this year. Then again, I suppose there’s more need for something to be hopeful for. Maybe this year might be the year that we end it all with a neat trick.
Maybe somehow, you and I will be together (again) and make up for the lost years of bullshit pastimes and subpar vacations from this crazy place.
Then again, I assume no one else would understand about these things.
Except you, of course.
Or except us.

It is a pretty Sunday morning in Purgatory. The autumn weather has settled down for the season and most of the leaves have fallen from the trees.
You can smell this in the air too. You can smell the wet leaves which are stuck to the ground after last night’s rain.
The streets are wet.
The sun is out for now and the wind is blowing pretty quickly. The scattered clouds and the colors of dawn were beautiful this morning.
I love this.

It is clear to me that life moves. And yes, so do we.
So does time and so do the chapters in our life, which somehow brings me back to a full circle.
I swear, I have been here before. yet, no.
I know that I haven’t been here.
At least. not like this.

Another morning comes to us here, in Purgatory.

I hate this part. I hate the smell of the courtroom. I hate the feeling of impending doom; but more, I cannot stand the feeling of being judged or being held as guilty until proven innocent.
But we seem to be this way. We seem all too quick to accuse or to point fingers. We love this and this is common. We come from a species who looks to assign blame, especially when it comes to the emotional crimes in our life.

As I stand here to defend my life and the choices which I have made, I find that I have to pose some questions to the jury of my so-called peers. I further offer this question to the prosecution before they rest, and yes, I ask this question to the judges as they sit in human form and to those who plan to deliver and execute my sentences.

In the case of Me against Me or I against I, I understand that this case is pending and simply ongoing. However, in the case when it’s Me against The World, or in the case of my version of The World against Me; I question if I am the only one who has ever had to live through this kind of litigation.
Are we all so different?

Of course life can be confusing. Just look around. Life is filled with confusion, changes, unexpected changes, and ups, downs, and somehow, there’s always someone around who loves to say, “Don’t worry, God has a plan for you.” Or there’s someone who comes along and says, “God never gives you more than you can handle,” which is hard for a person to stomach when they have no faith in themselves.

I have come to the understanding that everyone reaches a point or finds themselves at some kind of crossroads in their life. This is not uncommon or rare by any means. As it appears, and in fairness to us all, no one escapes or gets out of this place alive.
Or at least, so I am told.
I would like to begin here and state for consideration that there is a history behind my pathology, or science, as it has been termed.

I go back to the earliest of my remnants and sift through the memories that dig up the unearthed portions from my beginning.
We all have this. We all have a beginning, a middle, and an end.
Perhaps the mapping from my past and the experiences will act as testimony to provide substance to my story.

I admit that I have been “there” before. I say this because I am no better, or worse.
I am only me. But you and I knew this a long time ago.
I remember this well. I remember the different times and the troubles with chaos.
I remember the spells of outrage and desperate needs.
I have lived through this somehow, and somehow, I am still alive and here to tell you about this.

I am not one to say that I am tough or strong. I would not call myself weak; however, strength and weakness are both relative terms.
I know all about what happened, what took place, what I did, and I know why too.

I will do my best to make this opening statement brief.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I am here to enter my plea of guilty, not guilty, no contest and to the best of my ability, please allow this to benefit the jury’s deliberation. Therefore, I offer myself as a witness to my own faults and misguidance. I will expose this, both clearly and patiently, so that when the jurors come back as hung and with no decision, you can all go on with your life and I can go on with mine.
We can split now and separate here, if we choose. Or when this is over, we can depart in the spirit of Rudyard Kipling’s 1892 poem, The Ballad of East and West, and we can say that once our deliberation is done and whether the tensions or the wars we fought go settled or otherwise, we can face each other and say “Never the twain shall meet.”