Literature for Illiterates

They cradle whatever harmful doubts.  In full view of their enemies. An easy solution is to throw the baby out and keep the dirty water.  The manic. The oppressive. The one who is a bigot. It is evil that divides and corrodes. It erodes the lines between right and fanatic. Yet the middle is a giant hole.

I got through another day today. It was a tiring and trying day which started off with me attempting to play tennis.

I was never really an “elite” athlete as my moonshine jug figure would lead you to believe. I have given up on my Bjorn Borg serve which I can get in about 1% of the time and started a slicing serve which uses less strength and I have a higher first service success. But of course, I still lost.

Had a client this morning as I tried to enjoy my St Jean Baptiste Day. Access Point issue. which was solved by different channels. Not sure if this is a diary entry or what but I got to keep up appearances.

Ended with a Bar-b-q and now I am done in just under 140 words.

Everything is so obvious and yet nothing is practical. Drove my old car to my old stomping ground and forgot to pick up milk. I play coy until the boy understands the highway. I have no fear for my experience nor do others. I have nothing to say so I shouldn’t say anything. No one wants to hear from those whose souls lack functionality.

I just saw the Zen of Garry Shandling and I am realizing I have fallen behind by 29 years. I have to write daily again and about anything. The only problem is I cut my thumb on a pineapple slicer and have an awkward band-aid covering up the sliced digit so typing is proving rather difficult. Maybe I should delay my writing for another day. Afterall, if this is the crap that I am writing maybe the world might be better off waiting for me to be fully recovered rather than maybe suffering from tetanus madness. I am feeling a little light-headed from the loss of blood and my glasses are upstairs so my comfort level is really not conducive for writing.  Whatever I may decide to do it is better than this.

And When You Hear My Cries you will know that the voice behind them belongs to a tortured soul.  and even though I have tried to maintain my sanity over the years I still struggle with a battle,  many battles and I don’t blame you and those you have tried to impress throughout the years. It’s just the Human Condition that creates this need to feel superiority. I don’t claim to know the answers to the questions or even the questions. I’m blind to all struggles that have led me to this point in our existence. Swarm the experience. Assassinate the simple-minded.

I’m making it up as we go on. I’m taking a bath as we fall on trying my best.Scratch the surface with the surfer’s teeth. I’ve been eating the clouds, clouds of dust. Underneath the rings of holy water and Holiness. The triumph over the never-ending battle between the office psychos and Psychopaths. We come across like fools in the oceans of time but we are nothing more than heroes in black and white photos. Stuck in still life. We still feel life we regard our lives as though it’s the only chance we can get at this moment of greatness. We have her through stars of M’s and ends of stars and crying and trying to kill all hopelessness. The Crayola in my paper sleeve is misuniformed. It haunts us all to realize that the Capricorns in the cellar are friends of wizards. It hurts us to realize that we were born on fragments of the rainbow. Saying “Hi,” to friend and coveralls. You pretend while we make believe that soaring prices are common in our world. I have fallen over and onto the ground. This is not the sobering way that I hoped to become one with the maggots. 

Life is chock-full of many disappointments – get used to it. I wanted to be six feet tall. I wanted to be a movie star with worshipping fans. I wanted 4 million followers, None of these things are ever going to come true.

This really does hurt. I’m thinking and sleeping in whispering and hurting. I am I’m trying to think about something – eyes are closed and I’m remembering not much. I think back to a time when I was younger and I lived another location. People knew me in this location but I was only there for a short time. thankfully that time was a good period of time. It made me a better man until I was no longer any better than any other man.

The first time I met you I knew that you and I would be friends. It’s because we have so much in common and besides we despised everybody else on the face of the Earth. I can’t remember if we got along well or not but it was better than not getting along with anybody else. I think therefore I must sort of be or at least I think I was, so goes but not too far. Calculating the mysteries of life is wonderful or are they wonderful.

Take what you can from what I say and her lit up the sky a mess hard and wide as he can cuz you must throw out all convictions and all miscommunications while discovering what truly makes one Wonder. I’m hopelessly devoted of all seriousness and slightly misunderstood by all this calculated sky and Reasonable Doubt and reasonable Whimsical hyperbole it’s fun to say things when you don’t understand what you’re actually say and I continue mumbling on Words as a sky forces me to recall the greatest views of writing my brain thoughts. I’m not really remembering much about you. My brain cries out for this it hurts the sentimental Malarkey and rumbling rumbles.

We know what we’re supposed to become

But we don’t know why it is that way

and we fall and fail and crumble about

waiting to get this thing done.

The clown dances and we feel he’s not really real.

Funny, he is not, but he said he is willing to reveal

everything to everyone

When it becomes

Necessarily necessary.

Sometimes I feel that I’m without anyone

sometimes I feel that this will be overcome

Today I believe we need to reveal

anything we do not have to conceal.

Someday we will all become everything to everyone.

I lack the dignity you require from me.

I lack the thoughtfulness of self-doubt.

I wouldn't stay a moment here if I had to -

But I have to and that’s my fault.

I write the words that you want to hear –

at least I hope you kind of do.

But if you don't, I hope you will forget them

as soon as they leave my mouth.

I hope that all is forgiven here.

My guilty conscience expires

and there's nothing I would do for you,

I have my own worthless desires.

I only pray for the worst for you.

I pray that you will fall flat on your face.

I hope I leave and never make it back here again,

I hope I can completely forget this place.

I know that everything will be going well

once you are in my rearview mirror

I will be able to breathe again and all anxiety will rot.

 

I am slumbering in a soft bed. I am dreaming of all my anxieties. I am waiting to awake again. Awake again. Awake again.

I am killing the late night harvest. I am slowing the big blue bin. If you try hard, you can hear my heartbeat. You can hear my heartbeat stops.

What beauty lies in your eyes. What lies I have often told myself. It keeps me moving on. Without my lies I will stumble and collapse.

You are everything to me. It is not like I can tell myself anything else. I need your strength to push me as I punish myself for everything else.

It is minutes of justice and hours of uncertainty. It hustles and bustles down the storm drain.  It answers no questions about the end of sound. It creates a vortex into my sole endeavor – you.