Look for the dream wherever you may look for it.
Saturday, September 27, 2014
Maybe I don't. Maybe it was all a mirage. All self delusions. That is the secret. Perhaps. There isn't a secret after all.
You just live. You get up in the morning. Do something. Maybe you get asked to do something. Maybe you volunteer. It all seems like a remote possibility. I've lost the plot. I think my time has past. Nothing seems to be worth doing.
So, you fake it. You do something. Even if it seems to be a betrayal. Of something. Truth is, it doesn't matter. You, don't matter. No one does. The mass moves forward. That is what matters. Everyone will just wash away.
So take that for what it's worth. Me? I'm a grinder. I will see this thing through to the end.
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
What does worth mean? Money? An arbitrary measurement at best, because someone other than me controls it.
The best intentions? Work all the time and wonder why?
Timing is everything. Luck is undersold. Nobody wants to be reminded of how slim the tolerances are.The people who make it want to think that is the way it's meant to be. Their unshakeable faith in their success is probably why they are where they are. So, they are probably right. I wonder how many sign fliers just know they are one break away from paydirt.
And it doesn't matter.
Who really cares? Ask yourself that question? Who is there when there is no benefit, no money, no nothing. No question mark. No question? Life is hard, since when is that a question, my existential angst is really getting tiresome. That is why I put it here. It's safe, and it don't matter. I could go on all day, but what's the point?
Time to go to work.
Tuesday, May 27, 2014
I get tired. It's a theme of mine. Of mind. I'm tired.
Do I mean it? I don't know. I'm expressing the inner futility. The fear.
Who knows if the stuff inside is real.
Real. What a laugh. You only exist in relation to other people. You can't see yourself. You look strange in person. I know I do.
I am old, fat, and tiresome. I hate what I see when I look in the mirror. So, like Lefty advised, I never go around mirrors.
Sunday, May 25, 2014
Saturday, May 24, 2014
From AboveIn two months, I will be 54. I am sanguine about the inevitability of this event, this date, this benchmark. Honestly, I think about myself too much. Do not mistake this for thinking that I am important in some way.
I don't. I think about the world, and my place, and what we are doing here, and where we are going. And I have answers, but they are just guesses. Some people are good guessers, better guessers than others, but I feel that they are just unafraid to be wrong. That it really doesn't matter.
So, where is this going? You move on, you change. Big deal. People do it all the time. People find joy, and despair. So what? Does anyone care about you, will anyone miss you, or think about you when you are gone? Yes? You win! I love the fact there are people out there who are unafraid, that just do things, and it doesn't matter. Maybe people are getting over the need to be "famous" somehow. Maybe not. I've always observed the main body of people with a certain amount of disdain and envy. They enjoy themselves with pursuits that I find inexplicable. The world is full of noise, and it takes a lot of focus to tune it out, ignore it.
You don't have to do it. You don't have to contribute. One thing I've noticed is having too much stuff shuts me down, and makes it hard for me to do anything. Information is stuff. And it is hard to parse it out. So, ignore the people that you don't know trying to tell you something. Most often, they are trying to SELL you something. You don't need it. Unless you do. Figure out how to define the difference. Seek people out, don't invite people in. There is a difference, and you can do it. Ask your questions, but listen to the answers, don't be thinking of the next question to ask. Flow. Turn down the noise.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
It started with promise. And that is where it ends. With a promise.
It seems like that is all there is left. A pile of promises. I wonder what will be made of them. All empty, divested.
It probably didn't have any meaning to begin with, just what you mistakenly invested.
And there it is, at the side of the road, ready for the gawkers to look at as they drive by, very sure that it would never have happened to them.
You make a choice, even a bad one, and you open yourself up.
Someone cleans up, you move on. And it's like it never happened.
But you remember.