Ever been in a situation where silence is oppressive? Of course you have, if you haven't then you probably are not living your life correctly. Silence can be incredibly loud. It is a bit like a freight train, it might take a while to get started, and there may be only an 'engine' at first, but eventually it will lengthen. Just like that train, adding cars, and cars, some carrying hobos, some carrying coal, some carrying the hopes and dreams of random strangers. Those 'cars of silence' will attach themselves to the engine, and the next thing you know, you have an entire train of silence, stretching out for miles into the distance.
It is that distance that you want, the distance away from this mournful train of silence that is oppressing your very soul, providing that you possess a soul (you might be a soulless ginger for all I know). This train of silence is going to roll over you like a well oiled, well fueled Panzer division, and there is really not much you can do about it. Put a smile on your face, and wave to the crowd as you board your very own train of silence. However, it is unlikely that you are the conductor, engineer, or sole passenger on this train of silence. Single silence is much more easy to break. All it takes is the ability to talk to yourself. Group silence, and two people can be a group if they try hard enough, is a much more difficult task. It requires cooperation, and it is likely that non-cooperation is what got you on board the train of silence in the first place. That non-cooperation probably happened way too fast for you to do anything but gawk in awe, and then sob in despair.
Dual (or more) silences become what 'they', whomever they are, will say become pregnant silences. I've never seen a silence give birth to anything that you want to wrap up in swaddling clothes and nurture. By the time pregnant silences give birth to their offspring it is generally too late. You've got fuck all to do, but try your best, which is rarely good enough, to break that silence. But, how do you go about that? Do you cough discreetly? Sneeze, or pretend some other bodily function to try to break the silence? After all, you were probably an equal party to the silence starting in the first place, and wouldn't it seem a sign of weakness if you were the first to break it?
For how long is this silence going to drag? It will begin to take on a life of its own if you or someone doesn't do something about it, and which one of you is going to blink, or draw first. You are, in many ways, like two Old West gunfighters staring each other down in front of the awed townspeople at high noon. Eventually one of you is going to either have to blink, or go for your pistol, and hope again hope that you make the right decision. Is blinking the better option? There is but one way to find out, or do you not back down? Do you reach for your iron, and hope that you get that first, vital shot in first. It is also important, now that the chips are down, that you do not freeze. For freezing, no matter how cold the environment has become, is usually fatal.
The longer you stare across that dusty street at you companion, opponent, fellow traveler, or fellow idiot, the longer you have to think about your decision. It is an important one, one that you should not take lightly, and one that you can only hope will mesh with their decision. It might be easier to lie about your decision, but if the other person knows you at all, they will be able to see through your lies without even trying. If those decisions are the same, well then the train of silence, that train that was rumbling over the tracks of despair laid down across your heart, will become a train of joy. A train that we all want to catch, a train that we never tire of riding. A train that should come around your little outpost of desolation more often. Something wonderful, something quite beyond compare, and something that once missed, will cause you to regret the silence that you are now no longer sharing.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Monday, May 13, 2013
Chains of Silver and Gold
All I do is miss you, which is quite daft of me in reality. How can I miss you when you aren't really gone? I mean you're here. Here in my day to day existence whether I want you to be or not. And I can't do anything about it, what ever magic I try to make you disappear from my life fails miserably. I am not the type to miss people. People flit into and out of my life on a daily basis, and some of them barely leave a vapour trail. But then there was you, you didn't really explode it to my life like some people think, no you were more insidious, like a dream that I kept having night after night until one lucky day the promise of the dream became the reality of my life.
It is like playing a scene over and over until the 'actors' get it right. It might entail a lot of 'takes' but when it works, man does it ever work. But, I am no Shakespeare and you are no Marlowe, and all I can do is miss you and be in love with you like some sad sack that knows better but is unable to do better. There you were in my life without me even realizing how much space you took up until you were no longer there. Then the 'you' sized hole in my life gaped at me like a lion's jaws that were just begging me to stick my head inside. The time I used to spend with you, I now spend wondering what you are doing, and who you are doing it with. Which is, I might add, a very, very unhealthy way to spend time. As I try to ration the heartbeats that I waste on you, I realize that just doing that is part of the problem. The problem that is you are that impossible bridge too far of my life. The problem of you that I, no matter how hard I tried, could not solve. Like my own personal Reimann hypothesis.
You were a wild, wild chance that I just couldn't ever really take, and now you've passed me by, and I can not explain what just happened to me. Except to say that you happened to me, and I've never been quite the same. All of those cries and kisses, those first few times that we talked and realized we were falling in love with each other in spite of the many reasons that we should not have. Those reasons and reason itself eventually won out. Reason has a tendency to do that, win. Win no matter what the cost is reason's way of doing things. After all, reason does not have to pay the price of losing. That is for me to pay. The illogical part of me, the part that I really didn't want to admit existed. The 'feeling' part of me that can only seem to feel despair, regret, and pain. All the while watching reason gloat about it's victory.
Once we made eye contact it was just all over but the crying, and little did I realize at the time that we would both be crying. Thoughts of you interrupt my day like my alarm clock interrupts the dreams of you that I can't control from invading my sleep. These passing thoughts of wondering what you are doing, and why you are doing it make me want to take myself outside, stand me up against a wall, deny myself the benefit of a blindfold, and shoot me like the dumb dog I clearly am. I realize that at some point, some point that I should have reached by now that I have to do whatever in my heart it takes to start to hate you.
That heart that you once made go 'thump' by just walking into the room has to, in order to survive, harden itself. It has to get past what you have done to it, and realize that I am the real problem. A problem of courage, or in my case a lack of courage. Courage to hate you, to say that it was all your fault, even if I know I am lying to myself. It is a lie that I have to convince myself to believe, just so I can continue to live with myself. I have to realize that I don't want what you want, and I can't feel what you want me to feel. I have to put that heart of mine into a cage, and make sure the key you once had no longer turns the lock. It is really simple to write down, it is bloody hard as fuck to actually do.
I have to realize that I am not your King and you are not my Queen, of my heart or otherwise. You were a false dawn. A pretty dawn, but a false one nevertheless. It was fool's gold, and I thought it was real for far too long that is healthy for me, but fool's gold it remains. Fool's and gold are probably not a good match. So I will at some point look for silver, after all silver is a lot harder to fake.
It is like playing a scene over and over until the 'actors' get it right. It might entail a lot of 'takes' but when it works, man does it ever work. But, I am no Shakespeare and you are no Marlowe, and all I can do is miss you and be in love with you like some sad sack that knows better but is unable to do better. There you were in my life without me even realizing how much space you took up until you were no longer there. Then the 'you' sized hole in my life gaped at me like a lion's jaws that were just begging me to stick my head inside. The time I used to spend with you, I now spend wondering what you are doing, and who you are doing it with. Which is, I might add, a very, very unhealthy way to spend time. As I try to ration the heartbeats that I waste on you, I realize that just doing that is part of the problem. The problem that is you are that impossible bridge too far of my life. The problem of you that I, no matter how hard I tried, could not solve. Like my own personal Reimann hypothesis.
You were a wild, wild chance that I just couldn't ever really take, and now you've passed me by, and I can not explain what just happened to me. Except to say that you happened to me, and I've never been quite the same. All of those cries and kisses, those first few times that we talked and realized we were falling in love with each other in spite of the many reasons that we should not have. Those reasons and reason itself eventually won out. Reason has a tendency to do that, win. Win no matter what the cost is reason's way of doing things. After all, reason does not have to pay the price of losing. That is for me to pay. The illogical part of me, the part that I really didn't want to admit existed. The 'feeling' part of me that can only seem to feel despair, regret, and pain. All the while watching reason gloat about it's victory.
Once we made eye contact it was just all over but the crying, and little did I realize at the time that we would both be crying. Thoughts of you interrupt my day like my alarm clock interrupts the dreams of you that I can't control from invading my sleep. These passing thoughts of wondering what you are doing, and why you are doing it make me want to take myself outside, stand me up against a wall, deny myself the benefit of a blindfold, and shoot me like the dumb dog I clearly am. I realize that at some point, some point that I should have reached by now that I have to do whatever in my heart it takes to start to hate you.
That heart that you once made go 'thump' by just walking into the room has to, in order to survive, harden itself. It has to get past what you have done to it, and realize that I am the real problem. A problem of courage, or in my case a lack of courage. Courage to hate you, to say that it was all your fault, even if I know I am lying to myself. It is a lie that I have to convince myself to believe, just so I can continue to live with myself. I have to realize that I don't want what you want, and I can't feel what you want me to feel. I have to put that heart of mine into a cage, and make sure the key you once had no longer turns the lock. It is really simple to write down, it is bloody hard as fuck to actually do.
I have to realize that I am not your King and you are not my Queen, of my heart or otherwise. You were a false dawn. A pretty dawn, but a false one nevertheless. It was fool's gold, and I thought it was real for far too long that is healthy for me, but fool's gold it remains. Fool's and gold are probably not a good match. So I will at some point look for silver, after all silver is a lot harder to fake.
Thursday, May 09, 2013
Not only Numb
After a small reverse yesterday, this is the result of too little sleep, and too much time to think.
Take a look around the room that you are presently occupying, how does it look? Through all that clutter and gloom, is there something, or some things that you can't live without? Maybe you need to get up, and take a look at the clutter and gloom in all the rooms of your present adobe. Take your time, I can wait. While you are doing this, think about each of the many or few possessions you have (depending on whether you are a minimalist or not). They probably tell a story or two about you, or about the other person that you received them from either as a gift or a curse. Ponder their back story, and then as the air gets thinner, ponder their future story. Is that story going to include you and your possessions staying together? Or is it possible that perhaps you are one garden gnome type knick knack away from being featured on an episode of Hoarders?
Do you treasure your possession more than you should? Or are they merely the driftwood of your (misspent) youth that you have just not managed to 'let go of' yet? Is that clock really a family heirloom or is it just some ten dollar piece of shit clock you bought at Wal-Mart just to tell you the damn time? Is that 60 inch TV really necessary? It does take up a large amount of the 'living space' allocated to you by the constraints of your budget, and do you really watch that much TV to justify the expense? And what about the sound system? Did you really need 8 speakers and a gazillion watts just to crank it up once a year before the neighbors call the police with a noise complaint?
These things, these inanimate objects that clutter up your day to day existence, the items that you leave daily to go to work so that you can add more items to them, are they the sum total of your existence? If you were, gods forbid, to fall over dead today, would the mourning be done by some obscure relative of yours saddened by the fact that the eldery aunt got to 'inherit' your TV? Have you made the will to divide up your worldly possessions amongst the greedy few survivors of your friends and family? Or are these possession that you've so carefully amassed, and so jealously guard, your own private hell? A set of objects that you feel connected to so much that you can't fathom life without them. Is there something so important in the junk in your room that you can't imagine ever being without it again?
Surprisingly enough, I've heard the answer to that last question way too many times to be in the affirmative. People that think that some TV, sound system, or automobile are more important than even their own personal safety. Sure that Persian rug is a remarkable shade of dark blue, and it really ties together the room, but is it worth a pint of piss in the grand scheme of things? Of course it's not, it is just a fucking rug, and no matter how unique it might be (which is unlikely since you are not the Prince of Persia) it is just quite simply at its core, a fucking rug. No more, and probably quite a bit less. There lies wisdom, understanding that even if that rug was the last thing your great-granny Marge ever gave to you, it is still just a rug. It is great-granny Marge that is the important bit, and sure she might be as dead as Montreal's chances of winning the Stanley Cup this year, it is still her that counts, not the gods damn rug that her pet dog Cupcake used as a toilet for 12 years before dying of the vapours.
Hell, why not take a wild chance, and just give that rug away? See how that makes you feel, its not like you are digging granny Marge up, and telling her that you hated her all those years for trying to feed you chicken salad that wasn't exactly up to par. Hours will pass, and you will eventually forget that the damn rug was even a part of your estate. Give it a shot, just for once, try to picture not caring about the things in your life, but the people in your life. There are people in your life aren't there? I mean who else would all of these possessions impress? These people, those lucky few survivors of the college life you shared, or the professional life you currently share, or the fellow denizens of your local, are probably the important bit of your life that you really need to focus.
Don't let those people be a waste of your lungs, tell them the important stuff that you think they already know, because chances are they don't, and would fall over themselves with joy if you let them know that they are, in fact, more important than a flat screen plasma TV, or a Persian rug/piss pot. You can almost always find someone selling a TV, people don't sell best friends at a shop for your convenience. Maybe, if you are like me, you have several 'best' friends because one just isn't enough, if so you are one lucky devil, and you should explain to each of them why they are important to you. And they are important to you, whether you want to admit it or not. You don't have to get all maudlin about it, but a simple explanation will do. After all, they are your friends, they know that you are not the most articulate fellow in the world, if you were they probably wouldn't be able to understand the fucking words coming out of your mouth.
That is what friends do, understand the words, no matter how poorly strung together, that you use to express yourself, and the few feelings you have. It is not wasted breath, it is time well spent, and its own reward. Remember though that life and friendships are a two way street, listening is a skill that you have to acquire, and something you must needs to learn how to do. After all, we are all in this play together, and nowhere in the script does it say you are the only leading man or woman. We all want to be the prince in the story, but sometimes being the butcher is just as, if not, more important. People to post decrees are very important, but there has to be people there to read them as well, or it all just fades to dust motes trapped in a sunbeam.
Take a look around the room that you are presently occupying, how does it look? Through all that clutter and gloom, is there something, or some things that you can't live without? Maybe you need to get up, and take a look at the clutter and gloom in all the rooms of your present adobe. Take your time, I can wait. While you are doing this, think about each of the many or few possessions you have (depending on whether you are a minimalist or not). They probably tell a story or two about you, or about the other person that you received them from either as a gift or a curse. Ponder their back story, and then as the air gets thinner, ponder their future story. Is that story going to include you and your possessions staying together? Or is it possible that perhaps you are one garden gnome type knick knack away from being featured on an episode of Hoarders?
Do you treasure your possession more than you should? Or are they merely the driftwood of your (misspent) youth that you have just not managed to 'let go of' yet? Is that clock really a family heirloom or is it just some ten dollar piece of shit clock you bought at Wal-Mart just to tell you the damn time? Is that 60 inch TV really necessary? It does take up a large amount of the 'living space' allocated to you by the constraints of your budget, and do you really watch that much TV to justify the expense? And what about the sound system? Did you really need 8 speakers and a gazillion watts just to crank it up once a year before the neighbors call the police with a noise complaint?
These things, these inanimate objects that clutter up your day to day existence, the items that you leave daily to go to work so that you can add more items to them, are they the sum total of your existence? If you were, gods forbid, to fall over dead today, would the mourning be done by some obscure relative of yours saddened by the fact that the eldery aunt got to 'inherit' your TV? Have you made the will to divide up your worldly possessions amongst the greedy few survivors of your friends and family? Or are these possession that you've so carefully amassed, and so jealously guard, your own private hell? A set of objects that you feel connected to so much that you can't fathom life without them. Is there something so important in the junk in your room that you can't imagine ever being without it again?
Surprisingly enough, I've heard the answer to that last question way too many times to be in the affirmative. People that think that some TV, sound system, or automobile are more important than even their own personal safety. Sure that Persian rug is a remarkable shade of dark blue, and it really ties together the room, but is it worth a pint of piss in the grand scheme of things? Of course it's not, it is just a fucking rug, and no matter how unique it might be (which is unlikely since you are not the Prince of Persia) it is just quite simply at its core, a fucking rug. No more, and probably quite a bit less. There lies wisdom, understanding that even if that rug was the last thing your great-granny Marge ever gave to you, it is still just a rug. It is great-granny Marge that is the important bit, and sure she might be as dead as Montreal's chances of winning the Stanley Cup this year, it is still her that counts, not the gods damn rug that her pet dog Cupcake used as a toilet for 12 years before dying of the vapours.
Hell, why not take a wild chance, and just give that rug away? See how that makes you feel, its not like you are digging granny Marge up, and telling her that you hated her all those years for trying to feed you chicken salad that wasn't exactly up to par. Hours will pass, and you will eventually forget that the damn rug was even a part of your estate. Give it a shot, just for once, try to picture not caring about the things in your life, but the people in your life. There are people in your life aren't there? I mean who else would all of these possessions impress? These people, those lucky few survivors of the college life you shared, or the professional life you currently share, or the fellow denizens of your local, are probably the important bit of your life that you really need to focus.
Don't let those people be a waste of your lungs, tell them the important stuff that you think they already know, because chances are they don't, and would fall over themselves with joy if you let them know that they are, in fact, more important than a flat screen plasma TV, or a Persian rug/piss pot. You can almost always find someone selling a TV, people don't sell best friends at a shop for your convenience. Maybe, if you are like me, you have several 'best' friends because one just isn't enough, if so you are one lucky devil, and you should explain to each of them why they are important to you. And they are important to you, whether you want to admit it or not. You don't have to get all maudlin about it, but a simple explanation will do. After all, they are your friends, they know that you are not the most articulate fellow in the world, if you were they probably wouldn't be able to understand the fucking words coming out of your mouth.
That is what friends do, understand the words, no matter how poorly strung together, that you use to express yourself, and the few feelings you have. It is not wasted breath, it is time well spent, and its own reward. Remember though that life and friendships are a two way street, listening is a skill that you have to acquire, and something you must needs to learn how to do. After all, we are all in this play together, and nowhere in the script does it say you are the only leading man or woman. We all want to be the prince in the story, but sometimes being the butcher is just as, if not, more important. People to post decrees are very important, but there has to be people there to read them as well, or it all just fades to dust motes trapped in a sunbeam.
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