I haven’t been writing much. I apologize to all of my fans (that is, my mother). It’s not simply that I’ve been busy. There’s more than enough time to steal away a few words and sentences even in the short time I’m “teaching”. I guess you could say in in training.
It’s training for the mind.
It’s not enough that I’m simply trying to live healthier. I’m also trying to improve my depreciating quality of life. Contrary to manufactured belief, I’m not the good person that I trick people into believing I am. There are character flaws that run deep in these wayward arteries and veins. There is a heart that pumps equal darkness through its so-called light. I would argue that im scraping the tad sands if Canada as far as morality goes, but whatever.
Regardless of the awful truth, in this foolish soul I want to be better. I’m waging a quiet campaign to rid myself of my moral faults, because only a narcissistic soul begs for applause.
Whoops. Skating far too close to the line here.
It’s given me little to write about because I’m trying to fix what went wrong. But synchronicity is in place. I see it everywhere in my unfortunately doomed generation. Brief moments of awareness as we try to extend our childhood against the ugly tide of maturity. Ginsberg may have seen all the best minds of his generation destroyed, but I’ve seen ALL OF the minds of my own destroyed. But yet, more posturing. T.S. Eliot saw the same almost one hundred years ago.
There really is nothing left to complain about; if you’re not starving and suffering under a truly criminal government that is. The last complaints are reserved for the truly decrepit. Everything else is just shameless posturing for the over educated so that they can think for one brief sliver of a moment that they won’t be ground up into atomistic dust.
So as I train myself to be the better man that I think I can be, I realize that I’m paralyzed by the thought of “I just don’t know”.
Is there something worth fighting for?
No, no, no, a thousand times no? I don’t know. There was a time in my wayward life that I believed in the force of will. That no matter how horrible the reality you were still capable of your own density and destiny; that something might follow juvenile experiences.
This is typically where nihilism or naive idealism will take the helm; and pragmatism is just that voice that says ” I have a headache”.
I look around most days and I think “eh, fuck it”. I can see now why my father is so burned out. You can kill yourself simply by caring.
But I have a sister who is one decade my junior. She grew up in a bubble and the world will break her because it loathes a dreamer. But despite those odds, I believe in people like her, who can rise above the pain and make it right.
It’s a foolish belief beyond any sort of compression. But I believe in that dark blood and that impossible soul.
I believe in her.
And I believe in you, because it maybe you have that same rare spark, then well
Maybe I will believe too
I guess you could say that I’m far too Aamerican.