Friday, July 25, 2008

The Apple's Lost Its Shine

As per an agreement I made with myself during an early rebuild, I have to address any listless feelings within 48 hours of their arrival. That didn't work out very well, so somewhere a few versions later I decided a week was a fair amount of time to hammer out the dents. Well, I returned to New York feeling out of sorts and have found the source of my woes in only 5 days. Celebration.
Pardon me, readers. Happy Friday. How have you been since we last spoke? High spirits and such, I hope. I've spent the last 48 hours watching Scrubs. Not the entire 48 of course, but most of the waking hours. Seasons 7, 1 and half of 2, to be exact. My mother -the TV worshiping doll that she is- would be proud of me, I'm sure. More on that at a later time, mayhaps.
  Yes, so what is the source of my aforementioned woes, you ask so sympathetically? (What... you didn't ask? Too damn bad. Read on.) I had this whole fallout a while back regarding whether or not research is where I really want to be. Ultimately, I put the decision off... but I hid it behind a thin veil of 'yes, it is'. I think I've come to the final conclusion in the last couple of days that it isn't where I want to be at all. I'd just grow to hate it more and more until I become the mess that I see in 95% of the scientists I encounter annually. I've realized something about myself that I think I knew the whole time. I can't be one thing... not really. My mind wanders too much. As a kid, when shit got to rough in the drug-filled foodless existence I called home, I would crack open some random fantasy/sci-fi book and I was gone. My mother was no longer doing the fiend lean on the couch, I wasn't running to the park summer afternoons cause it was one of the few places to catch a legal free meal (meals were few and far between at that time) - I was a fucking warrior battling every manner of dragon, orc and alien. As I got older, I spread my zone of escape to the wonders of film. Private I's, explorers, super heroes and any other character I could assume the role of for a couple days was welcome. The negative aspects of this all being that I would confuse my mental adventures with my actual ones. This was socially detrimental for a while, as I was generally considered a bullshit artist. I got over the confusion, or I got better at bullshitting, which is the truth I'm still not sure.
  Either way, I still walk into a room and within the first few minutes woo the cutest girl, kill the nearest threat and escape amazingly through a window or hidden doorway. This isn't always the standard storyline, but my point is I haven't gotten over my wonderful mental adventures. I grow wings at least once a day... again, digression. I think it's this whole dig that made me become a writer. I began chronicling and creating more of these bits. It's why I love writing. I'm free when I write. I'm my own brand of crazy and it is beneficial. That is also why the science gig might not work. My brand isn't meant for the confines of a lab coat and the same four walls. I should probably be in show business, but I haven't enough manic spouts to counter the self doubting periods. Teaching will continue to suffice, I suppose. I think my love for teaching comes from the performance aspect of it. I'm not #### to those people, hell I'm not even the River Man... I'm whomever has the reins to this beast of a body at that time.
  I've babbled on about all of this to get to the point that I no longer want to do research. Not seriously, at least. I may dabble in it for a bit and I will probably get my doctorate, but research is no longer my end all. I'm going to keep on with this writing jammie, 'cause I have a feeling my previously mentioned bag of crazy just might be hiding something that will get me noticed. And everyone knows how I loved to be noticed.
 As a side note, a few people who read this probably know me well enough to know that, even if I've never done something before, I'll assume I know everything about it and can do it first time out the gate. Chances are I might even claim to have seen something on it, or read something, or (forgive me) that I've done it before. Some have been astounded by my ability to actually appear as if my BS is valid, others see right through it. Either way, in these instances, I'm not fully lying. Chances are I've done it so many times in my head, I'm a friggin' pro by the time I have to do it for real. Or... feel like a pro. And confidence is half the battle.
Enough of this deep look into the mind of the River Man. Onto some damned verse. Enjoy.



Arizona


And he wonders why he falls
So easily
Like the ink to this page
The mosquito to light bulb
Love finds him and prowls
The areas of himself
That he can never seem to find

The song is sung
A thousand times

Will enters

  Bus
   Train
    Airport

Eye contact
His heart tap dances
Against his ribcage
His mind writes
A detailed story of their love
The intimate moments
Sleeping in on a Sunday morning
Nightlong conversations
And that awkward first utterance
Of the word he’s never said aloud before
But has worn lame in thought

Seconds crawl by
And with a blink
Inevitably, she looks away
Inevitably, He sits
Silently lamenting his inhibition
And his broken heart

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