Posts
1. Murderer(s)
I have ventured to the dark sides of life many of times, but this here is too dark for my inner self to handle.
2. Serial Rapist(s)
I could "handle" covering a rape. I believe in myself to be strong enough to to interview a rapist and get into that psyche, but a person who's only way to get their jolly's off is to rape many men and/or women, well, I don't think I am tough skin enough.
3. Myself and My Sins
This last part is a lie. If and when I do publish my novel you will know that everything I do write about is my sins. Things I have done, things I have witnessed. Responsibilities that I have assumed.
Off Topic:
I just thought this ( I am watching "Capote" right now. I sit here and believe that I could never use any one, but is that not what I am doing with the people that live in these barracks? Using them to justify why I write? Why I live? Why I do what I do?
Hypocrite comes to mind, and it is the right word. (Palahniuk reference)
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
In the Mirror
Any man that lives in the world he observes is bound to wake up one day and look in the mirror, only to have one thought in his mind. Fuck. It won’t make sense. He will go on throughout his day watching every one get themselves deeper and deeper in trouble, or worse, slowly kill themselves. Then, as he gets comfortable with the night and gets on his soap box, it will hit him. He can’t do this anymore.
He can’t keep working for something he doesn’t believe in. Turning a blind eye to every small injustice because he is to young to understand the way the game is played. To new to be accepted by grizzled vets, and abused for their wants.
He plays along after that realization because he is not sure if what he is feeling is true. He always believed that he never felt at all, because after all the shit he has done can he be redeemed and taken seriously as a man of what is right?
I guess if you have faith, he could be. But no one has faith anymore.
We are so caught up in the drama that is played out on our televisions that we believe that we are the stars of our very own dramas. Well we don’t have millions of viewers. Most of us don’t live interesting lives. But we can’t just do what we do and be happy, no, that is to easy. We have to find a way to show we are special. Unique. Important.
So we believe everyone has this hidden agenda, this deep dark secret that we must find out so we can be the heroes. So people will listen to us. So we are important. And for some reason, that makes us sleep better at night. Until we look in the mirror and say that four letter word.
That is where I am now, except I have prolonged this moment. It has been a little over a year since I looked in that mirror and ever since then I have been able to forget about it until recently. I woke up on a very long weekend and looked in the mirror. After staring at myself for a few minutes I forgot how badly I had to piss. I turned and looked around my room. Nothing was in order. Everything a mess. I realized that I did not care anymore.
I thought about the work I had been putting off and how it did not matter to me because I was not passionate about it. I felt nothing, even after being told that the paperwork was being submitted to get me on the track to the job I had been fighting to get for a year.
A couple of nights passed, then I as I came home from the bar, two soldiers started acting like drunken idiots that most young soldiers act like. After a few pushes and them telling me to leave and that I was a faggot (to which I sarcastically replied, “That’s right. I like cock,” because I am a dick like that), one tried to chase me down. I quickly countered this by running past the non commissioned officer on duty and up the stairs. In the process, hurting my foot, ankle and knee.
When I got back to my room and sat down, I realized that I was done. Done with the bullshit. Done with the amateurs. Done with the beaners (may I add that I am not a racist in any form, but I was so pissed off, and drunk, at these two Hispanic soldiers that I actually used the word beaner when talking to woman I most deeply care about).
Now I don’t have a plan. Sure I can go to college or get some other job, but I can’t wake up every day and try to act like I care. I can’t give everything they ask for and then some. It’s just not in me like it was a year ago, and that is the worst part because now I have to question everything about me.
Am I a pussy who can’t be a soldier? Am I a man? Am I better than these idiots? Lower? Am I looking for an excuse?
I don’t know and don’t demand an answer from me. All I know is that for once, I want to wake up and be happy about who I am. If that means that I am a nobody, wannabe writer with no income, well, I guess that is who I am.
He can’t keep working for something he doesn’t believe in. Turning a blind eye to every small injustice because he is to young to understand the way the game is played. To new to be accepted by grizzled vets, and abused for their wants.
He plays along after that realization because he is not sure if what he is feeling is true. He always believed that he never felt at all, because after all the shit he has done can he be redeemed and taken seriously as a man of what is right?
I guess if you have faith, he could be. But no one has faith anymore.
We are so caught up in the drama that is played out on our televisions that we believe that we are the stars of our very own dramas. Well we don’t have millions of viewers. Most of us don’t live interesting lives. But we can’t just do what we do and be happy, no, that is to easy. We have to find a way to show we are special. Unique. Important.
So we believe everyone has this hidden agenda, this deep dark secret that we must find out so we can be the heroes. So people will listen to us. So we are important. And for some reason, that makes us sleep better at night. Until we look in the mirror and say that four letter word.
That is where I am now, except I have prolonged this moment. It has been a little over a year since I looked in that mirror and ever since then I have been able to forget about it until recently. I woke up on a very long weekend and looked in the mirror. After staring at myself for a few minutes I forgot how badly I had to piss. I turned and looked around my room. Nothing was in order. Everything a mess. I realized that I did not care anymore.
I thought about the work I had been putting off and how it did not matter to me because I was not passionate about it. I felt nothing, even after being told that the paperwork was being submitted to get me on the track to the job I had been fighting to get for a year.
A couple of nights passed, then I as I came home from the bar, two soldiers started acting like drunken idiots that most young soldiers act like. After a few pushes and them telling me to leave and that I was a faggot (to which I sarcastically replied, “That’s right. I like cock,” because I am a dick like that), one tried to chase me down. I quickly countered this by running past the non commissioned officer on duty and up the stairs. In the process, hurting my foot, ankle and knee.
When I got back to my room and sat down, I realized that I was done. Done with the bullshit. Done with the amateurs. Done with the beaners (may I add that I am not a racist in any form, but I was so pissed off, and drunk, at these two Hispanic soldiers that I actually used the word beaner when talking to woman I most deeply care about).
Now I don’t have a plan. Sure I can go to college or get some other job, but I can’t wake up every day and try to act like I care. I can’t give everything they ask for and then some. It’s just not in me like it was a year ago, and that is the worst part because now I have to question everything about me.
Am I a pussy who can’t be a soldier? Am I a man? Am I better than these idiots? Lower? Am I looking for an excuse?
I don’t know and don’t demand an answer from me. All I know is that for once, I want to wake up and be happy about who I am. If that means that I am a nobody, wannabe writer with no income, well, I guess that is who I am.
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