Let the Train Whistle Cry for You

I am the lonely train's horn blowing in the not too distant future.  I lumber past but catch the eye of those involved.  Large, untimely, and without remorse.  I pass in the night with little notice and yet touching those open to hear the mournful cry.  Always headed somewhere and nowhere all at once.  no stopping.  never resting.  My brain knows not what the body does and yet it all connects in a mass of metal and screaming joints.  The thick metal carcass travels abroad knowing fully it's all the same.  They'll all be the same.  Predictable.  The troubled wind blows against my immensity.  I strive against time itself.  Searching, longing...meager.  Mediocrity seems welcome relief after the travels I've seen.  Something still amiss, I will trudge through the broken tracks and fallen timber.  A heartbeat pulses in time with my increasing movement and I pass through yet another town of faces I've seen all too often before.  They are mere remnants of myself;  Facets of my own personality.  Together, each a car of it's own yet all secured to the other.  We'll come back someday, if we do not lose our way.  Let the train whistle cry for you.  Let it bring you back to where you belong...joined to the rest with iron and solder.  We will remain unbreakable, unleashed and attached until time itself tears us from the other with rust and stoic grace.  

Conversations with a Crazy Person

'Oh man, I must keep the water going in the shower for as long as possible to maximize the effect my  expensive conditioner will have on my scalp and hair follicle.'

Totally.  You do realize that every iota of water you've just wasted on 'maximizing your conditioner' would have accumulated enough in the few seconds you had it blasting heat and pressure on your back and neck to save a small village from walking 25 miles to get to a well....a well dug forty seven years ago, replete with disease, packed with dead and crawling insects, and much more mud than water....much more.

'I got this shit for free!  Well, it was practically.  It was on sale for half price and the manufacturers made a special extra large bottle so I got 50% more.  Steal.  Steal of a deal.'

The water's turned cold, you've been in too long.  Did you know rats are excellent swimmers?  I've seen one twice....a brown rat.  Cute.  Fearless.  curious.  Good combination, no?

'Did he have a nice smile?'

Why must everything be about boys?  They are all the same you know...

'I know.  But.  I just like 'em.'

You sir, are obsessed.  Or bored.  Christ, keep busy.  You have things to do, things to focus on.

'Yeah, but there could potentially be boys when we're focusing and you must have soft hair for when that happens.  Even if it looks funny right now and I'll never quite understand your motives.'

No motive.  Just trying to remind myself everyday that til it grows...you are not ready.  A simple string on the finger, note on the fridge or hair on the head.

'You're a fucking weirdo.'

Takes one to know one.

'JUST DON'T LOOK!'

Let us have a chat you and I.  I'll do most of the talking but I'm female....it's part of my genetic makeup to be a better oral communicator than you.  You.  Are.  Part.  Of.  This.  You are part of the problem masking itself behind a self-righteous ideology of contempt for those you think lower on the sanctimony scale.  This mask you wear appears honest in its message and truthful in its delivery.  Au contraire mon frere.  We cannot escape the truth of where our society is now.  We idolize those that have not deserved it and forget those that do for a flashier headline.  We are consumed by the medias message of beauty, success, passion and power.  Look beyond.  Look into yourself.  The Simpsons writers in their timeless wisdom created a Halloween episode in which all of their towns mascots and iconic figures came to gigantic life and wreaked havoc on it's people...until!  Paul Anka and his melodic message of 'Just Don't Look' saved the day.  Do not pay attention to these people made famous and popular by sheer sex-crazed, violent or outlandish behavior.  For generations we have created stars out of nothing more than by paying attention to them.  That includes sitting cross-legged on your soap box preaching distaste and malice in their general direction while simultaneously promoting their behavior!  If you are passionate about climate change, Preach!  If you are concerned in the manner in which our farmers are being cut out of the picture for a more efficient yet toxic method of harvesting our meal, PREACH!  You can choose to not participate.  Or, you can further the Spearyruskardashahiltons of the world by spouting your message of truth attached to a picture of the whole contradictory mess.  Telling people what not to pay attention to by posting pics of such examples is part of the problem.  Right now I'm part of it too in reprimanding those that don't fucking get it.  I'm too old and far too angry to sit idly by when I see a wrong that demands a right.  You are not helping.  You merely perpetuate the illusion of providing another way, another choice, a better alternative to us broken individuals.  Alas, you merely provide a covert forum for more garbage and distraction.  This is the only time I will speak of the idiots in the world who literally contribute less than nothing.  They teach our kids that only your body matters in this world and to have a brain is counteractive.  I didn't even know about the 'Achy Breaky Cyrus Mistaky' until I saw posts on ridiculous facebook about her behavior.  I wish I didn't know who these people were.  Unfortunately our times are about being connected to everyone everywhere all the time.  That includes those who don't deserve our attention or support.  Don't look.  Stop giving your time and attention to ass-shaking, giant foam finger fucking, half nude idiocy.  Even if you are trying to send a message about Syria while condemning the scantily clad exploits of Lady Gaga's latest trip to England(had to look that up to provide another example cuz who gives a shit about any of them), you are lending a hand to their ability to reach people.  Maybe you don't know what you do.  Maybe you are innocently trying to save the world through meme's and posts and the like.  Why not spend less time watching the headlines?  Make your own? Maybe this entry is self-righteous.  Maybe I too am to blame for the state of where our priorities rest.  Did I help to spawn Hannah Montana's career by listening to her dad's record when I was a kid?  I let in the mournful sounds of insipid country and now this?  This poor young woman attempting to make a name for herself by the only way she knows and sees how?  Teach your fucking kids to stop looking.  These people feed on attention and attention alone.  Sure, if we stop looking, some crazy goddamn shit will transpire....and then eventually, cease to.  Without our consent I do dare admit that this garbage would stop and we could go on worrying about the stuff that concerns us all.  Focus on those you love and the things that make a difference.  Combining truth with false behaviors only solidifies how far reaching this bullshit has become.  Pull yourself out...mostly from your ass, and pay attention to reality.  It's a far more entertaining distraction.

A Success Story!

Air in my lungs.  A full belly.  Hard earned friendships, though few but so very cherished.  Healthy family.  A large and smooth shit first thing in the morning that leaves not a trace of its existence behind.  I don't believe ambition is something we're born with.  It's learned.  Adapted.  Then jammed down our throats as we age until our dreams are tainted nightmarish versions of happier times.  Perhaps ambition isn't the term I yearn for...no, the word I'm searching for is harsher, colder, more cut-throat.  The kind of sounding word that sticks in your throat and hurts on the way down.  It's a positive thing to look for purpose.  To desire.  To have an appetite for things, anything, is crucial.  Maybe it's just the type of ambition I'm trying to describe.  We're told very early on to 'be somebody.'  'Be someone.'  Aren't I?  Do I need a career hawking wares to achieve 'someone' status?  The status of having a title, a label, a neat box to fit into so when making small talk I can fit in?  Ah, status.  Perhaps that's the abhorred word I am hunting down.  I have an old computer by today's standards.  I love it.  It craps out.  Crashes sometimes.  Slow as fuck.  It always comes back and it serves the purpose I require of it.  I don't need a new one because this one is old.  It functions and that's all anyone needs.  I refuse to buy in(literally cuz that's seemingly what's necessary to be acknowledged in our consumerist society).  I refuse to replace that which could serve me still.  Maybe I'm just getting old and my attachment to that which exists inanimately grows on me like moss on a shady river rock.  I long for things, sure.  I long to be a better person everyday.  I long for other people to be better people....every fucking day.  I make strides to do good.  To be good.  I don't want to be a part of the problem.  I own enough slaves already with my six year old computer.  Hopefully they died long ago of aids and I can dispose of at least one element of guilt.  What?!  I didn't give them the HIV.

I can't work retail/sales anymore.  It's evil.  Surely part of the problem if not the catalyst for most of life's unhappiness.  We don't need to be shown what to buy.  We need to stop buying.  Stop buying in.  A new system is required for all that nasty shit to dissipate and if I had the answer for fuck sake, I would share it with you all.  I don't.  So in the meantime, I choose not to buy what i don't need and trust me friends, I don't need a lot.  If we had fewer choices to consume, we'd consume less.  We'd be less traumatized when we went out into the world and even those I work against would benefit.  It's true.  With so many options in front of us, we buy less and feel more turmoil.  We can't decide between 300 different olive oils so we choose none.  Less choice would benefit us all.  Especially when it comes to the products we don't actually need.

The nagging voice of R. Lee Ermey in my head dictates that I should 'BE MORE STUPID!  DO MORE STUPID!  GODDAMN SON, DON'T BE SO STUPID!'   The baby-boomers didn't mean to leave us with this as their legacy but here we are.  The women left the homes, the men, seem born emasculated and the children wander in a daze wondering how they can achieve all that they can to be the best darn so and so they can be.  Don't be the best.  Just do good.  Do good everyday.  Be good...everyday.  Wet your appetite on them there crackers.  I feel insatiable some days.  Getting what I want all the time has made me this way.  I've been spoiled and nothing I get will every sate me long.  I am the hungriest of all hungryhungry hippos.  I hate it.  I spend time being grateful but always with the wanting more....more....MORE!  I want to be settled in my joy.  Not always looking for the next best thing, person, day.  Just being good, doing good and accepting that being present in that is enough.  I am a piece of kelp being tossed perpetually by an ocean wave against a sandy shore.  Forever stretching out towards the sandy beach but as soon as I touch the earth the next wave picks me up and moves me up and away once more.  I never leave this spot but I'm always moving.  Going nowhere but a part of it all.  There is calmness in that and great frustration.  The goal I suppose is to merge the two and be grateful for whatever part I play, no matter it's degree of perceived prosperity.

On the River Fraser

I connected with someone today.  I deem this note/blog worthy because of it's scarcity.  We truly knew each other in that instant.  Like we were once the same person and knew symbiotically the alcoves of one another's brain goo.  He was a tugboat operator a hundred and fifty yards out across the river.  I waved to him as hard and as expressively as I could muster;  A giant smile plastered to my face as though I was a mere babe struggling to be recognized by someone, anyone.  He smiled, I could tell, and waved back.  His body language changed and he became instantly revived.  I like having that effect on people.  It's important to me.  I haven't felt like I had the ability any longer, but there it was.  unexpected.  Real.  Meeting people as an adult is way weird.  Yah.  Like, totally.  You can't just speak to someone for a spell then ask them to be your friend.  I guess, maybe....a coffee first?  Is that what people do?  Is that a thing that 'normal' people do.  Seems odd to me.  Contrived or...something.

A short time later, I was struck by a man flying a kite.  Not physically, but on a definitive level of soul-dom.  It was serene.  A serene that permeated my inability to be present and filled me with wonder.  I passed by without thanking him for the moment he inadvertently gave me.  It felt weird not to but the fear of being socially awkward displaced my sense of well-being and I thought against it.  Funny though...we met up later on down the path as I saved his kite from being blown away just as his string had snapped and the kite felt a brief moment of  horrible, horrible freedom.  So horrible.  I thanked him for the enjoyment his colored wind tarp gave me and we walked and talked for a few minutes about the benefits of kite flying.  We schlepped our separate ways, feeling good about existence.  Seems like something I should try.  'Tis been awhile.

Suppose Tuh's

We were suppose to be in love.  We were suppose to be best friends.  Does being thirty eliminate me from calling someone a 'best friend'?  Probably.  We were suppose to sit out on our beautiful balcony overlooking the pool, the trees, the hummingbirds, and ponder over a beer or two.  We were suppose to enjoy this gorgeous weather together;  Playing badminton in the cool evenings and planning trips to Seattle where we would most surely see a band or two...maybe catch a baseball match.  We were suppose to do a lot of things.  Now we're just a Vancouver Divorce.

I Know You

I've seen you before, ya know.  I've smelt the sour stench of your falsities.  I've gorged on the putrid pile of your flesh and have always come up wanting.  You want me until I don't give you what you want, then onto the next that will tolerate your meagerness.  I know you.  I've met you before in others.

I was different once.

I use to hide this.  I use to scour the earth for hidy-holes large enough to fit my nonsense in.  Sometimes it wouldn't all fit and I'd have to sit a top it all...legs crossed, looking nonchalant, hiding nothing but embarrassment and shame.  I shouldn't feel this guilt any longer, for I have done nothing wrong.  Nor have you.  No blame.  No guilt.  It is your fault I am this way, however.  'Your', in the general sense, for you are all intrinsically identical.  Dissimilar packages in similar components.  I would never admit what I was feeling when I was treated so very poorly by your kind.  I would swallow it.  I would bury it.  I would accept that this treatment was as good as it would get for me.  No more.  I SAID, NO MORE.

I've thought in the past that because we are women- the weak gatherers who silently run the household/world whilst our bumbling lovers think they have the control- we are made to swallow it.  Created to receive what they dish out with gentle good humor.  'Boys will be boys.'  Fuck.  That.  They want their cake and to fuck it too.  Then if we've grown balls enough to speak up about our minds and delicate sensibilities, we are immediately thrust into the spotlight of ridicule and pointed appendages...err, fingers.  I am not crazy.  I am not irrational.  I am not jealous.  I am not going to sit by and fucking take your bullshit as so many women before me have.  All of my past relationships have failed.  Yours?  Common denominator?  I see.

You say such astounding things.  My breath has literally caught in my throat, I've been so overwhelmed by the manner in which you convey your love to me.  That is undeniable.  The other side of this unending sided bitch goddess, is that your actions are void of...action.  Well, not entirely true.  They speak encyclopedias to other women.  So.  Many.  Other.  Women.  You've lied.  You've cheated.  You've done anything in your power not to be found.  How am I the one who changes this?  I don't think I fucking am.  People don't change.  They get old and lazy.  Weary of the chase.  Tired of the expanse amount of energy necessary to maintain a facade long enough to get laid.  So, her I sit.  Last one standing.  Open arms and tear filled eyes.  Hoping for a heart that I could never possess.  You won't allow it.

They want it all.  As do I.  The sex addict who only gets off on your cock.  The librarian who masters physics and only gets off on your cock.  The saint who rescues burning kittens from a blaze and only, ever, gets off, on your cock.  The buddy who can chug a beer and crudely suck the cock only ever meant for her in the washroom while onlookers gaze lecherously from the urinals.  What are you to me?  Do you offer this?    Is any of that even on the table?  Of course not.  You want the little woman at home pining and yearning and waiting with breath held til your return when she can prove her longing for you with a nice good cock suck, while you have a myriad woman pawing at you on your nightly visits to the depths of hell.  Well, you can suck my cock.  Yeah, I've grown a big fat dick and we've decided we'll be perfectly happy together.  I shall ride my penis off into the sunset.  Enjoy your empty ego trips, for I require more.  HI-HO SILVER!