So, i've taken a small break from the poetry; debate's been eating my time like a fat kid at Cici's... on the way home from atlanta, I managed to write ... something. I'm not sure whether it's poetry, prose, a reflective essay or a story, but shit i've never been big on labels.

without furthe ado:

I have grown terribly dissatisfied with my life, I am not who I used to be – anymore. No, something has happened to me – I feel lost, trapped and ever so fucking alone and I just want everything and everyone to be still still still. I know, I know, I have so much to live for, such a rich fulfilling life ahead of me – the only problem is – I see the future, I see my destiny – as I peer into the crystal ball of modernity, I am disheartened by the direction my boat is drifting.

Highschool, College, a Masters degree then work, work, work – until I’m a useless old fart and can’t tell the difference between living and existing. That’s what this world wants for us all, an anesthetized life – free from pain and strife: we all dream of that same place – whether you call it Oklahoma or your lover’s arms, we’re all looking for a place where everything is predictable and nothing hurts. We sail and cruise and drive through existence looking for a who, a why, a god and a how, but never do we find the answers to our petty questions, we sail and drive and cruise to someone else’s rhythm, in a direction I’m ashamed to call “progress.”

False are the idols of modernity, false are the amenities of a comfortable middle-class existence. We bust our balls to maintain the petty comforts of our lives without realizing that it is ourselves that we are slowly murdering. The house, the cars, the money, the girls – shit I’d trade it all for a taste of the real – a taste of every beautiful flavor life has to offer. But there is some repentance in it all, for I’m afraid although I see beyond the shimmering idols of modernity, I am a weak man. As much as I want escape, as much as I want to live, my weakness leaves me trapped like a butterfly caught in the tarantulas den, or an autumn leaf lost in winter winds – out of place, out of control, and increasingly – out of my fucking mind.

I don’t know what it is about me, or what’s been going on lately – everyone and everything in my life is confusing the fuck out of me, I am coming to what feels like a stand-still in my quest for meaning and I’m afraid I’m falling falling falling into darkness, into nothingness. I’m lonely, confused, and thirsty for the first drop of love, of life, of whatever is to come, but if there’s one thing I do know it is this: I have grown too full for this small cup of existence, I can no longer call this place home and for quite some time I have not been able to recognize these familiar faces - I need change that doesn’t jingle in my pockets.

I am looking for a friend, but surely in all the wrong places – I cannot find it here. This place is cold and all of the color is gone - the land is black and the clouds overhead are gray with the tears of god. But I cope, I live, I fight the good fight; Hoping that somewhere, there is someone in the world as lost confused and meaningless as myself.

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