Woodstock

Today I did not photograph a young man sitting at the mouth of an alley, playing guitar and singing, next to a jar with a few pennies in it. I did not look him in the eye or drop any money for him. I did not buy anything from the store which sold meaningless baubles, nor did I photograph the crystal carousel sitting on the shelf.
I did not stop to chat with anyone, even though a couple of people tried to stop with me. I did not take a picture of the motorcycle gang walking out of the quilt supply store, each with their own bag of cloth and thread.
Today I did not appreciate antiquities, nor did I buy a good looking copy of Beelzebub's Tales to His Grandchildren. I did not eat at one of the numerous local restaurants. I did not bask in the afternoon sun, but rather avoided it in the humid air. I did not confront any of the people that I wanted to, any of the people that would have probably been able to tell me an amazing story.
I did not live today the way I should have, the way I try to always live my life. I did not learn anything today, or hear an amazing story, or meet an amazing person. I had every opportunity, but I wasted it, and I regret blowing the chance when I had it.

The Insomniacs Dream...

In the dead of night, Insomniacs dream of dawn. I know this to be true. I belong to this unfortunate culture, this pathetic mass of people unable to slide into that comfortable space between waking moments. I wonder how my life might be different if I slept as the rest of the world did. Would I still be as curious about life? Would I still have all the time wanted to ponder questions that no one has ever asked me? I don't think so.
Maybe it's not as true as I thought. When I lie awake at night, I only wish for the dawn because it brings a second wind with it, the resetting of my inner clock, and ability to stay awake for another day. Perhaps the insomniacs dream is not dawn. Perhaps for some the dream is that of sleep, the dream of dreams itself. For me, however, the dream is that of an end to dreams, the need to never sleep again.

Oh sweet dawn of day, come bare me away to glorious new times where the wicked never rest nor do the righteous ever sleep. Oh merciful gods come give me a cure for this wretched disease o'er which I weep. My dear deities, I yearn for thee in the dark, whilst I chase spirits from my mind, awaiting the cries of the lark. Modern amenities, please give me my sweet solace. I need not to dream if I may wake to smell the callas.

In the dead of night, the Insomniacs dream of a dawn fulfilled or a dream destroyed.

That Last Was Weak

So it was me being lazy, but wanting to post something none the less.
Woop. Anyway, I'm graduating soon. My last day is Wednesday, graduation on the 24th. I'm looking forward to it. I have to admit though, I'm a bit stressed; what's new? I don't have a job yet. I'm not sure how much money I'll make this summer, hopefully enough to pay for college. If not, loans here I come... I'm also just a bit scared of leaving school. It's all I've known, all my life. It's almost like a security blanket that I'm finally going to have to deal without. For the first time in my life, I won't be coming back to school after the summer. It's weird, scary and exciting, but most of all, I'm hit by unending melancholy. It seems to be the dominant emotion of my life. Melancholy. It's better than sorrow or fear I suppose. I've always got good times to remember, old friends to think about, amazing adventures that I'll never forget. Every time I think about my past though, I just get a little bit sad too. I know it won't be back, but I wish it would. So much. There is so much I wish I could experience again, so much I wish i could have done differently, knowing what I know now. I've always felt a little like I missed out on a true childhood, and it never bothered me too much, but now that I'm faced with becoming an adult, I'm scared shitless. I'm scared and I wish I could have had more time as a kid.

Just a few more years.
Please...

Here Now Lies Concordance

I was rooting around through a few of my old writings, and I found a little story I'd written a while back. I don't quite remember when. Maybe it was a year ago, maybe more.

Here now lies concordance...



The car stood motionless in in it's grave, an artificial pyre with no one to drive it. The whole city followed suit, with no one there to manage the flames. It was obvious why there was no driver, no warriors trying to quell the riotous fire; the city was a vast cemetery, where the dead did not rest easily. The dying skyscrapers twisted and contorted into monstrous burning fingers, scratching at the clouds. Entire blocks of the ruined city became the molten hands of the dead, clutching at the sky for something, anything to hold on to. With the screams of warping metal, even these monolithic beasts of steel lost the struggle for life, and with their last breaths they collapsed to the burning earth below.

We stood motionless, watching the city die, both entranced by the enormity of this destruction, and sobered by the knowledge that it was our doing. From the corner of my eye, I saw her turn to look at me. "Fire purifies." she told me. Without facing her I gave the same three words that I had said countless times that night, "No, fire destroys." This dialog had become our mantra.

This time, however, it struck something deep inside of her. She pulled me around, so that we were face to face. I was no longer staring at the city but instead at the growing inferno of hatred in her eyes. I had hoped this would stave her appetite, this destruction, but it seemed to have only given her a taste of blood. Now she wanted more. I could see her madness growing, her hunger, her desire. Lit by the burning wreckage, she was truly something to behold. I believed that in that very instant she could have been the Angel of Death.

She told me one last time, "Fire purifies." I did not bother responding this time, but hugged her tight to me. With her small body against mine, I did the only thing I could think to do, the only thing that seemed right.