Friday, January 23, 2004
The Pilgrims. (Old Title: "Shut Up, and Drive.") - Draft 6
This is the last will and testament of a man whose name you need not know. A man, whose life has been squandered up to this point. I realize this now. This is why his name…my name…is not important. A name derives meaning, or something meaningful. A way to identify actions, triumphs, and failures. Unless you count apathy and over-indulgence as notable and beneficial traits, I am not worthy of mention. Maybe by the time this is all over, that may be different, friend...Maybe my name will mean something to you.
"Shut up, and keep driving", she said. We had been searching for something out in that desert, although I couldn't tell you what it was. A destination? A feeling? A spiritual oasis to quell our deepest desires? None of these. Maybe, all of these.
What I do know, is that I don't feel right. Neither does she. Neither of us could find what we were looking for. Yet, both of us coexist for the same purpose. That is our only connection. I honestly do not believe we would even have much to say to each other, if it weren't for that tie we are bound to. We talked, on and on. Watching the needle dip. Our lifeblood that sped us on our journey waned. I asked. I needed to. "Should we go back? We have enough to get back", I said. She glanced back at me, and said "Why go back to life empty-handed? There is nothing for us until we find grace." I wouldn't have called it that, but she did have a point. Why bother going back to the familiar, and follow the same patterns as before? We were not happy then, and we wouldn't be now. That unidentifiable thirst must be quenched.
I had already used the spare gas cans, and poured the rest of my water into the radiator during the night. I did not tell her. I'm not sure she would have minded, and I think that is why I did not tell her. I did not want to hear her "being OK" with my decision of possible death via desiccation. That would make the situation ever-the-more dire. Her water would go quickly now. At my estimate, we could only go about seventy more miles on our remaining fuel. Then we are walking.
The good news is this: The sun is going down now, and the desert is cooling off. Some might say cold. She was cold. I let her borrow my jacket. I really don't care. I am certainly not going to freeze to death in this place. It's May, for crying out loud. The land is black outside the reach of the car's headlights. The black almost seems hungry. It devours the light a short distance from the car. The cool wind whips through the car windows, and spirals playfully in the back. It picks up the papers from my briefcase, and throws them about, like a small child at Christmas-time. The wind almost appears to be laughing at us...Or teasing us. These events may have just been my perception, but it made me uneasy, nonetheless.
The briefcase. Yesterday seems so far away now. I walked out of my office at 10:30 am in the morning, got in my car, and started driving. I had had it. This was not supposed to be my life. I am 34, and sick of compromising my whole life for someone else. My life was a constant negotiation, bound in Coach Leather, and lined with silk. Sure it was comfortable, but it was empty at the same time. I fought for every inch of free-time. My life was ruled by Sales. It never stopped. Meetings to sell the product. Meetings to sweeten up the clients. Meetings to negotiate. Contract-signings. "Celebrations" with clients after the fact. After-after the fact "celebrations" with bosses. Somewhere along the way, I had become my job.
During my aimless driving, I found Cassandra. She hates to be called that. Cass is what she prefers. I like the name Cassandra. I hate Cass. So goes our unique relationship. We talked, and talked. God, life, philosophy. We covered every subject from the most efficient and least messy way to eat an éclair, to the socio-political state of affairs in West Africa. I learned, as I had previously mentioned, that we agreed on very little. However, she felt as much a part of this journey as I did. Whenever I wanted to stop, she spurred me along. She was right, but we might die because of her. I am not afraid of that anymore. If that is to be my fate, then let it be so. Let the world write me off as a loon. I figured it out. You, my reader, will as well. It is all just a matter of time. Life cannot rule it's peoples. We must control our destiny. This was my last attempt at doing so, even if my only act of control is where I choose to die. Hopefully that will not happen, but if so, I must accept that. I died in search of something better.
With a stutter, or a mechanical death-rattle, the car went silent. We are now coasting, and out of gas. I threw it into neutral to conserve inertial movement. That's it. A dirt road in the middle of nowhere. In the dark. In the desert. Now, our journey had begun. This is what Cass had meant all along. We finally saw eye to eye on something. I will only find out what's important through strife, and possible loss of life.
We exited the car. I didn't bother locking the doors. I threw the keys on the seat, and stretched. I pondered the inky blackness, the whisper of the wind, and the host of stars above. I pondered my existence in this world. I pondered my fragile body anchored to my consciousness in an earth-bound state. I felt purified.
My name is Thomas. My friends called me Tom. You can call me Tom, if you want. I need to go now. This journey is for Cass and I.
If you want a journey of your own, go get lost in your own desert.
This is the last will and testament of a man whose name you need not know. A man, whose life has been squandered up to this point. I realize this now. This is why his name…my name…is not important. A name derives meaning, or something meaningful. A way to identify actions, triumphs, and failures. Unless you count apathy and over-indulgence as notable and beneficial traits, I am not worthy of mention. Maybe by the time this is all over, that may be different, friend...Maybe my name will mean something to you.
"Shut up, and keep driving", she said. We had been searching for something out in that desert, although I couldn't tell you what it was. A destination? A feeling? A spiritual oasis to quell our deepest desires? None of these. Maybe, all of these.
What I do know, is that I don't feel right. Neither does she. Neither of us could find what we were looking for. Yet, both of us coexist for the same purpose. That is our only connection. I honestly do not believe we would even have much to say to each other, if it weren't for that tie we are bound to. We talked, on and on. Watching the needle dip. Our lifeblood that sped us on our journey waned. I asked. I needed to. "Should we go back? We have enough to get back", I said. She glanced back at me, and said "Why go back to life empty-handed? There is nothing for us until we find grace." I wouldn't have called it that, but she did have a point. Why bother going back to the familiar, and follow the same patterns as before? We were not happy then, and we wouldn't be now. That unidentifiable thirst must be quenched.
I had already used the spare gas cans, and poured the rest of my water into the radiator during the night. I did not tell her. I'm not sure she would have minded, and I think that is why I did not tell her. I did not want to hear her "being OK" with my decision of possible death via desiccation. That would make the situation ever-the-more dire. Her water would go quickly now. At my estimate, we could only go about seventy more miles on our remaining fuel. Then we are walking.
The good news is this: The sun is going down now, and the desert is cooling off. Some might say cold. She was cold. I let her borrow my jacket. I really don't care. I am certainly not going to freeze to death in this place. It's May, for crying out loud. The land is black outside the reach of the car's headlights. The black almost seems hungry. It devours the light a short distance from the car. The cool wind whips through the car windows, and spirals playfully in the back. It picks up the papers from my briefcase, and throws them about, like a small child at Christmas-time. The wind almost appears to be laughing at us...Or teasing us. These events may have just been my perception, but it made me uneasy, nonetheless.
The briefcase. Yesterday seems so far away now. I walked out of my office at 10:30 am in the morning, got in my car, and started driving. I had had it. This was not supposed to be my life. I am 34, and sick of compromising my whole life for someone else. My life was a constant negotiation, bound in Coach Leather, and lined with silk. Sure it was comfortable, but it was empty at the same time. I fought for every inch of free-time. My life was ruled by Sales. It never stopped. Meetings to sell the product. Meetings to sweeten up the clients. Meetings to negotiate. Contract-signings. "Celebrations" with clients after the fact. After-after the fact "celebrations" with bosses. Somewhere along the way, I had become my job.
During my aimless driving, I found Cassandra. She hates to be called that. Cass is what she prefers. I like the name Cassandra. I hate Cass. So goes our unique relationship. We talked, and talked. God, life, philosophy. We covered every subject from the most efficient and least messy way to eat an éclair, to the socio-political state of affairs in West Africa. I learned, as I had previously mentioned, that we agreed on very little. However, she felt as much a part of this journey as I did. Whenever I wanted to stop, she spurred me along. She was right, but we might die because of her. I am not afraid of that anymore. If that is to be my fate, then let it be so. Let the world write me off as a loon. I figured it out. You, my reader, will as well. It is all just a matter of time. Life cannot rule it's peoples. We must control our destiny. This was my last attempt at doing so, even if my only act of control is where I choose to die. Hopefully that will not happen, but if so, I must accept that. I died in search of something better.
With a stutter, or a mechanical death-rattle, the car went silent. We are now coasting, and out of gas. I threw it into neutral to conserve inertial movement. That's it. A dirt road in the middle of nowhere. In the dark. In the desert. Now, our journey had begun. This is what Cass had meant all along. We finally saw eye to eye on something. I will only find out what's important through strife, and possible loss of life.
We exited the car. I didn't bother locking the doors. I threw the keys on the seat, and stretched. I pondered the inky blackness, the whisper of the wind, and the host of stars above. I pondered my existence in this world. I pondered my fragile body anchored to my consciousness in an earth-bound state. I felt purified.
My name is Thomas. My friends called me Tom. You can call me Tom, if you want. I need to go now. This journey is for Cass and I.
If you want a journey of your own, go get lost in your own desert.
Gun Shy.
I have pretty much come to the conclusion that I am too "gun shy" for a relationship now. Hell, the idea scares me to death. I guess fairly recent divorce can do that to you. It really took the imminent possibility of a relationship to conjure up these feelings. I really need to, and want to, date, but I guess it will be true serendipity if anything more than that happens. I would love a relationship, but don't feel ready. I guess, as usual, the feeling will simply smack me in the face when the time is right. That is how most events in my life occur. When I am looking for them, they do not happen. When I am oblivious, I get knocked on my ass, and things happen. Here is life. It is happening all around me. I should not assume that life will serve me. I must become a better servant of my life. When that happens, so will the serendipitous moments we all crave as human beings. The unexpected good fortune that glues a smile to your face for days. I love that feeling. I miss that feeling. Where has that innocence gone? The innocence of taking risks regardless of the consequences. Have I been diminished as a I grew older? I don't know, but I don't like it.
I have pretty much come to the conclusion that I am too "gun shy" for a relationship now. Hell, the idea scares me to death. I guess fairly recent divorce can do that to you. It really took the imminent possibility of a relationship to conjure up these feelings. I really need to, and want to, date, but I guess it will be true serendipity if anything more than that happens. I would love a relationship, but don't feel ready. I guess, as usual, the feeling will simply smack me in the face when the time is right. That is how most events in my life occur. When I am looking for them, they do not happen. When I am oblivious, I get knocked on my ass, and things happen. Here is life. It is happening all around me. I should not assume that life will serve me. I must become a better servant of my life. When that happens, so will the serendipitous moments we all crave as human beings. The unexpected good fortune that glues a smile to your face for days. I love that feeling. I miss that feeling. Where has that innocence gone? The innocence of taking risks regardless of the consequences. Have I been diminished as a I grew older? I don't know, but I don't like it.
Thursday, January 22, 2004
Straight Eye For The Not-So-Queer Guy.
A woman that is very interested in me, asked me the dreaded question last night. I have gotten this query probably five or six times in my adult life, and it is getting a bit old.
She said:
"One of my friends that met you at your birthday told me "He is gay and just does not know it yet.""
Dear god man. No. I am not gay.
Yes,:
1. I have gay friends.
2. I care about how I look and dress.
3. I frequent trendy and "out-there" bars and clubs that have a fairly decent percentage of gay people.
4. I can and do have some effeminate qualities.
5. I identify better with women than men. Most of my friends are women.
That does not mean I am gay. I have gotten questions like this my whole life since after junior high.
I am who I am. Nothing more.
I give up. I am going to become a monk.
A woman that is very interested in me, asked me the dreaded question last night. I have gotten this query probably five or six times in my adult life, and it is getting a bit old.
She said:
"One of my friends that met you at your birthday told me "He is gay and just does not know it yet.""
Dear god man. No. I am not gay.
Yes,:
1. I have gay friends.
2. I care about how I look and dress.
3. I frequent trendy and "out-there" bars and clubs that have a fairly decent percentage of gay people.
4. I can and do have some effeminate qualities.
5. I identify better with women than men. Most of my friends are women.
That does not mean I am gay. I have gotten questions like this my whole life since after junior high.
I am who I am. Nothing more.
I give up. I am going to become a monk.
Monday, January 19, 2004
Permanence is a human ideal. (Draft 2)
I have a message I am sending.
About that force which speeds me to an ending;
One door closed, and another open;
It's will is strong and cannot be broken.
It can appear to stand, march, or even fly;
It will rule us until the day we die.
I cannot hope to tame is beast;
Not with the tools i am equipped, to say the least.
What is my captor - has it a name?
Some called it Kronos, but we are not the same.
It cares not in what language we speak;
And "Time" is all it cares for, or keeps.
I have a message I am sending.
About that force which speeds me to an ending;
One door closed, and another open;
It's will is strong and cannot be broken.
It can appear to stand, march, or even fly;
It will rule us until the day we die.
I cannot hope to tame is beast;
Not with the tools i am equipped, to say the least.
What is my captor - has it a name?
Some called it Kronos, but we are not the same.
It cares not in what language we speak;
And "Time" is all it cares for, or keeps.
Tuesday, January 06, 2004
Vestiges.
Note: Very rough thoughts. Hopefully, I will be able to form them better in the coming weeks.
As a boy, I walked under the sun. I felt no loss, no hate, and no need.
Life was perfect.
Well, not perfect, but innocent.
As I have grown, I have shedded my innocence like a snake sheds it's skin.
With each applicable act, I had less of it.
Slowly loosening over time, bits flaking off, and then, having it come away, in one large human-shaped piece.
Yet underneath, a new skin was forming.
Recently, I discovered my new skin. A bit harder, a bit colder. Does life prompt my evolution, or do I do it to myself? A very difficult question to answer.
There is only so much time and energy for agape. Less time and energy as I get older. I do not want to be this way, but feel it happening nonetheless. I trust less, I love less, I feel less.
Please, I do not want to have the lifeless eyes of a reptile. I do not want to calculate decisions based soley upon selfish logic, and personal need.
It feels, as if in some strange way, my soft, warm, human covering is vestigal. Uneeded for proper survival in this world.
Again, I ask: Why am I so cold? Is it the world, or is the cold deep inside of me?
Note: Very rough thoughts. Hopefully, I will be able to form them better in the coming weeks.
As a boy, I walked under the sun. I felt no loss, no hate, and no need.
Life was perfect.
Well, not perfect, but innocent.
As I have grown, I have shedded my innocence like a snake sheds it's skin.
With each applicable act, I had less of it.
Slowly loosening over time, bits flaking off, and then, having it come away, in one large human-shaped piece.
Yet underneath, a new skin was forming.
Recently, I discovered my new skin. A bit harder, a bit colder. Does life prompt my evolution, or do I do it to myself? A very difficult question to answer.
There is only so much time and energy for agape. Less time and energy as I get older. I do not want to be this way, but feel it happening nonetheless. I trust less, I love less, I feel less.
Please, I do not want to have the lifeless eyes of a reptile. I do not want to calculate decisions based soley upon selfish logic, and personal need.
It feels, as if in some strange way, my soft, warm, human covering is vestigal. Uneeded for proper survival in this world.
Again, I ask: Why am I so cold? Is it the world, or is the cold deep inside of me?
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