"If you've never stared off in the distance, then your life is a shame."

Thought is the labor of the intellect, reverie is its pleasure.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Dreaming of Rebirth and American Dreamz

How crazy and confusing the world has got. They are memories I no longer see like others can see ice cream cones of summers gone. For me, it’s like watching a movie through an MRI. I can only feel it, I can only know it. The magnetic pull of a force beyond my control. My passion for life has been treading water and gasping in an endless sea for so long that it has arisen from that watery cocoon to be a tiny hurricane.

I have changed so much that you will never change me even if you could catch me. I emerge from my hibernation so often that I have reverted back into a tadpole which possesses an almost painful intellect. I emerge only to take one step on the staircase and begin the process again. Those content with their step laugh until I pass them and wave before I halt again. I’m not doing this for my health you know. Maybe my mental health, but not just my own. I have a mission for the greater good now.

I was told I have a gift and a curse called ‘the art of the pointed obsession.’ Most people lack the willingness to fully devote themselves to something and I have that in spades, but, like a compass in the hands of a curious boyscout, there are few times I can focus the needlepoint of my mind on subjects for too long. It’s not that I have no dedication, it’s that I can feel the truth in me saying to move on. I know I have found my true north, but my true north has not found me. So, between evolutionary phases and the tempered task of recollecting myself each time, I clear a bit more of the path leading to salvation. Because no one can even begin to hope that salvation will find you if you don’t make the road a clear one and meet it halfway.

I’d rather be the fish with the lip piercing than the one that swims with too much caution.
I’d rather be the kite in the tree than the one covered with dust under the toy chest.
I’d rather sing the song out of tune than hear it sung perfectly for a stranger.
I’d rather think you get the idea....

1 comment:

  1. You'd rather be the used condom than the one in someone's wallet for 18 years?

    Wait. Maybe I misunderstood. ;)