Monday, December 13, 2010

“Gretchen had so much baggage and bullshit excuses that she seemed to be entirely made up of shit and nothing more.” –Unknown (Or possibly I wrote it)

Fair warning: This blog entry is full of shit.

So, how do we deal when we feel like there is shit somewhere that we cannot get rid of that sticks to us like the relentless flies that stick to it?

For starters, flies eat shit.

When shit hits the fan, run as fast as you can to get away. Grab a baby or two but get yourself out. NOW. You can always think later and you will. You may think about that shit for the rest of your life but at least you won't still be sitting in a shit storm as wind pummels the shit against you until it dries and adheres to your soul.

That being said, there will always be a shit hole lurking somewhere in our lives. It's just how often we venture out to the steaming mass or pay it any heed, a determining factor of its presence among us, its impact upon our lives. Maybe we try to shovel the shit around and disperse it so that the mass is not accumulating all in one place. We may hide it under rugs and within cluttered desk drawers, stuff it into dark basements, or entice Harold the dog to eat it. We’re trying to hide and forget about our own shit but the shit is still there and if we don’t find it someone else will. Our repressed shit will always be made known to us at some point, possibly by the most unsuspecting source, someone we love.

Some people try to come to terms with their shit all the while choosing to keep it around. They may walk through the shit at some point every day, to or from work, possibly coming back from the daily walking of Harold the dog. They acknowledge the shit; they accept the shit as though it were a normal facet of their lives. They wear an extra lining in their socks and they always shower when they arrive back home. Some may even converse with the shit they face, ask it for advice; they may ask it to fulfill such mundane tasks as delivering letters or picking up another can of shaving gel. They may landscape the shit in their back yard, determined to make it more appeasing since they look at it every day. They grow flowers out of it saying, “my shit smells like roses”. Your shit may smell like roses but it still looks like shit; it is shit after all. It cannot be anything except shit unless it is shit with your footsteps in it or shit with coins and empty wishes thrown in it. The shit is there and the shit is pretty shitty.

How do you deal with your own shit? Do you hide the shit or is there something about your shit that is so appealing that you keep going back to it? Do you spend your time with your shit day in and day out, regardless of life's laughter all around you? Sometimes people leave their shit at home; sometimes they leave their shit at work. My advice to you is that you leave your shit altogether and never look back. You already have what you need, you have salvaged from the shit the few items worth saving. The rest is just shit and nothing more.

After reading this blog you may have certain questions. One being, ‘who is Harold the dog?’ Harold the dog is waiting for you at your nearest animal shelter. Adopt him today.

Another question you may have might involve my impetus for writing such a blog. Talking shit about shit isn’t to say I don’t respect the shit because I do. The shit made me who I choose to be every day. Shit can be a significant part of what makes us who we are but it tends to wear us out if that’s where we put all our focus. I believe that if you find yourself thinking again and again about your shit you are destined to live in a way that is unbalanced and unhealthy. What we need is something to invigorate us every day, to help us turn our backs on the shit that plagues us. Find that certain something and live a shit-free life today.

Monday, August 23, 2010

"Personality is reduced and deformed with depleted thoughts and stagnant mind." -Hussein Bin Talal

Seemingly insignificant activities of today slowly shape who we become tomorrow...

I find myself constantly looking to other people for approval, for guidance. What I should be doing with my life I wonder as I read a few more inspirational autobiographies, people who lived it and then also decided to let us all know about it. From Malcolm X to Adolf Hitler, I thank you for letting me know how you gained your integrity and what I may advise myself not to do with my own.

Yes, there are people outside of us that inspire us but what may dwindle inside my own soul's lining could be likened to a loaf of bread in day-old chicken broth. That's as I feel it; that's my today, certain days of my yesterday, and hopefully not written on my tomorrow. I'm feeling my own lack of integrity because I'm not living the life I picture for myself. Or at least I feel like I should have a job right now, specifically one of the ones others have planned for me. Had I planned it myself, surely I would have reached my goals by now.

Certainly, I'm not doing what appears to be acceptable from the outside view. Alas, "seemingly insignificant activities of today slowly shape who we become tomorrow". Today I did nothing. I barely got out of bed unless you count the turkey sandwich or chasing my hyper cat for two minutes before the thunder rolled into my head and my eyes grew heavy. I lugged my computer into my self-constructed, very solitary confinement of sorts. Except to say that the world all seems to be here: my books, my stamp collection, some rocks, and the internet...

Here emerges the impetus for a blog about REAL things instead of my poetry where I feel I can sufficiently hide my heartache and sarcastic spirit between the lines. Within a poem I can hide my goals and turn my inspirations toward their own internal horizons. With this blog I intend to come out of the closet, spirit alive and pulsing forward like a wave of unleashed water over a breached dam. That's me.

Possibly as a result of this blog my thoughts will bind themselves to the socially constructed world that people who are autistic should be more a part of, this world that I dread bare-footed, comforted from my bed. A world-view made up of a reason to go to the gym; perfectly constructed abs; a job where my modesty hides away like a bashful virgin, saving itself for the one chance to divulge secrets of the inner-circle of my dream-job world. My status may be conveyed at a dinner party where I fall into a perfectly fake and equally aesthetically beautiful conversation with a man that I will eventually take home for no reason other than me thinking it's a necessary step toward evolving into something even more haphazardly and wanton.

So, if you can make it through the endless bout of run-on sentences, the ADD-induced branching of thoughts, the poetic-style imagery when ranting, and many-times over ill-educated bantering, you may find enjoyment; you may find yourself here too. This will be real, my struggles to survive in a new city, my thoughts, my (you guessed it) unchallenged ranting. And from it all, my grammar may improve, my thoughts may derive more meaning and my solitude may become a bit more responsibly embarked upon, if it is possible to embark upon one's solitude (I think so); I may arrive at a job which I love and one where I create value instead of sucking the value into my dreary room with the hours and minutes I sleep away.

I won't spend time talking about what it actually is that I do for work, only I may recall an incident or two as it may happen while I'm on the clock. I just need to find my own unique way, to grow into a balance that fuels my productivity, to see/feel my true self coming out of the woodwork. And then when I find a job that is really me, whether the society I have constructed out of fear accepts it or not, I hope to find a sense of peace and satisfaction.

So, follow me along, if you will. Step into my mind until you find a chord of wings with which to navigate a few bars of your own song.