Ramblings of the Shade

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Jack Shade, Oct 9, 2009.

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  1. To the familiar tunes of Death Cab For Cutie, I sit on a couch smelling of cat piss and fabreeze. The carpet is green but when I look it seems black, like tar. In retrospect, I never type as well listening to music...too much on my mind. ADHD they called it, showing me a myriad of letters they expected me to remember afterward. They asked me what the letters were but I asked them what it said.

    I guess I can't much take letters without direction, always has to be some greater meaning spelled out in the pages. So when I say my life is barreling out of control, make no mistake I'm deadly serious. I'm going on twenty years old in November and with little more to show for it then a collection of online patchwork and standalone poetry free-floating in cyber space. No medals, no scholastic awards, not even the respect of my parents have I managed to keep in this trek forward. As emo as the above sounds, I say it with no expectation of condolences or a pity tissue from God, Allah, Yahweh, or Buddah whoever else might be shaped in the clouds.

    Simply saying, I'm the man behind the wheel of a car barreling down the interstate. The radio howls, my G.P.S nicknamed Mag because Magellen sounds too proper insisting I should have taken a left at that partition a mile back and twelve other voices mewling, pleasing, ordering, and cajoling me to take any number of turns ahead. To simplify it, the car is my life and the highway is the long and winding...the flat and narrow...the wide and plain...essentially the neutrality I've clung to up till now. I'm blurring by sites, life moves step by step til lit trips headlong into adulthood...then everyone's in a hurry.
    Which road do I take? Which career path? I can't help but wonder what is waiting for me when the gas gauge clicks on empty and I'm coasting to a stop somewhere...alone...empty...devoid of accomplishment or memory. Like an unsightly smudge on the tablecloth of life to be wiped away long after its old and crusty. As cats turn tricks around my feet, I ponder at eventuality. We all die, such is a foregone conclusion hammered out by Biology 101. So what the hell am I doing?

    I'm torn between the fact that one day I'm not going to be around to see a cumulative effort and the sudden inexorable need to be something, anything...not just another dumbass on the road to nowhere with ten destinations. I fear failure, so I shrink from commitment...and yet in doing so I realize my greater fear of being forgotten and given up upon. I find myself pondering the complexity of it all...this giant knot twisted of potential and success and failure all ribboned around my mind while it dissolves toward infirmity. Life is fragile, and yet we push it so hard sometimes. Hell, I wonder at how so many can live under so much pressure. The need to be this or that...the need to accomplish to prove to someone, anyone...that you’re worth the effort of raising in the first place.

    Hell, I stand on the brink of destruction every day, a winding staircase to insanity sprinkled liberally with banana peels and oil. We all do. I need to know that if I don't wake up tomorrow someone will notice. That life won't go on without at least stumbling...and yet I know that apart from the slight ripple caused by the inevitable passing of a human being...I'll be yesterday's news before I hit the page. Chrissakes...I don't mean to sound so damned hopeless, I’m just scribbling out thoughts as they come in some need to have someone, anyone, understand them. I don't want to be saved, just heard. A voice in a trillion is but one peep, but Dr. Seuss showed us even YOP was influential...I wonder if he knew it was a joke? To keep a long story longer, I feel lost...tethered to a woman I love that seems more distant by the day and slowly being confronted with the surety that apart from a tiny circle of friends, I am vague afterthought in the collective thought pool of my college. No major, no career choice I would dare speak to any skilled economist and with a penchant for wanting time to stand still. Hell...I'm one foot into old age regret and the other in the madhouse. I suppose many go through these mental gymnastics of indecision and doubt, and I wonder how many wish they'd spun twice before landing...or chose to leap a different direction...end up in a different place.

    Eh...in the end I'm howling at the moon of abstracts and putting out my feet to slow the world on train tracks...Who knows what will come of it

    Sincerely yours and wrestling with mortality,
    Jack shade
  2. Jack. Call. Now.
  3. Thanks, guys. My birthday has been really great so far. I'm currently out, but will be back later.
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