So halfway between living the dream, and killing the nightmare, I realized I lost myself. Caught up in the monotony of ease and impulsiveness with which I built this shaky straw structure of life, I realized real tragedy like wolves could whistle and howl my house down. I have forgotten what I’ve learned in struggle. That the currency of life is sweat and sacrifice, and I realized that I have not been paying my dues. Picture you on a Tuesday morning, two classes, two times a week, and still making weak excuses to miss them, like, “saving the world,” in a video game. The only Final Fantasy that can come of this is a prosperous future, yet still I succumb to the chains of lazy days and alleged easy A’s that I’ve coasted and boasted about but really, I have done nothing but build myself a weak house.
See, it all starts with foundation. Peter was the rock Christ built his church on. Me, I chose Mario; the short, italian plumber that does shrooms. My foundation is based on countless cases where I chose fun instead of responsibility; encased in several schemes in which I took the easy way out; like if Staples Easy button really worked, I’d be using the Easier Button.
And once you have your foundation, the blueprint comes into play, and lets just say the blueprint for Ray is drawn in crayon. I dream big, with a multi-story mansion that has no stairs, just elevators, slides, and piggy back rides. Not even drawn in straight lines, because I couldn’t seem to find a ruler at the time, and said instead that I’d make sure to rethink my blueprint and retrace it in pen, but time and time again, I said tomorrow. Tomorrow is the promised day when everything I’m supposed to be will be, as if butterflies just pop into existance. I am still stuck trying to bulid my cocoon.
I have realized that life is an uphill battle, and that I have let myself down. I was supposed to have built a house, and yet I found myself content to call this shack home. And I know it all starts with foundation, but first I think destruction is in order. I’ve gotta tear down this mentality.
Sometimes I feel like I’m blind groping through endless corridors for just one open door. I grasp locked knobs like awkward handshakes in a sea of strangers hoping to find something I can make familiar one day. They say there are plenty of fish out there. I’m starting to think they’ve all turned vegetarian ‘cause I’m getting no nibbles, but I feel like I’ve got so many lines. “Hey, if I were Smeagol, would you be my precious?” “Your name’s gotta be asthma.” “Why sleep, when the man of your dreams is already here.” “I have candy in my van.” (These are all lame jokes)
I’m am exhausted, tired, weary of seeing so many women with boys who only want friction. Me, I’m looking for a girl like milk, so I can take her out and spoil her. I wanna make her smile so much she forgets how to frown; laugh so hard she has spartan abs; and feel at home anywhere that I am.
“A heart is a fragile thing. That’s why we protect them so vigorously, give them away so rarely and why it means so much when we do. Some hearts are more fragile than others. Purer somehow. Like crystal in a world of glass, even the way they shatter is beautiful.”—
No homo, I hella liked Everwood. I need to download the seasons.
Haha, I like how my commentary on this sounds so shallow, when really, I think things through perhaps a bit too deeply. I remember I said something super gay, and Denise goes, “Wow, that was poetry.”
I’ve been wondering why it is that I don’t write too much poetry anymore. Maybe it’s because I employ it in everday conversation such to the extent that my soul has had satisfactory breath for the day. Or maybe it’s ‘cause I just lost the Game.
Today is the first time in two weeks that I’ve gone to school, and I’m already thinking about leaving early to go do something else. There’s no zealous hunger for knowledge, to ambitious drive to excel, it feels like there’s no reason to be here.
Sometimes I feel like if I have someone to motivate me I’ll do better. It’s one of the reasons I want to find a girl, because I know any girl I’ll be into will be the supportive kind who will make me want to better myself, and who will tell me, “BABY, go to school.” And for her, I will.
But that’s sad. Why can’t I find the drive to do this for me? Where does everyone else find the motivation? I know I’m not the most proactive person. I’ve been lazy like this since high school. I’m a fast learner, but I’m a bad student.
This is where a time machine would be great. I’d go back to kindergarten and raise myself. Show myself my love for reading when Clifford the Big Red Dog was the classic and difficult material. TEACH MYSELF TO HAVE BETTER HANDWRITING. To not be distracted by the other kids who seemed to hate me so much. I would make sure I had never quit taking piano lessons or playing guitar when I was six. Make sure I ate all my veggies, and never ever picked up a can of soda. Oh, and teach little me how to spit game to young females :] because my game is, at best, 4th grade. If I could go back and raise myself, I’d tell myself that no matter who’s laughing at me, I’d be the one laughing at the end. So many things in childhood hindered and still hinder me from being what I want to be.
“When King Lear dies in Act V, do you know what Shakespeare has written? He’s written “He dies.” That’s all, nothing more. No fanfare, no metaphor, no brilliant final words. The culmination of the most influential work of dramatic literature is “He dies.” It takes Shakespeare, a genius, to come up with “He dies.” And yet every time I read those two words, I find myself overwhelmed with dysphoria. And I know it’s only natural to be sad, but not because of the words “He dies,” but because of the life we saw prior to the words. I’ve lived all five of my acts, Mahoney, and I am not asking you to be happy that I must go. I’m only asking that you turn the page, continue reading… and let the next story begin. And if anyone asks what became of me, you relate my life in all its wonder, and end it with a simple and modest “He died.”—
Stranger, till I hear your laughter. Crazy ‘cause you’re all I’m after. It’s a pleasure, it was nice to have met you. And I’ll remember to never forget you, yeah.
'Cause when I'm excited I don't hide it just to let you know I’m feeling you baby from bottom to the top. How could I not stop to say, Hello?
So Hello there, how are you? Amazing, and It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve been patiently waiting, I’ve been waiting just to see you to tell you I dreamed you, now I found you. So call off the search 'Cause I found my stranger.
Stranger, till they call your name. It’s amazing, it’s such a simple thing. I see you walking, but don’t you walk too far. I may be nervous, but I wanna be where you are.
Oh ‘cause when I’m excited I don’t hide it just to let you know I’m feeling you baby from bottom to the top. How could I not stop to say, Hello?
So Hello there, how are you? Amazing. and It’s nice to finally meet you I’ve been patiently waiting, I’ve been waiting just to see you to tell you I dreamed you, now I found you. So call off the search;
'Cause I found the strangest thing that I ever did feel. I had to make you smile just to prove it’s real. It was the method that started the tention, so if you feelin the symptoms today all you gotta do is say.
Hello there, how are you? Amazing. and It’s nice to finally meet you I’ve been patiently waiting, I’ve been waiting just to see you to tell you I dreamed you, now I found you so call off that search ‘cause I found my stranger. 'Cause I found my stranger. 'Cause I found my stranger.
There’s no combination of words I could put on the back of a postcard. No song that I could sing But I can try for your heart, our dreams, and they are made out of real things like a shoebox of photographs with sepia-toned loving Love is the answer at least for most of the questions in my heart, like Why are we here? And where do we go? And how come it’s so hard? It’s not always easy and sometimes life can be deceiving I’ll tell you one thing, it’s always better when we’re together.