Please send help...

I'm not sure if anyone will read this. I am trapped in my cubicle for an unspecified amount of time; it could have been days or possibly only minutes. I screamed at the top of my lungs but very quietly so as not to disturb anyone else who was working.

I feel a great weight pressing on me. It may be that a roof support has caved in crushing me or it may merely be the weight of my own unmet expectations. Either way I have lost feeling in my lower extremities, upper extremities, and also my middle extremities.

Unspecified eternal

White blue light, walls and cabinets, so many commas, so many question marks. It is day I'm mostly sure. I have not slept well again. My intelligence is stunted I know this I articulate shapes and numbers don't add up--they do when I'm sober but this environment which seems designed to have a multiplier effect carcinogens falling on my back I am not this. I have tried it and yes it is not me to be stable in this maddening isolation--and so I will while the hours as I try to understand what became of the me I once was. I have nothing further to say even stream of consciousness is not nor will it be. And I wonder why I keep writing. the end.

Take me down to water. I wake up sweetness on my lips. I'm in the maze again; my mind so foggy. Cool across my face so hot down my back. Gray outside. I think it is night though I'm not sure. I think of you but I know you can't save me here. There is no escape; here is always here. The end of the earth just movement under my feet. Bare feet. Feet worn to stumps walking. And strong. I am made for this even as I crumble to ashes. All have gone from me. I unable to articulate why they left. I wonder is it too late discern the faces; so much haze and I wonder again is it night or day? Is this NZ? Oregon? No. It is here.

And the fire...

Such a strange time to be a young person. What is best? Career, travel, watching the snow fall, etc.

And the fire...
And the rain, so much rain these days. What happens when you don't believe in much, don't want much...

This is random. My mind is random. How much time can you spend at a coffee shop planning?

Life is hard. Good advice. When the going get's tough, the tough get going. Funny how many cliches turn out to wisdom...

And I click publish.

Growing as a Person

Just got on the height measurer at my local athletic facility. I am 6'2 1/2". That means that I've grown a full inch since I was 21! Weeeee! No wonder I've been feeling so good about myself!

On and on...

The rain falls outside this window. Inside the room is a mess of perfect angles and smooth surfaces. The couch really is a couch. The many who have joked, made love, and cried on it have left no further impression worn spots here or there.

But I don't want the couch to be a couch. I want the couch to be the repository of all the universal truth that has brought it to me. From the foreign men who made and it and hauled in across the ocean or in the backs of trucks. I want the person who first saw the couch in whatever showroom and said yes this is what I've been looking for. Who was he? What was in his mind? I want a little of bit of each weary person who has cast himself on the couch for a bit of rest.

I want to believe that this life can be a little of what I felt reading Hemingway or Fitzgerald, that life was not merely the sum of its components, that beauty once dissected with reason could never be reassembled, that the human spirit was more than the megalomaniacal hallucination of cell interaction, that life was not simply reproduction sandwiched between growing and dying.

I know that the night is the same as the day and that things in the night can not be explained in the day. And yet...

Special Meaningless

Time has worn the rough edges of my mind smooth and shiny. My peaks once rocky and sharp have eroded slowly to the sea leaving mere hills. Were these once mountains? Oh but they were!
My forests have been cleared for development. My oceans fished dry.
My avatars who chased dragons endlessly questing, who fought giants, who braved dungeons, instead anxiously plow the ground dreaming about there past exploits.
The starry dynamo of the night is still out there somewhere; even now you can feel it occasionally...

cont'd

Rearranging the Deck Chairs on the Titanic...

I think that's what I'm going to call my autobiography... Or something...

Well, the day after has come. No more studying for the GRE to convince myself that I'm not lost. It's funny really: Just having something like this to focus on was enjoyable and satisfying. I knew what I was doing and why I was doing it... Now all of that is reduced to a couple of numbers on a screen that I don't even know if I want to use yet.

What I realized is that I don't exist without challenge, mental and physical. It seems appealing to hang loose and have no responsibilities, but unless your the type of person who thrives on this, it's easy to become lethargic and lose focus... Already I can see myself slipping again because there is nothing to prevent it...

So I will look for something before it is too late...

Funny, really.

Despite all of the disappointments I still think life is pretty great...