Free write (Example of a sub-conscience rant while listening to the amazing Animal Collective)

            I’m not feeling very creative today. Not to say that I’m not happy. Happiness and creativity sort of collide, rather than mesh into one. Well, in my mind anyway. I can’t create a happy piece of anything. It just sort of comes out all jumbled and wordy, and makes my teeth feel like I ate too many sweets that day. Today has been a good enough day, but maybe that is the problem. Maybe the problem is I’m just not creative. I’ve never thought of that before. I’ve always been lead to believe that everyone has the gift to create something, anything. I might just be wrong about that. I look at people, read their stories, listen to their music, watch their movies, and think to myself, “Why can’t my brain think of those things.” Every time an idea pops into my head the first thing I think is that it’s a pretty damn good idea. Then I develop it, and that’s when things just go to shit. My ideas are cliché and it all seems like it has been done before, but I keep on writing. And then it goes from the stage of me thinking my stuff is shit, to then thinking my stuff is pretentious, and self-indulgent. To me, my published work (and by published work I mean on my blog) is just letting everyone know how amazing I am as a writer, which I am not. Maybe posting this is self-indulgent. I don’t know, I just feel I should put this up. Maybe I shouldn’t, but fuck it, this is my blog. I’m not creating anything new here, but I am beginning to realize that creation is not my strong suite, among other things. I’ll find my sweet spot eventually I guess. I just thought my friends should know what goes through my head on a day-to-day basis. Well, here it is. Mind the shit.

I'm Trying to Still Love H.E.R.

Inspired by Common Sense

 

I met her when I was about 9 years-old, and since then I have not been able to break her spell. There was something about her that I couldn’t over come. She was beautiful to say the least. Everything about her made me love her. She always spoke the truth, and she never lied to me. I wanted to do everything for her, I was completely obsessed by her beauty and her brains. She never got old to me. Every time she was around, I fell even more in love with her, if that was possible. She was great to me. She never let me down. She kept me interested. I learned something new about her everyday, and she was oh so beautiful.

I used to love her so much, but a little bit of that has died down. As I have gotten older, I have realized she has become a whore. And I don’t mean a whore as a bitch, but I mean a whore as in a prostitute. She has since become all about the money. What used to make her so special to me was her creativity, and her desire to be a work of art. Now she has become a symbol, and only cares about the money she can make. It was only me who knew about why she was so special. She was my best-kept secret. What makes it worse is that I still am in love with her. Does that make me a whore too? I try to find the beauty that she still has inside of her, but I only can find it in the most obscure of places, most of her has been taken up by the glamour and glitz that comes with the money. More and more she has fallen into the greed of America, and I am stuck trying to find the pieces of her that still care about true art, and pure beauty. I’m afraid that those pieces will soon be gone. I used to love her, there was something I couldn’t overcome, but she’s not as special as she used to be.

If I haven’t made myself clear enough by now, I am sorry. The girl I am in love with is music. Music is my driving force, it is rooted in my soul, but it seems as of lately, it is becoming more about the money and the fame, rather than the art. She is my first love, and I hope she is my last.

Lepers in the Temple

We must win, the pastor says

The battle’s just begun

And until the end

We can’t lose sight

Of what is to be done

And if you ask, what’s this for?

Then don’t even come

Solders do not ask

They only fight for freedom

This is a modern crusade

For what’s good and pure

They attack our morals

And corrupt the weak

As we sit and watch

Since we do nothing

We let them go

It’s time for something old

 

What say you? The pastor asks

We need to beat them down

And if it fails

So goes our system

 They give us “hope”

And then take our youth

If you ask, why we fight?

Then shame on you

Because God is watching

And he does not approve

The public needs faith

In something strong

And their agendas weak!

Though it kills all we’ve done

Who needs love, when we have guns?

They are fools, and we have God

Which of us has won?

 

Above all else, love each other, Jesus says

You are not to judge

And if God is love

Then what are you?

Speaking of hatred and all things untrue

Show compassion, as I’ve shown you

And if you say, they are wrong!

Then you don’t know what is truth, because,

 So are you

He who is without sin

Cast the first stone

And until that day

I will sit and watch

As all of you

Treat all of them

Like lepers in the temple

Asking for a loaf of bread

Sit. Drink. Watch.

The old man on the bench

Takes a swig from his flask

He watches, as the world passes him by

And ever since the man was young

That is all he’s done

Sit

Drink

Watch

The little boy, on his couch

Takes a drink from his cup

He laughs, as he watches his cartoons

And until the day he dies

That is all he will ever do

Sit

Drink

Watch

The loyal wife, in her bath

Takes a drink of her wine

She blinks, as she watches the candle flicker

And ever since the beginning

That is all she’s done

Sit

Drink

Watch

The American dad, at his desk

Takes a drink of his water

He sighs, as he watches the numbers drop

And until the end

That’s all he will ever do

Sit

Drink

Watch

The famous star, who know body believed

Takes a bow to his audiences

He smiles, as he listens to the cheers

And ever since, that dream he had

There is something he will never do

Sit

Drink

Watch

Cheers. It's a New Year.

So it is new years and I am sitting in my room alone. I am okay with this. I haven’t spent much time by myself lately. This might not be the best night to be alone, but it is what it is, I can’t complain. I am comfortable. Conor Oberst is serenading me as I write this (I am listening to I’m Wide Awake on Vinyl (Because I am cool like that)). So actually, I am kind of glad to be by myself right now. I just would like to say to everyone that I know and that I have met over the past year that I love you guys, and that I am glad we met. You all mean something to me. It may vary in degrees of importance, but all of you mean something to me. And I have learned something from all of you. The only person I will single out is Brian, because Brian is leaving us all for Seattle.

Brian, you have been a close friend since Denver, when I first showed you the Bright Eyes song, “At the Bottom of Everything” and you liked it as much as I did. We have shared some great times, and we have shared low times, but we have always stayed close. I’m gunna miss you man, and all the late nights, and the hill nights, and the writing, and the talking, and the cigarettes, and the record shopping, and the movies, and clothes shopping, and the late night drives, and the downtown trips, and the fighting about what is AIR, and all the shit that came with being with your friend. I will miss all of it. I know your coming back, but right now, it does not feel like it. That makes me sad. It’s like I want to get that procedure that Jim Carey got in Eternal Sunshine. But I guess I’m just being emo. Anyways, here’s to you man. Cheers. Happy New Years. I hope you find what you are looking for in Seattle, and I hope you come back and tell me what you find. As for me, I will sit here and wait for that day, when you come back, and you realize that all you needed was right here in SD. We’ll all miss you man. Have a good trip, and don’t turn into Sergio. Haha.

            

The Dragon and the Knight

An old man was sitting on a bench, eating a slightly warm tuna sandwich. The bench was in the middle of a playground, in the middle of a park, in the middle of a city. It was about noon, and the sun was at its hottest. Beads of sweat rolled down the old man’s nose and dropped onto the slightly warm, slightly soggy sandwich. The man didn’t mind the sweat rolling off his face, and didn’t mind that the sandwich was a little past edible. He just sat there and ate, watching the children play in the sand, at the playground.

The old man sat alone everyday, at this same exact bench, at this same exact time, watching the children play at the playground, eating his past-expiration date sandwich. No one ever bothered to talk to the old man. Everyone just walked past him, day in, day out. They never say anything, not even a hello. Most people thought he was just a creepy old man, watching the children play. The kids would just stare at him. The old man was in WW2, where he saved his squad from a grenade explosion. The blast left his faced burned and scared. He hardly looked like a human anymore. Most of the kids stared at his disfigured face. The doctor said that among other things, his tear ducts would never be able to operate that same. So when the old man cries alone on that bench every single day, nobody notices.

When the old man came home from the war (back then he was a young man), his kids could not stand the sight of him. They cried, and told him that he looked like the monster that was underneath their beds. The wife could never make love to him after the war. She told him that his face was too disgusting to be able to be turned on by him anymore. He cried, without tears, in total silence. He was a good husband and a good father, and the family started to get use to his horribly disfigured face, but still the wife good not make love, and the kids would not let him read bedtime stories to them. He was ashamed. He did not feel like a human anymore. He was an outsider looking in.

One day, after a long day of work, he comes home to an empty house. No one was there. There was a note on the kitchen table, that read, “I’m sorry. I took the kids, and went to my mother’s. This is all just too much for me and the kids. I loved you, and the kids love you.”  It was the “I loved you” part that made him the angriest. She loved him? As in she doesn’t anymore? He didn’t understand. Just because he was disfigured, they just walked out of his life?

 The next day he missed work, and went to the playground where he use to take his kids to play, hoping that he might see them there. He never did. He came everyday, looking for them, but they never did show up. Even after he signed the divorce papers, he still went to that park everyday. They never were there. It has been 30 years since that first day, and he still comes and sits at the bench to wait for his kids. By now they are adults, with children of their own. He hopes maybe he will see them at this park, playing with their kids. Maybe they will finally reunite.

He continues to eat his soggy sandwich. A young boy sits next to him on the bench, staring at the old man’s disfigured face. The old man looks down at the kid.

“Didn’t you parents tell you it’s not polite to stare at someone?” The old man growled at the boy.

“Yes sir, but I can’t help it. What happened to you face?” the little boy said with the curiosity that children have.

“Didn’t your parents tell you that you shouldn’t talk to strangers? I could just snatch you up, and take you to my car. You ever think of that kid? You can’t trust anyone. Especially an old disfigured man you have met in a park. Now go run a long to your parents.”

The boy looked deep into the old man’s eyes, “You know mister, you have really pretty blue eyes. Blue is my favorite color.”

“What?”

The boy raises his voice and yells, “Blue is my favorite color.”

“Boy, I am not deaf. What did you say before that?”

“I said you have really pretty eyes.”

The old man looks at the boy, confused, “Boy, don’t you find me scary? Doesn’t my face disgust you?”

“Why no sir, not at all. I think your face is interesting. How did it get like that?”

“World War 2. I through a grenade out of my fox hole, just a little too late.”

“World War 2!!! Oh cool. Did you get any medals?”

“Yeah. I got a Purple Heart.”

“Purple Heart? What’s that?”

“It’s a medal you get when you get hurt in combat.”

“I’ve never known anyone who has been to war before. Did you kill people?”

“Yes. I have. I’m not sure I want to get into that with a little kid. Where are your parents anyways?”

The kid points to the couple on the bench on the other side of the playground, “Over there.” Neither of them are paying much attention, “Sir, why are you here alone?”

“I’m waiting for someone.”

“Who?”

The man looks at the boy kind of angry, but decides to tell him anyways, “ I am waiting for my kids. Their mother left with them, away from me, 30 years ago.”

“Wow. That’s a long time mister. Why did they leave?”

The man looks down at his feet, and begins to cry, without any tears. Just a sad and somber, “Because, when I came back from the war, I looked like this.”

The boy looks at the many astonished, “That’s stupid! You are the coolest person I have ever met mister. You have cool blue eyes, you were in a war, and you have a medal!”

“Sometimes people can’t look beyond the monster that they see.”

“But you’re not a monster.”

“Yeah kid, but I look like one.”

The little boy thinks long and hard about what the man said. Sometimes people can’t see past the monster. The boy scooted closer to the old man, and put his arm around him, “Mister, my parents read me a story. A knight was going to slay a horrible dragon, and save the town from him. When the knight got to the cave, he saw the dragon crying. The knight asked the dragon, ‘Why are you crying?’ and the dragon said, ‘No one likes me because I am a dragon, this is why I burn and eat the townspeople’, and the knight said to the dragon, ‘I will be your friend, I don’t care about what you look like, just don’t eat the towns people, and they will become you friends too.’ Don’t you see mister? They may have left you because you look like a monster, but you have been alone for 30 years, because you don’t let that go.”

The man started to cry again, still without tears, but not sad and somber. More like a relived cry.

Then the boy asked, “Will you be my friend?”

The man shook his head yes, and gave the boy a hug. The old man smiled and finished his tuna sandwich. He thought to himself that the boy looked oddly familiar. He noticed that the boy reminded him of someone he once knew, but couldn’t put his finger on it. The boy went to play with his father in the sand. The old man watched him play, trying to remember who the boy reminded him of, but could never quite figure it out. He finished his sandwich, and walked back to his apartment, knowing that tomorrow will be a great day. 

No Evidence of Jesus

A few days ago I was told that there is no evidence of Jesus Christ ever existing. You know the one. The guy who died on the cross. The dude who fed thousands with a couple loaves of bread and some fish. The man who everyone thought was crazy except twelve men. Yeah that Jesus Christ. I could not believe what I had heard. Jesus was not real? Was not flesh and blood? I know plenty of atheists who know that Jesus was a real person, but this was the first time I have ever heard the theory that he did not exist.
But I’m not writing this to prove her wrong. No, this reflection has nothing to do with her thoughts on Jesus as a man. Her theory just simple provoked a little thought into my mind. A little thought on an issue that I have not really spent time on thinking about in recent years. That issue would be my religion. I hate saying religion, it makes me feel so narrow minded, so I’ll use a different word. My belief. I do not understand the concept of making people feel like idiots for what they believe.
You’re a Christian? You’re a dumbass.
I try really hard not to judge other people. Ok, I don’t try that hard, but I do try harder than most Christians. What is ironic is that I was told never to judge as a Christian. If I were to record a conversation that me and my fellow “believers” have, and play it back, what would I hear? I would hear a conversation that would be full of judgments. Did God put us on this earth to judge? Christians are not suppose to judge. I am a Christian, and I am here to tell you that if somebody is judging you, they are probably a Christian.
We think that because we know Jesus’ teachings, and listen to them, we have more of a right to tell people they are wrong. But Jesus’ teachings told us something different. We judge. We decide. You’re wrong. We’re right.
You’re a homosexual? Heathen!
You have had sex? Whore!
You drink and party? God has given up on you!
You all shall burn in hell for what you have done!
Is this really what we should think? Is this what Jesus taught? Last time I checked, Jesus hung out with the whores and the drunks. We have turned into what Jesus hated.
We are the Pharacies.
We are the ones that deserve hell.
This girl told me there is no evidence of Jesus. And I know, I know, she meant the physical existence of Jesus, but Jesus should be alive and well today. Christians should be the new Jesus. Spreading the idea of hope and joy. Instead, we sit here and judge you for your sins. We may have sin, but we don’t have sin like those people. They roll around in their filth and their disgusting habits. God has left them a long time ago.
Jesus would be ashamed of us. Instead of shining our light towards people who need it, we keep it to ourselves, and call them sinners because they don’t have it. Shameful.