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The day of Fools, April 1st. Sometimes I wonder who the fools are; those who celebrate it, or those who wish not to have anything to do with it. Maybe the answer is neither and both? I do not care. I enjoy the April Fool jokes. Some are funny, some are awful, but most seem downright stupid. How many times must I be told my bootlace is untied or my fly is down? On this day, I will be told as many times as pranksters dare to tell me. Should I tell them who is the biggest fool? Why bother?
A man I am watching is angered. He tries to make something fit into a space that it can not. How many of us do that; attempt to fit things that have no room into our lives? It's a poignant scene. He curses, pounds, shifts, manipulates and shoves, but the item will not fit. I think of friends I know. They do the same but with different things. Perhaps it is a man, or love, or a woman they try to fit in somehow. How interesting this is. Do I try the same thing; to fit that which doesn't belong?
Fresh air. Sunlight. Smiles. Anger. Hatred. Passion. Motivation. Weariness. All of these and more exist where I am. It is amazing. As I look around my world, I see the changes, but I see similarities. We all hunger. We all sleep. We work. We laugh. We cry. We talk. We listen. So why is here so foreign from there? What is the difference? Is it in us? Is it in where we once were? I don't know, but I see them - the similarities and differences. I don't want to. I want it to be the way I feel best.
Children. What makes today's kids so hateful to one another? Their cruelty far out does that of my generation. Bullying has taken on a new level, a violent level, a dangerous level. I look around and ask, where are the parents? As children we too were picked on. We feared other children, even if some never admitted it. Work is no excuse. Five minutes of your day to ask your child if he or she is okay? I'd never want to be a child of today. What do they have in their future? Our failures and our let downs. Disgusting.
Possession is nine tenths of the law so the saying goes. Is it? Perhaps once it was, but in today's society, we see more and more the technicalities that make defining "possession"more difficult then it should be. The greatness of the "I, Me, My"mentality has devastated us. It's sickening. In our country you can be lonely. You can go to a crowded public place and walk through throngs of people. Often you'll never be acknowledged. You possess a soul. You present it in public. Is it nine tenths? No, it is not. In a crowd it is nothing.
I love stars. When I am down, or feeling particularly happy, a look to the heavens will always bring joy to me. They hold so much hope. They hold past wishes of past peoples I have never met. When I look to the stars, I see brilliance and glitter as it is meant to be. Dotted amongst the night sky is a beautiful unwoven story. It has many plots, many chapters, and yet it is mostly untold. Some believe our future is in the stars. I say our past and present is too. Lying on my back, I look above.
Tears are amazing things. You can taste a tear, see a tear, touch a tear, and even smell a tear. They can be brilliant tears of love and happiness or agonizing tears of sorrow and pain. As babies we first cry them freely. As children we learn to manage them according to the construct of our lives. As adults we mask them if we can. Why? What is so wrong with a tear? They seem to be seeds of the soul, and yet we try to control them. We damage our souls by withholding the natural life of a tear.
Sometimes the giggles strike me at the worst times. I hate it when that happens. Some things are not meant to be met with an uncontrollable giggle. That is usually when I giggle best. I can be such a dork. But I can't help it. When they come, they come and it hurts too much to contain a deep, well composed giggle. Does it get me into trouble? Yes, it does. Is it worth it? Sometimes it is. At other times, no it is not worth it, but they appear anyway. I won't apologize for my giggles. I will giggle.
I'd like to rip someone's head off and scream as I do it. Why must people be so damn stupid? What is their major malfunction? When I tell you dinner is ready and you come and see a plate of food in your spot at the table, do not ask me if that is what you're eating. No, idiot, it is not. That is what you stare at as you starve tonight. GAWD I hate stupidity. It gnarls my soul. It angers me. It makes me sick. I hate it. If one more stupid thing is said, I will scream.
Freedom is something people probably don't think of when dealing with the little things in life. Sometimes I think we all take it for granted. If choosing between a candy bar or a bag of potato chips was supposed to remind us of freedom, it'd come with some sticker right? Has anyone but me noticed, we have become a society of stickers, warnings, labels and disclaimers? How do you make a warning sticker about freedom? Caution, the choice of this object over another has been shown to indicate you are exercising your freedom. Wow, I say we should try it.
Sometimes hurting is a good thing. I grow from my pain. Maybe I am weird. Maybe I should not grow from pain, but I do. Something about pain makes me ache to be more. I want to work to get out of the place of pain. I want to be better, stronger, happier. Pain rarely leaves me feeling happy, in fact I can't recall a single time I was happy and in pain. But I know it's going to happen. One day I will feel excruciating pain and happiness together. I hope it is soon and I hope with him.
I hate sand. Sand gets in my eyes. It gets in my mouth, nose, and hair. It gets everywhere. I hate it with a passion, and yet I don't. Sometimes as the sun sets or rises, the sand is covered in a zillion glittering diamonds of beautiful light. I like that. I should not hate sand. It is not personally attacking me. It feels as though it is sometimes. Sand can be rough or smooth and soft. It's colors often run a gambit. It amazes me because one grain is so tiny, yet so powerful. There are lessons in sand.
Why is play so important to us? Even as adults we still like to play. Today I played. He chased me. He twirled me around. It was fun. It made me laugh. I was surprised and I felt special. Giggling, laughing, being silly and crazy; they all seem to go hand in hand with play. But most adults refuse to play to any extent. Did they forget we all learned our first life lessons in play? If they forgot would more play remind them? It reminded me. There is much to learn. Learn it I will, and I will play.
Sometimes the agony of a man makes me ache. I am surrounded by them right now. Each has their own heart, their own lives, and their own pain. I have this driven need to help them all and I know I can not. But I want to. I don't like to see anyone in pain, but to see these men aching and longing for that which they miss - it tears me up. Men feel deeply although most do not show it. I think they don't show it because they fear being seen as weak. I wish I could help.
Chocolate bunnies. Sugar Chicks. Candy beans, plastic grass. Strange is the Christian version of the holiday of Easter. I do not see how such items teach your children of your traditions. How do the foil wrapped goodies show of a God's love? Why distort a special, significant day in your religion with such material stupidity? I am told it brings great joy and peace. Lying or deceiving a child to think that a large bunny hops the world and delivers these items brings peace? Perhaps it is a sugary, chocolate covered peace. One that will melt with the rising sun.
French fried. That is how my brain feels today, French fried. Too much is going on. Not enough time of silence for me. Work calls, men call, life calls and yet I wish to rest. But today is a happy day for everyone else. Their bellies are full. They play games and music. They laugh. Today they try to relax in a land of non relaxation. So why do I feel French fried? Is it the sun? Is it the stress? Do I miss home as they do? Can I go home? I do not know. I am French fried.
Always being in command is not a fun thing. For any power mongers out there, allow me to say one thing. Command gives you no power, nor authority. All it gives you is the capability to create both. Creating power is a very dangerous thing. Intent is everything during creation. The intent of your power can have disastrous or miraculous effects. The intent of your authority can make or break a man's soul. A good commander creates nothing for himself, and as much power and authority for his men as is needed. Anything more is a crime. A serious crime.
Going away can be a good time. It can also be scary. Have you been to your destination before? Do you know of the area you will reside? Do you wish to be there? Are you strong enough to survive the differences? These and many more questions often travel with you. There are many reasons to go away. Which reasons are the correct ones? That is a question only you may decide. Is there a right or wrong decision to make? Possibly, but if you make no decision at all, you will stagnate and die. I will not do that.
I miss him. He wouldn't know it. No one would. I don't speak of such things. Perhaps I don't speak of them to try and shield myself from the pain of missing? Perhaps I do not speak of it because telling him of my love seems too difficult, even for me. What would I say? You're eyes enthrall me and I wish I could stare into them for long periods of time - he'd laugh. I could tell him of his smile. It's always lopsided. I love it. I will not speak to him. There are bigger things right now.
Exasperation. What an incredible emotion this is. Comprised of anger, frustration, angst, a to scream, but not. I want to clench my fists, but won't. I want to force the cosmos to work my willingness to achieve, an inability to achieve. So many things go into exasperation. I find I want way, I can't. My energy level is high. It is so high I can not control it efficiently. I dislike that as well. How to deal with exasperation I do not know. Could I ease it into submission? Perhaps I will spit instead. Spitting may help me now. Nope.
Have you ever been so frazzled you wanted to sit down and stare for hours on end? I am doing that now. I have stared at this screen for two hours all because of 100 words. I want to write them. I want to make them come to life. The words choke in my fingers and I hate that. Sometimes I hate words completely. Do you ever need a word to perfectly describe something but can not find it? That happens a lot to me and each time it does, I hate it. I am frazzled over these 100 words.
Sometimes when he sleeps I will softly play with his hair. I don't know why I do this. It does not give me pleasure, not really. The sensation that is created by gently dragging my finger nails through his short hair is more comforting then pleasurable. The repetitive motion is soothing; the touch itself, tender. The emotions I feel; raw. To stare down at my fingers as they shift through strand after strand of his hair causes me to forget my troubles and remember one thing; him. He brings me smiles. He teases my soul. With him I am alive.
Friends are unique creatures. Nobody is sure how the creature is created, but suddenly before your eyes you find yourself face to face with one you have a kinship with. Commonalities draw you together; or perhaps opposition. It matters not what drew you, it is in the strands that bind you together that friendship lies. Friends often laugh or commiserate together. When our hearts are unsteady we turn to our friends for support. Sometimes our friends laugh with us. Sometimes they laugh at us. Laughing, crying, talking and living together, friends endure. Few and far between but they are friends.
Weary days are longer it seems. Time is broken into increments. The days are not longer in real time; but when you're weary, that weariness appears to elongate time. Sometimes you can feel the weariness as if it has sunken to your bones. Lifting your head seems impossible on these days, but it is human nature that we lift our heads anyway. I think weariness is also a restful time if you allow it to be. We will feel wistful, morose and sorrowful. At times we will tire. When we do, weary we are. But then we lift our head.
Desire is a very potent, powerful emotion. Look all around you, somewhere close by you will see evidence of desire. Sometimes I am curious as to which is stronger, the desire for another, or the desire to belong to another? Most I have spoken to feel the desire for someone is the strong of the two, but I disagree. In the desire to belong to another, you enter a world of longing so powerful that desire barely touches the tip. There is an ache when you are near the one you wish to belong to, that can overpower your senses.
I am watching two men. One is rugged, uncouth, unrefined. He is nervous because of these factors. The other is cool and calm. His demeanor is as suave and composed as the most noble of men. Both carefully speak. Both often laugh in deep, baritone chuckles. Both are special to me, but they are opposites. Little do they know I can see the rugged man as a suave, debonair gentleman. I can also see the noble man as a rugged, carefree soul. They are more alike then they know. They reflect the best of both of them into my eyes.
Oh but to understand things I do not. I can drive myself insane with my constant search for understanding. I want to be understood as well as to understand others. I want to e able to insert myself into any situation and know that I shall find some inkling of understanding within it. I need not agree in order to understand. I also need nothing more then an openness of heart. It is keeping my heart open that makes it difficult at times. Right now I struggle not to close my heart. I want to understand. I need to understand.
I like the fact that my work keeps me busy. I am not a sit around and do nothing person. I'd rather be working hard then hardly working. I do joke about it though. When I work hard, in earnest I see results. It is seeing those results that bring me a sense of self worth. When I see something I have accomplished, I feel as though I added to my own foundation. Not everyone looks at work in this manner. I think I understand that, although I do not envy them. For me, work is good and it helps.
If you could go through the life events that have brought you to this place in time, would you have any regrets? I have heard many speak of regrets lately. I find this interesting. We each do the best we can in any given moment. Maybe we aren't capable of as much as we think we should be. We do our best. So why regret what you have done? A lot of energy is wasted on regrets. I think that energy would be better spent shoring your soul for doing your best in each and every moment of your life.
Love whispers in the wind. I wonder why it passes me by. Does it truly pass me by, or am I too afraid to reach out and let it wisp past my body, heart and soul. I'm too afraid. There isn't a moment that my eyes look upon him and I don't feel it buried deep inside. I don't know why I won't allow it out; for now I do not. How do I express how sweet it is to soak in everything about him; to languish in it? In him I feel protected, warm, and safe. He, I love.
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