Lost in undulating clouds and burning eyes. Where am I? I know where I am, but I still ask the question because itís so much easier to answer than alternatives such as ďWho am I?Ē or ďWhy am I?Ē
My eyes burn, my skin is tearing. Havenít been drinking enough water, thatís for sure. My hands look like the outside of a roughly-used wallet, and they hurt. I canít use lotion because it makes my fingers slippery and it greases up my computer keyboard. All in all, I think we would all be better off if I just moisturized my hands and called it a night. But thatís not what Iíll do, is it?
Nope, and I donít know why. Iíll type and try not to drip too much blood from my cracked hands down into the computer, and Iíll bitch about how my hands hurt. And why? Beats me, man. Maybe because to not write would be like not taking that painful eyelash out of your eye. Maybe because to leave the writing unwritten is like leaving a gangrenous organ in the body to rot. Maybe because Iím an idiot.
Whatever the case, here we are. And what do we have to say to each other? Lots.
I have a lava lamp, sometimes it works, sometimes it just sits there like a lazy piece of crap. Tonight itís flowing, and I wish I could draw inspiration from it. I watch it and I watch it, and I finally have to stop because I realize Iím not being inspired, Iím being mesmerized. Possibly brain-washed. And what will the world be like when the lava-lamps rule? Hot, thatís for sure.
Sometimes, but not always, I hate that Iím a failure. I hate that Iíve wasted so much of my life on so little. I hate that Iím no one to look up to, that Iím no one that people tell their kids, ďSee, if you try really hard, you can make itójust like Ray.Ē
Sometimes, but not always, I think about what a better life I could have had if I hadnít fucked around so much, if I had taken life more seriously.
Sometimes, but not always, I think about how the world may have been a better place if I had never been around to bug it.
Other times, I donít.
Other times I think about how Iíve had the opportunity to grab life by the balls a time or two, to really shake it up and show it whoís in charge, and consequences be damned.
Other times, I think about how Iíve loved life and life has loved me, and how weíve really got a pretty serious relationship going on.
About how people who meet me sometimes say things like, ďI will never forget you,Ē or ďYou have changed my life forever.Ē
They WILL forget me, I think we all know that. And I only changed their lives for a little bit, and I think we all know that, too. But for someone to think that youíve impacted their life forever, to think it and to say itÖwell, thatís pretty cool.
If you canít be famous, be notorious.
Who gets the lucky breaks, though? Thatís what I want to know, and I also want to know how I can get some lucky breaks of my own. Donít get me wrongóIíve had my share of lucky breaks. But I want that one where youíre sitting there in the park, writing and listening to your CD player, and some guy walks by and heís like, ďHey, whatís that youíre writing?Ē And you go, ďNothin.íĒ And he goes, ďNothing? Are you out of your mind?! Thatís the most brilliant piece of writing that Iíve ever seen in my life, and I want to give you ten million dollars so that I can make a book out of it and then sell the book for even more than that.Ē
Something like that. Or not. I donít know, man.
Iíve got enough, I know I doómore than enough, really: My princess (asleep at the moment because sheís a sane person). Better than I deserve, and Iíve had many people tell me this, after theyíve met her. True love, like they write about on websites other than this one. Iíve got a nice pad, a computer that works, a website where I can vent. Food on the table, roof over my head. And a lava lamp thatís pretty bitchiní, once it warms up.
No Sea Monkeys, though, and I plan on remedying that problem tomorrow, no matter what the cost. So there.
Blah blah blah, tired of talking like this, like I have something to say. Here:
Do you think that if you told Abraham Lincoln how he was going to die when he was like ten years old or something, would he have ever gotten into politics?
You know what? Never mind. Not important. But I pose this question to all of The Strangelanders: If you were a ghost, what would you haunt?
You ever see FIGHT CLUB? Of course you have. Even my mom watched it, and she doesnít watch movies like that or look at websites like this. Thereís a part where Tyler Durden gives them all homework. Start a fight and lose, that kind of thing. I am no Tyler Durden, and Iím not going to give you homework.
But if I was and if I was, it would be this: Tell us what you would haunt. Writers, readers, gin-monkey breeders. Youíre all invited.
Because I think this may be one of those questions where you can learn so much about a person by asking so little.
And you need to think hard about it, too. My first answer was mental institution (yeah, weíre all real surprised, right?), but then I realized that that wouldnít be any funówhatís the point of being a ghost somewhere if everyoneís already crazy? I came up with a better answer, though, after days and days of thinking about it.
Iíll show you mine if you show me yours.