“Emanate” Chapters 1-2

“Emanate”

What is his life? Where is he to go?

I never wanted to be here. Life seemed to mean more than what it is to me right now. I felt at one point I was in a state of flux, moving so elegantly with the waves. Only now I have found that those waves were a lie. They deceived me into believing I was making progress, only to find that they’ve slowly been pushing me to the shore. The tides had frequently whispered their mockings into my ears. It is only now that it is apparent.

Everyday is now the same. I feel stuck. I have found no reassurance of a greater life. I always wanted to be an author. I constantly thought of this broken dream with every sweep of the broom, or every ringing of the mop. I had decided why not try out my dream. I have nothing to lose.

 

Chapter 1

 

Every morning, I awoke early. I read my Bible and prayed. I always prayed the same prayer. It always, always flustered me, to ask God to change my life. It felt so self-centered. I have been told to rest on God’s support, that He should be my fulcrum in life. Now with life burying me under its crushing weight, there seemed to be no point. I found a way to fit it into my routine. I was always a routine guy. You might think that the setting that I’m in right now, is a decent bed, in a decent room. If you didn’t think that, then well you were thinking ahead of even my childlike visions of what I thought life would be like in my 20’s.  Every night I slept on a bench in the center of the library where I worked. The flickering light had always been an irritant to me. It always had seemed to be a unique fixture in the room but the librarian had told me once, that it had only recently begun to do that. When she uttered the words: “when you started work.” My life had been a garbled image of illustrious misconception. I had always wanted to be adventurous but I had always been the one to screw it up. Constituting this assertion of failure in my life as a flaw that I could not fix, always left me underwhelmed when a gift was presented. I was always hesitant to accept the compliment, the aid, the friend, the tip. Life had seemed miserable 24/7.

The only light that I had caught in my eyes. I know this might sound a little odd but, it was the librarian. This wasn’t the typical librarian. She was beautiful. She had long, brunette colored hair that cascaded down her shoulders. Her eyes a comforting blue. They brightened with every smile. She had always expressed that elegant smile when I arrived every morning from my slumber. She had a perfect hourglass figure but more importantly a vibrant soul. A soul’s presence I could feel across the room. A presence I felt when I thought of the stars and slept with the night.

“You still keeping up?” She said

“Of course” I would say

 

I wanted to be a romantic. I had this image of a date, where would smile together, laugh together and I would look into those perfect eyes, push her hair behind her ear and kiss her. We would make love through the night and start a perfect life together. That never happened. I had been close, but I could never muster up enough courage. The urge always persisted but my firm foundational center of fear never tumbled. So I continued on with my day, reading, eating scraps I could find, and sleeping on that odd bench that set in the middle of the building, under that center light, flickering with delight.

 

Chapter 2

 

A light had always slipped through the cracks. I had always felt alone but content. Confliction was and had always been my unchanging companion I could trust. It had always enlightened me with destruction. During my younger years I remember more graceful times. Times where I could say: “Ignorance is bliss,” and kiss the hilltops with the deity. I could laugh with my imaginative heart and crash with the crumbling waves. I was a spontaneous fellow. I was whatever I wanted to be. My father hated me for that. He despised me. His brow was always set towards mine in a callous growl. I lost with every motive. I decided to walk in the shadows. I had attempted to find conformity. To find a life that was better suitable in his eyes. I found no answer, so I desperately gave up all hope. I decided to now walk the rest of my life under the surface. To attempt to live under the judgement of others. A conqueror of my aspirations and a lasting memory of solitude. A work of the ages. A shattering light. A light that I am now afraid of.

I decided not to go to college. Instead I decided to run away my junior year in high school. It was a spontaneous decision. I had packed everything I could find that morning and rode the night with a surrendering flag. I strided through the morning sun until I found this library. It seemed to be so subtle. A perfect spot for my hindrances. I could believe in my action without judgement. I would find a position to work into and live in it.  

 

The reticence that fabricated my internal programing, bewildered me in this world. I stepped timidly into the gothic looking structure. I observed the room steadily. This was wonderful, I thought. The stories, the mysteries, the crimes, the knowledge, all lived here. One day, my book is going to reside on one of those shelves. The cascading staircase circulated rows of books. It was tremendous.

 

“Who are you looking for?” A man with a clipboard said.

 

I was paralyzed with fear. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t feel.

 

“Excuse me.” The man said irritably. His balding scalp shone from the reflection of light from one of the windows above. His mustache overlapped his upper lip and he had a protruding brow. He began to tap the pencil he was holding on the clipboard.

 

“I was going to…” I was the nemesis of my own. I couldn’t speak because I wouldn’t let myself. A paradoxical inbox of utter confliction that caused a catastrophic obstruction.

 

“Son. What are you doing?” My father’s voice called.

 

The vision stopped. I violently shook.  I heard a woman laugh. I panned over to my right to see the beautiful woman that would stay with me all these years. She gave me a job on the spot. She introduced me to the works of many diverse authors. She started me out with the classics and worked me through the ages. I was numb with enjoyment. Ever since then though we haven’t had a moment like that ever since.

It’s an odd variable. I’ve grown impatient of a life worth nothing. I remember reading Moby Dick and being so in awe of life on the ocean. Life on the mysterious frontier. What would I find? I hope to find a life worth living. I wanted to find myself. So I packed whatever I had, said my goodbyes, and stepped out into the unknown. I made my way to a bus stop. This was a humid day in Florida. I had sat on the bench. Setting my gaze on the horizon, I saw delusion. I wanted to work my way through the murky waters of life. A bus pulled up and a friendly older white man, sporting a button down shirt, small glasses and a sports cap, invited me in. I gave him whatever I had.

 

“This isn’t enough kid.”

“Could you cut me some slack, sir?”

“Right when you give me my money.”

 

That startled me.

 

“That’s all I have.”

“What’d I tell you kid? You don’t pay, you don’t ride.”

 

I began to turn around to head outside the bus, the man rattled my dwindling courage.

“I was kidding kid. Come on in.”

“Thank you sir.”

“You alright, little sport? Is something on your mind? Life’s full of questions.”

I began to shake my head.

 

“Are we gonna go or not?” A man shouted from the back

 

The bus doors closed and I made my way to the nearest row of seats. A window seat I chose. A reflection of a dangerous man stared back at me. Heritage founded a lost soul, and when I saw that man he fought back. His eyes ran rampant. A behemoth of hypocrisy, this man talks of adventure yet follows a strict schedule. I was scared. Was I really going to go through with this? It seemed nuts. It was respite that had taken course and I had forgotten it all. I started to envision my future. My past. My life.

 

A short story

Zenith

 

Bubbling within me was a called culture. I sought hope and fortune, something we all want. I wanted solitude yet wished for an audience. I summoned the spirits yet walked the dreary roads. The opportune came to me, when I had reached the top of the rolling hills. The grass seemed greener. The stars seemed brighter. My calling. So I reached above the falling branches and grabbed a fresh pineapple. It stung the edge of my lips and rumbled on its way down. The sweet, tangy juices conformed within me though, I had escaped the dull life down below. I noticed a little bird residing on the branch above. It spoke my name and sung my song. It was the bird I had always known. I loved this bird with all of my heart.

I had noticed now that the bird had acclimated well to the surroundings, which gave me comfort and hope. I sought out now for company and nourishment. So I turned and when I did, I met Ted. Now Ted is a furry little guy. One that you would probably wish to have as a pet, I suppose. This guy was one of a kind. He almost reached the height of my knees, but his lively spirit was much taller. He gave a quick smile. His elegant eyes seemed to shine fortune. His gaze transcended common interpretation. I suppose I was muttering these thoughts because he stopped me. His furry paw stopped me in my tracks. His blonde fur flowing through the brisk wind and the tree tops spying. He stopped me.

 

“Are you staring into my eyes?”- Ted

 

“I was just in my little zone, I apologize.”

 

The funny thing is, you guys thought that conversation actually happened. That is hilarious. No conversation happened, yet there was some language that was heard. I seemed to be able to hear it in the hym of the soil, or by following the crawling sky. It seemed manipulative, yet too fragile to touch. So with this stalemate continuing for quite a while, I decided to move on. He ended up following, but like the bird acclimated, so did I. I walked over the veiny branches that peaked from beneath us, and scaled the thin outer skirts of the mountain. My mind started to wander quite a bit. I wondered if this seemingly lovable creature could perhaps be a pernicious fellow. Should I be worried? What the heck am I doing here? Did I do the laundry? Did I do the dishes? This was not good at all. No, it wasn’t. I had summoned the deadly spirit of nonsense. The tragedy that is of Earthly value; chores. Responsibility for that matter had seemed to be a troubling virtue. I found it complex and that it had carried a disease of consequence back at home. Here everything was open and humble. The trees became the buildings and the vegetation became my yard. There seemed to be a spontaneity that I couldn’t control this world, but that was something I could deal with for now. There was no certain venue to be at, there was no phone call to report. Just me and my Ted. It was actually quite strange that I knew his name. I don’t remember him ever informing me of it.

 

Chapter 2

 

Pardon the inevitability. I knew it would come. The day where I would awaken from this dream. I waited for it but found  liability in it. I voiced my presence in the night. I waited longer. It seemed odd to me, that this wasn’t a dream, that this was reality. Through the galleys I walked. I skipped the small rocks into the meandering river that reflected my tiresome face. The moonlit sky was on stage and I was waiting for its wonderful performance. How prestine. I stalled and reflected. I bounded from the sandy soil below and fell into the seemingly shallow river. This river wasn’t though. I continued to fall into the deep depths of the ocean. I saw the colorful vegetation below and sparked in delight. There was so much sea life to explore. The fish circled me. A whale skidded the ocean floor. Then, there was Ted. I didn’t know he could swim but obviously he could. Well, I never doubted Ted anymore after that day. Anyways, Ted and I seemed to have an unlimited amount of oxygen down below, so I suggested we explore some more. He gave a quick head nod and we headed off. It’s odd to say this, but looking above you would think you would see the ground we stood upon above. We didn’t see that though. I swam above, curious. I felt the underbelly of whatever it was. It was extremely cold and when I rubbed it a little harder, it precipitated snow. It was the oddest thing. I felt glad to see snow though. I had not seen snow in a long time. I had a whim to drastically increase the amount of snow below, but it never escalated to Ted’s appeal. He found the snow to be an annoyance. The hole for which, I assumed we fell through became a scabbard for the sheathing glow of the sun. I trembled with the glory of it. I began to pray that one day everyone could experience this. I swam toward it, after giving a gesture towards Ted, but he wasn’t there. I began to worry. I swam frantically up towards the hole in the ocean. The hole began to shrink. I swam faster, my heart pounding, sending echoes in the deep blue ocean. I narrowly escaped. I felt the closing surface glance the tip of my toes.

 

The warming sun gave me a chance to recover, a chance to subdue my rapid heart rate. My next quest I marked in my head. I was to find Ted and get out of this place. I decided to wait until the break of dawn (the mind of a procrastinator is so difficult to persuade). When the birds began to chirp, I awoke in the swift tune of them. I slowly arose and stretched out. It would have been nice to have seen Ted, right there next to me. That would have been too easy I suppose, and I have trained the thought that life was not meant to be easy. So I grabbed my things, which included my inquisitive spirit, the little courage I had, the long walking stick I had just found, and my strength. I had noticed that the river had withered away. This gave me a strange feeling. I continued to walk though, determined to find the only friend I had up here. I walked, and walked. I came upon a thick jungle. The leaves were thick and vast. They were dripping with water. I sniffed the fragrance of the large creature for which was the jungle. It had so much variety, that I could not account for which was familiar. I took a step into the forest and with each step came hesitation, because of the fear of the unknown.

 

The sky was hidden under the trees and the welcoming hymns of the birds were nowhere to be found. I pushed each obstruction out of the way with my walking stick. It became quite an annoyance, repeatedly having to lift up the heavy stick, but I did it for comfort. Who really wants a smack in the face by some large leaf. I suppose this was an annoyance for Ted as well, and questioned if he would have even walked through this jungle. I felt I was too deep into this environment to walk back where I came. Just after this thought a strange noise was heard. Could that be Ted? I began to run until I tripped over a large root. I fell hard. The soil was in no way welcoming. The humidity had now gotten to me and I began to sweat. I got up and looked around. Then very briefly, a furry animal swang by. I assumed this was a monkey of some sort. I assumed, something I had gotten used to lately. I questioned what that furry animal was. The underbelly of the clouds were peeking through a hole. There was comfort in seeing the sky again. A strange noise was heard again but it was closer now and that summoned feelings of grave danger and bewilderment. I felt this to be grueling, so I decided to sit upon the firm ground. There was sparse spots of green and blue. Another odd fixture in this world. I sat and closed my eyes, upright. I waited for something, anything to happen. Then a noise was heard, which I felt was right in front of me.

 

I peaked upon my eyes slowly. When I did I saw the oddest thing. This creature was about two feet in height, with furry wings that were attached to its sides. Its eyes were much like Ted’s and so was its spirit. It began to murmur something. I reached out but it backed away swiftly. I reached out my hand slowly, welcoming the creature. It seemed to understand my gesture and walk towards me. Then, something hit me like a monday morning alarm. I thought of all the films for which I have seen. All of the books I have read. All the stories that are telling me this is a terrible idea. I now thought this would curtail the same outcome. I saw it coming in my head. An odd, cute creature summons the curiosity of an outsider to take advantage of him or her. Then just as I had thought this I turned and saw a raid of the same creature before me, running towards me. I was running in fear again. I ran through the large obstructions without the stick now. It was the most painful experience, I’ve ever experienced. My mind was flippant, too lacking in understanding. I was in solitude now. I caught sight of sunlight and made my way out of the destructive jungle.

 

On this side of the jungle was a city. A land of concrete and steel. I again was curious. I hated the smell of the city though. This fragrance brought back many memories of life down below. I exercised the thought of company, and this thought overpowered my fear of falling back into the life down below. I took a step into the seemingly familiar landscape. This city was empty though. The sky was cloudy as was it down below, but there was no one in sight. There was no vegetation and trash piled high in the sectional streets. There was a strong stench that dominated the air. I drowned in the thought that maybe this was the life below. Maybe, I had made my way back down, and everyone that I had known before are gone. I couldn’t help but cry under the weight of guilt I felt. I had left the life I had known, the lives that I knew, for solely selfish reasons. I’m an animal. Maybe one day there will be amity between the rich life of the land above and the land below. Maybe the people will realize that grass may be greener on the other side. Maybe on the other side, they will accept us. The short time I was there I certainly felt welcomed (well for the most part).

 

Now that my life is chained in isolation. I was the only one I knew and the only one I know now. Now that this is the permanent fortune for which I live in, I now reflect on life, and burden myself in guilt. I couldn’t have envisioned this before, or could I have? I suppose, we’ll have to wait until the next tale.  

I am working

I am currently working on writing my first book. I have no understanding of how to promote it, but I was hoping one of you guys or gals could give me some assistance. All of of you are tremendous, creative people. I know some are actual authors, some are tremendous writers, some are stay at home moms, some are photographers. There are so many different types of people out there. You guys are all unique. If you want to hit me up with an idea, I might tie it into the narrative itself. Thank you! I will always write. Writing is a histrionic interpretation of my soul. It’s my more profound voice. The voice I can interpret even the deepest feelings through. I am a little timid on the start. I cannot lie about the fact that I am filled with anxiety. I will continue though. For paper, or the screen for which I am placing my every word, are a viscid poster for my face. A face that has blemishes no doubt, but the beauty is in the scars. The scars make me human, and how ignorant it would be of me to not recognize my existence. How catastrophic it would be not to live out my purpose.

Instructions Not Included

Life is…. Life is unanswered. It is a spirit that is a remarkable film that we can only see. It is a lovely movement that we coordinate. Grounded, yet deranged, there on the carved wood is specious verbiage etched  in elegance but coated in lies. I suppose the only lasting memory I find firm is the subtleties. The silence that seems to mock the deliverance of irritability. I have found the silence more apparent as I’ve grown older. I wake. I park. I walk along the ordinary sidewalks, and set my gaze anywhere but towards another. I suddenly am taken back. The air seems to condense around me and the air seems to feel fresh. I look upon the bursting, vibrant colors in a new light. The brick walls that support the school, are symbols for stepping stones. I settle in this moment. I carry the hope. Mercy is alive.

“Good morning.”

I give a nod of acknowledgement and give a quick attempt at a pleasing smile. I immediately regret. I briskly walk down the hallways. Briefly gazing. I notice the organizational beauty of life. The common people that appear in a certain spot, a certain car that flashes by, a teacher that always walks by when I walk out, a typical conversation I hear every day. The sensibility of life as a schedule, as a routinely bound system we are set in sinks in. Then, I am struck with the spontaneity of life. Profoundly it wishes me to understand it. Casting a shadow upon the judgement, I assume blindly, I title the fabric of its strings. Without knowing, I find myself in a bind. A vulnerable situation that I must welcome in to get a closer look.

Sometimes I wish life came with instructions. Where would the fun be in it though? It would certainly make my decisions more easing. I would be a more suitable person to set in a stressful situation. If it be true, that life would have instructions in my theoretical situation, well, I suppose, that last line was worthless. Moving along then. You know what? Let’s save this for a more suitable time. A part two coming soon. I am way too exhausted to continue. OH, boo hoo. I know, I know. I promise, I’ll be back.

(Your name here) is free

It seems the nectar of life is deceiving. An American Dream. An innate quality gesticulating within the borders, we build. It is vulnerable as we make it. How, catastrophic it would be to see an individual lose the passion that would have driven them to destiny. For whatever it might be, I believe it is beneficial to keep that passion. Even if the pieces are jumbled inside your head, at least you have pieces. At least eventually you can make a picture. This picture is a valuable quality that disseminates through your veins. Life is a motion picture and you’re the director. Whatever you wish can come true, if you declare it be. Your dreams encompassing your goals and aspirations, you become a lively being. See it and you will become it. Be careful with this. Constantly adjust your frame. If you leave it be, these great things will never take place. Don’t conclude everyone’s dream is your dream. A father shouldn’t push a dream on to his son. A teacher shouldn’t tell a student, they can’t be something. A coach shouldn’t say you’re too slow. You know what though? That is the reality of our culture and human nature. These judgements are hidden messages. They are blessings in disguise. It is a golden amber flashing under an artificial surface. Take it as it is. Reevaluate and push forward.

Without motion, there is no movement. It sounds like an obvious statement yet is deceiving. Life chronicles the hidden mysteries, the longing virtues in the turbulent streams. The streams no one wishes to pursue. They are hidden within them. Subside your closed mind, humble your heart, laugh with creativity, and stride in a progressive beauty that opens its strides in elegance. As the flowers bloom, so does your mind and so does the horizon, and so does the daunting fence that you constructed long ago. You can fall into the graceful hands of freedom and bleed service and hope. You are a new adventurer. A new inquisitive, purposeful detective in the case of life. Just don’t give up the case. 

Victory is from the one above. The clouds emerge victorious under the casting reflection set upon the ground. A guide to the end. A daunting task at first. The Diety. The glorious faith it takes to take on life. He will not forsake. He will not take away without a purpose. He will shine a light on those invisible corners and those unreached gifts. Breathe in life. Seek love where it began.

 

That’s all I have to say about that.

 

 

 

I STOOD

I stood below the surface. I stood as a diminishing character under the scope of the environment. I felt I was instigating an irritable force. Observing the surroundings I was in awe. Sparse is understanding. A shadow commences but it profoundly furnishes the walls and decides to bewilder its subject. A prison among prisons. Tumbling beneath the surface is a voice. It talks of failure and cherishes victory. I constitute the walls as a dangerous venture, so I limit my steps. I toil with the numerous possibilities. They eat away at my hunger and leave me content. Content with the rushing waves. An orthodox face details the ceiling. It begins to ponder life but interrupts its inquisition with a violent out reach. The action completely flips the room. Tell me stars, where have you gone? Where is the light of day? I begin to miss the hunger. Instilled in me is an apologist that profoundly vouches for my disability. Reasoning the contentment. Its a meter that never comes into use. I gargle in the flooding waters. I have lost the ability to walk on the water. In reality I’ve lived in a microcosm. A believable culture that I had created for reasonability. I’ve found it to be more detrimental now. More than ever am I questioning, the foundation for which I stand. Am I looking at the right signs? I’m stuck in the ordinary, longing for something new. I was told that when I am older, I can do anything I set my mind to. Well, I am older. My mind stresses on the invisible walls that constrict me. I can’t identify exactly the notion. I can’t exactly decipher the coding of the boundary, or the magnitude of it, nor the location. It’s a mystery gone dead yet somberly lives and without hesitation will awaken within me an anger and irritation. The feelings of solitude. I pretend there not there. That the voices are going to go away. That maybe, they are placed within me for a reason.

I can’t eat without them yelling within. I can’t watch a show without them interpreting every scene. I can’t write without it analyzing every word I put down, every possible outcome possible and the account from the audience for which it is directed towards. If there is even an audience. Sometimes, I feel like I am talking to thin air. Like, I am only doing this to calm down the voices. As a deed, a promise for which I had made years ago to keep. A frenzied, disparaged figure stands before me. Come a little closer and you can see a glaring hole within his chest. I see a web that reflects an image towards me. It brings me joy but breaks my promise to keep quiet. I decide to break that promise and call out to the figure. He stands alone. His eyes filled with greed and jealousy. He stares through me. I am upset. He raises his hand to the sky. He points towards the moon. I set my eyes upon it. He gives me a little nudge and directs my vision back towards the web. I can see a group of people within the reflection. They are laughing. They are doing something terrible. A glob of water builds on the web and I can see the figure grimacing in pain. I begin to cry. A tear falls to the surface. The tear hits the ground with force. It sizzles with disappointment. The figure whispers his name. I couldn’t hear him. He could tell and recollects his courage and spouts his name. “It’s Reality.” I become dizzy. The weight of the moment was much too great. I breath in life and exhale fear. I call out for help. The web that is attached to that glaring hole, is pushed to its limit. It breaks in agony and I fall on my back. I thought this was the end. I sought stability.

Factitious lights flash muddling my understanding even more. I slumber in deep thought. A brisk wind constricts my movements. All of a sudden, I wished I could go back to the moment I broke the promise. I wish I hadn’t. A groom spoke to the walls whitewashing the visions of a young boy. Creativity was no more. Was it hidden? Can I still find a promising treasure within the lies? Society is so crude. Society is so nice. Society is too complex with its artificiality to notice the wolf in sheep’s skin. Another day. Another fallen soldier.

whatever you please

Two posts in one day? Slow down your roll man. I know, I have been acting quite odd lately. I’ve watched too many movies and now I’m resorting to writing to fill the time. Of course, I could study for an exam, but that’s uncharted territory right now. I will not venture into that land of tedious microanalysis, and extended hand cramps. Let’s not go there. Instead, let’s talk of idealization. It’s an interesting one for sure. It’s easy for us to idealize because it’s in our DNA. The very foundation of our roots vouch for it. It’s easy to look up to a Tom Hanks, a Roger Ebert, a  Mark Twain, a Tarantino, a James Cameron, a Steph Curry. It’s so easy. Let’s go ahead and hit that easy button to echo the message. It’s just too easy. There comes a boundary that you must acknowledge. Most cross it without realizing it. Excuse me, if this sounds a little odd. I’ll blaime it on this unfortunate headache.

I believe that there is art to be astonished. There is to be awe thrown towards a unique idea or a performance for the ages. There needs to be recognition. OF COURSE ALEX WHERE ARE YOU GOING WITH THIS?! Wow. Alright, a little harsh guys and gals, I am only pursuing a late night shenanigans in my brain and tossing it your way. Don’t shoot the messenger. Forgive me, the point is coming and you should read my post on patience. Did I write a post on patience? If I did proceed, but if you find no evidence report back to duty here. Alright, that was strange. I told you guys, I am the one who flew over the cuckoos nest. Back to idealization. What I have noticed is that people like to look like they know what they’re talking about. People become arrogant. People greed their own imaginary vision, but it is too elusive. Watch who you watch. What I am getting at is that you should find the right people to look up to. Not to praise ignorantly. What makes them special? What makes them unique in your eyes? What you see makes you special? You might see a piece of you in them. See how odd that is? Don’t focus on one individual as a model for success. There has been many who have walked this Earth. Thank you, captain Obvious. Tonight, I’ve noticed you guys are a little fiery. You guys alright? Need a beverage? Take a sip of enlightenment and observance to nourish those parched cells.

The dream of yours that you have been yearning to achieve in actuality is achievable. Research, grow, learn from your mistakes. I am still struggling to find a direction to head towards. I deeply understand the frustration. Mind that the road that you may be searching for is under the sheet you set down to cross it. Riveting isn’t it? It rejuvenates your soul, to know that there is something out there for you. You were meant for a purpose. I am stuck on the other side of the dock. I am Jay Gatsby looking at that green light across the shore. Except in this story, I am not going to dress to impress. I am going to search passionately through the hardened walls cast over by the tears of the lost. I’ll recollect my memories and find a memory worth keeping. I’ll dig deeply into the depths of my forgotten mind. The whispering gap that motivates a quiet man to run wild under the burning streetlights. Who should I become? A screenwriter? No, I couldn’t sell a pitch to a sleeping dog, mind you he was already sleeping before I arrived on the scene. How about an author? I suppose. How about a director? The shoes are too big Johnny, let’s search for a different pair. Holy cow, my mind is running rampant. How about a film critic? Me? Who me, criticize the art of film making? The art that I cherish and talk endless hours about. Me you ask? I could give it a try, if you wish. How about a storyteller? I love the art of storytelling, whatever the format. That is the problem. There is just too many positions to look over. I just don’t know where to go to. I wish there was a trail run in life for each job. Maybe, I am crazy. Well, of course I am crazy, this post is all over the place, what have you been eating man?

Who am I to judge my future? I wish to understand it. I wish I could see into it. When I think about it a little more in depth though, I become injected with emotions. I scurry away in this confusing pain. Some visions I see pain. Some I see happiness. Some I see desire. Some I see me dreaming of dreaming. Inception baby, watch, live it, love it. Bravo, you are still reading this post. What were we talking about? Oh, the dreams thing. A baleful wolf carries my heart into the darkness and I find myself chasing the moon to undertake the grave lot of hope. Selling my soul to a man on the street to find my heart again, only to find a dismal, dull toy that the wolf presents before me. What am I to become? How about the wolf finds my heart in the meadow? The wolf sheds its skin upon the ground and crowds the wildflowers to hide its presence from me. The new creature follows my every move until I walk too close. Then he abruptly spurts into the air. He congratulates me and finds goodwill in giving my heart back. The sky becomes home and his loving smile becomes the shining star above.

Didn’t this post start out talking about idols? I suppose we oughtta name this guy? What should we name it? How about you name it whatever you please?