Thursday, March 18, 2004

Gouge Away

Dad got me to go to Menard's, fill out application, and send it in.

I am still doubtful as to getting a job. Looking at things like this, I see that I'm always on the negative.

The job is just too much of what I need, but probably don't deserve, since I'm not really emphatic about much, a job included.

Although I have been in a better mood lately, it is not without its moments of feeling crushed.

I think I see a pattern. I go through a time when I'm depressed and totally, absolutely sick and tired of everything. Then I just look at myself and how I'm acting and wonder why I'm making a hyperbole out of everything, why I'm being so melodramatic, so cold, and not feeling the finer points of life. So then I tell myself, "Things aren't so bad at all. You know that Mitch. You know you want to be a happy person. So be a happy person." And then I be a happy Mitch.

Or try to.

Is this angst? Partways. Is it completely? I don't know. I don't know, I don't know, I don't know. The ultimate thing I search for is happiness, and a good life, and yet, at times, when I am sad I am feeling the best. Because I feel that I am feeling how I want to feel, how I should feel. . .no, not how I should feel. How I am inclined to feel. When things feel. . .right. . .then one is at equillibrium. And at times, this is how I feel.

Isn't everyone like this? Yes, I guess. Some try to cover it up in some way. They say they're happy. They smile. Act as if they're good. Optimistic me. Happy me. I'm good. Nothing wrong here. Nothing wrong with me.

But, with this finesse control, inside each and every person's nucleus, they are undergoing a fallout, a nuclear reaction. The grind, the cant, the sudden slow. The gouging, stabbing, pricking, eating--I know it is inside each and every one of them. All of them. All. Not just one. Not just each. All.

Denying it? Saying you're conquering it with your God, with your methodical approach to how your mind works, with how you can control every aspect of you and your mind? No. No, our bodies control us. They control us. We live in the skin. We breathe in the skin.

To quote System of a Down, "Don't you realize that evil lives in the moterfucking pigskin?" because I know it does. I know it does.

You must feed your body. You must defecate. You must urinate. You must give it sleep. You must use your mind day-by-day to hope that it improves. You must feel emotions which are just chemical balances and inbalances in the brain. You must send messages to your brain for it to move your hands. Move your leg. Move your eyes. Move your head.

You must have nutrition in your body or else your body will decline, will sull to an emaciated feeble. You must learn what your body tells you for what it wants. You must replicate. Must procreate. Your brain is made to have a strong sex drive so that you will prolong the life of your race that doesn't even need to be prolonged.

And in the end, day-by-day, once you've done all this for your body, what do you get back? More of the same.

More of the same.

I'm not someone that walks around saying this stuff to everyone. I just see it in everyone's eye. I am a writer. I wish to be a writer but that shall not be. I shall be a writer in my heart, in the velvet folds, and I shall bloody my hands to work.

Filling out my application for Menard's earlier, they asked what skills I had. I wanted to put that I could write. That that is what I am best at. My dad proceeded to say I cannot put that down. "What can writin do for you?" he had said.

What can it do for you?

Well, it keeps me alive. It keeps me alive.

Sometimes writing means nothing to me; sometimes writing means everything to me; sometimes writing doesn't even exist to me; but other times, the times I am alive, it does. It exists to me. It. Exists. To. Me.

No one will kill it. You can't kill something that's already dead. Writing's dead but I adorn it with flowers on its grave, I scream for the forgotten names, and sometimes, and sometimes writing's true face is shown to me. This is a God better than any God every before. This is a Jesus Christ better than any Jesus Christ before.

And that is because I can do what I will with it. And I know it exists to me. I know that it's always there for me. I know that it's whatever I want it to be. It isn't a crucifixed body hanging aloof from a cross; it isn't some unfocused image at guesswork as to what a God would be. It isn't anything but anything, and it isn't everything but everything. Writing is all to me and I will never let it leave.

I keep saying writing is everything to me so that I can expulse the fear. So that I can have something to hold onto.

Suffering ceases to be suffering when that suffering has a reason for suffering. Maybe writing's a stupid crutch to harness. Maybe it isn't.

All I know is that I feel this is what I am supposed to do. It is my reason. And reason is everything. It is happiness, it is sadness, it is company, it is the lover, it is the killer, it is the all. It is the all and that is what it is.

This is just prep talk here. This is just encouragement to myself. Is it true? I don't know. But it sure sounds good when I put the words and spin the spiders right and make it look like it is. Doesn't it?

Doesn't it?

It does.

I need something to keep me going. I need an animus to get me out from bed each morning. This is what I choose.

I don't care about much else. I go about my way.

I care about music. I care about loving something. I want to love someone, but I feel this is a stupid notion. One that will end up being unfulfilled. I have my own reasons for thinking of this. The main is I just don't think love lasts. It isn't eternal. It's more off-and-on.

I can't love something all the time. . .I can only love it when I can love it. It's like this with writing and I. It's like that with anything.

I'm not depressed. I'm just being frank in this. I'm an honest man. Most of them at least. I'm an honest man and I may say a lot of crap and fancy up things, but what I've said is how I'm sure many people feel deep down.

It's selfish to feel like this, but think about it. Why does the world spin? It spins because you see it spin and you understand how it spins Why do you breathe? You breathe because your lungs breathe and because you must live. You must live. Survival. It's the main essence of us. Of us as organisms. It's the main essence of any organism.

When the hand goes to fire it gets burned. When the finger slips on the knife and it cuts you you bleed but you learn how to not bleed as much and then you keep avoiding things until you survive longer.

Fear. Fear is what drives. Fear of death. Fear of living. Fear of pain. Fear of not feeling pain. Fear.

Survival is to fear as life is to death. They both are needed. They both feed off one another. With fear, you seek to bask in the fear, understand it, grasp ahold of it and know what it does. But you cannot all the time, and so you simply use what you can and you survive. It's the Phoenix in you. In me. In us all. It's the Phoenix. From ashes comes a big bird that can fly, and is full of fire and can burn you, can gaze you in the eye over the utter destruction and give you hope. The fear of what might come and the ability to harness it and propel past, the Pheonix enunciates with a stare, without words, with something that means more.

Keep living on and die when you die, the Phoenix says but doesn't speak, doesn't move a single inch, just sits there surveying it all, and looking at the destruction inside the psyche. It knows how to put it back together. You know how to put it back together.

You find something. From nothing you need sometbing to change that nothing to something. And when that something looms and covers the destruction in a primordial blanket, you can see it repair.

But wounds remain.

A wound is something that stays. Like remembering a memory that will never leave you. A raven flying over a full moon as you sit outside and kiss your lover and as you have the most passionate time of your lfie.

You will remember that raven. It will stay with you.

Wound.

A wound.





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