Talking to myself

I keep telling myself that things will be okay.

I wish I would stop lying.

Let's be candid

I hate my family.

Social mores say I should love my family unconditionally.

I say fuck that.

They do nothing but try to outdo each other. They don't play nice with each other. At every gathering they try to put on a face of being one happy family. The paper thin happiness that they put up is obvious.

I'm sick of it.

The "cousins" as we call ourselves are always put into some kind of good-for-nothing competition with each other for no reason. Henry is doing that, Michael is doing that. Tommy has this. Jimmy has that. We never asked to be put onto your pedestals. We never asked to be glorified and vilified.

I say fuck that.

"Fuck that."

So what am I?

It happens again. I sit here, listening to a girl I want to date talk about the guy who played with her feelings, who used her for a month and then abandoned her.

I try to play ambassador for the male gender. Try to redeem my sex in some manner and fashion.

Suddenly all the instances just like this replay in my mind.

"I mean every guy...except you."

It was yet again the same old story.
Here I am, trying to redeem my gender and yet, I'm the exception.

So if I'm an exception to the male gender

...then what the hell am I?

A question

I sat at the table, Looking at all my family around me.
Everyone was quiet.

Some had a bowl to their mouths, others were chewing.

Yet no smiles. Just eating and silence.

Is this a real family?

...but doctor, I *AM* Pagliacci...

"Recitar! Mentre preso dal delirio,
non so più quel che dico,
e quel che faccio!
Eppur è d'uopo, sforzati!
Bah! Sei tu forse un uom?
Tu se' Pagliaccio!

Vesti la giubba,
e la faccia infarina.
La gente paga, e rider vuole qua.
E se Arlecchin t'invola Colombina,
ridi, Pagliaccio, e ognun applaudirà!
Tramuta in lazzi lo spasmo ed il pianto
in una smorfia il singhiozzo e 'l dolor, Ah!

Ridi, Pagliaccio,
sul tuo amore infranto!
Ridi del duol, che t'avvelena il cor!"


I am but a broken man, but the show must go on...

The Questionaire

He sat there tapping his pencil against he table.

The paper sat in front of him. It read "Where do you see yourself in the future."

He honestly did not know what to write. Every time he thought of something, a flaw would appear in the logic. This made deciding on something near impossible.

It should be said first that he was a logical person. Very logical. To him the world was a place that had a 99% explanation rating. Everything had a reason to it. The 1% then was that irrational anomaly which just could not be explained. In this 1% included: governments, emotions and women. Of course his future was included in this 1% as well.

He looked down again and sighed.

A Delay

A note to myself:

Due to being sick, the Word of the Day challenge will be postponed until further notice. Do please try to get back on track once your health has returned.

WotD: 3/29

bedaub, transitive verb;
1.To smudge over; to besmear or soil with anything thick and dirty.
2.To overdecorate; to ornament showily or excessively.


I have been told that those whose hearts shine the brightest, also cast the largest shadows. Just as strong as that light can shine, the shadow can easily overcome the light which holds it back.

I have always held my friends to a high standard, that is why they are my friends, but I hold myself to a higher standard, one which would seem silly and impractical to today's youth.

Honor. Always carry this. A person only has two things; their name and their word. Without one, the other cannot exist. Stand by your word and never waver from what you say you will do. If you cannot commit, do not offer commitment.

Loyalty. Stand tall and proud by those around you. These are the people who deeply impact your life. Surround yourself with positivity and encouragement, but also with people who are truthful with their judgments and criticisms. This way, you can grow. Stand by your words, they cannot be unsaid. It gives you integrity and credibility when you stand by your words.

Faith. Believe in something. Believe in yourself. If you can't believe in yourself, believe in something that will happen for yourself eventually. Beliefs keep people strong, they keep them focused. Belief is what built nations and continues to what they are today.

Despite these three tenets that I hold dear to my heart, and live by every day, there is room for the shadow. It grows and it breeds into something that can be uncontrollable.

Anger. When wronged, it is easy to fall into this. People don't think the same way you do. They should, but they won't. It builds and builds, until it reaches a boiling point and then suddenly you snap. Logic takes a back seat as you are blinded by a uncontrollable force which drives you to want to destroy.

Sadness. You feel alone. People don't think the way you do. It feels hard to live according to such strict standards. There is much wondering if it is worth the effort at all, when you try to live by such standards and make very little progress while everyone around you cheats, lies, plans and schemes and rides the fast lane. Uncertainty becomes a byproduct, and there is nobody who truly understands that deep loneliness and sadness that can envelop you.

Hate. The strongest darkness and shadow. When the light shines so brightly that even a small pebble can cast a mountainous shadow, this is the result. You wish ill on people, and you wish for that ill to actually occur. You become a dark and twisted version of yourself. Your rationality and humanity take a back seat to the ill you would wish on someone else. You become what you never want to be.

Newton theorized that for every action there is a equal and opposite reaction. Can this be said of the tenets I choose to live by?

-Light and Darkness exist side by side. We are told that light shall always prevail, but we must also acknowledge that night must fall.-

WotD: 3/28

afflatus, noun;
1. A divine imparting of knowledge; inspiration.

He held a glowing orb on his shoulder and back, a globe that glowed vibrantly and with the colors of an entire spectrum. I watched in awe as he stood there, not moving an inch. I knew why he was there, it was penance for not seeing eye to eye with someone else.

I tried think of something to say, but only two words came to mind.

"Thank you."

Upon hearing that, the figure started to tremble. I looked up further and saw why. He began to cry. I don't know if they were tears of joy or tears of sadness, but he cried. I watched the tears streamed down his worn face that was chiseled with regret and perseverance. As the tears subsided he looked down at me.

"No kind stranger. Thank you."

Suddenly I felt a surge of emotions build up in myself. Pride, joy, sadness, anger, all various emotions with a word attached surged through me. He and I, we are the same. Despite our size, despite the path ahead of us, the colossus and I were the same. We both wanted to hear two simple words, to feel like someone cared.

-Compassion runs deep. Deep enough to act as the support to hold an entire sky up.-

WotD: 3/27

equivocate: intransitive verb;
1. To be deliberately ambiguous or unclear in order to mislead or to avoid committing oneself to anything definite.


He wore many masks. He had a wide collection. One for every occasion, one for every emotion, one for every person he came across. To him, masks were safe; they let him always observe from the outside, never having to commit himself to the inside.

He never had one name. He could be known as Paul, Frank, Thomas, Jason, Nathaniel and those were just a small portion of the names he was called. He did everything and nothing; banker, analyst, scientist, philosopher, slacker, store clerk and even beggar. A jack of all trades, master of none.

Today, he is John. John fancies himself to be a intelligent person, but always seems to have his foot in his mouth. He has a girlfriend, but their relationship has been on-off for the past year so he wants to find something more stable. John works as a data entry clerk for a small company that handles insurance claims. He doesn't love his job, but he is happy to have it because it helps pay the bills.

He stared at his computer screen. The box where papers that needed entry into the computer was empty. A slow day by all means. The ticking of the clock could be heard cutting through the silence.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

He leans back into his seat and sighs. Slow days were the worst. No work but he still had to be at the office "working."

The bell for the outside door jingles. A customer, or so he thought. A police officer steps in.

"Excuse me, do you work here?"
"Why yes I do officer, how may I help you today?"
"Well, we've been getting reports of a man going around terrorizing folks in this community."
"Well what has he been doing officer?"
"He has been tying them up and throwing them into closets, bathrooms, stairwells and the like."
"Well that is just horrible."
"Yes it is. Well Mr. Frinks, this is just a reminder to be careful and to call the police if you see anything suspicious."
"I will do that officer."

He smiles at the officer. A fake smile. The officer buys it. He steps back outside and into his cruiser, driving off. John walks to the front door and flips the "open" sign around to "closed." He then walks to the back of the office and into the restroom for the small office.

He looks down at the terrified man who is gagged and tied, wearing only his underwear. The man starts to plead through his gag, attempting to mutter some kind of sense into John.

"John." he smiles. "Don't worry. I won't hurt you. I just wanted to have a little...fun. You see, my life is boring. Very boring. So, I like to see what it is like to walk in other people's shoes. I have to say, your shoes are pretty boring too. I enjoyed the game we played today, I hope you had fun too. I think we'll stop today. Remember this though: Don't come looking for me, I'll come looking for you."

The terrified man stares at his captor. "John" simply turns around, leaving the bathroom, and not closing the door behind him. He grabs his coat from his seat and drapes it over his shoulder. Early day today, since there is no work to be done. As he walks out of the office, he begins to whistle and he thinks to himself:

I wonder who I should be tomorrow. Maybe Andrew down at the car dealership. I hear that selling cars is a mile a minute lifestyle.

-Is the grass always greener on the other side? Is it worth it to walk a mile in another person's shoes?-

WotD: 3/26

verisimilitude: noun;
1. The appearance of truth; the quality of seeming to be true.
2. Something that has the appearance of being true or real.

Damn. Same situation again. I'm limping to safety and there is yet another bullet in my leg. Just my luck to run into those guys again.

"Who are they?" you might ask. Well I'll tell you. The Boom Brothers. Yes. They're named the Boom Brothers. Long story short, they got their name by blowing up an entire building to take out a hit.

The second question you might be asking is "Are you the mark in a hit?" No. I'm simply trying to put a stop to them. You might call me a gun for hire of sorts. I'll go after the guys the cops are too afraid to. In our little slice of the world, there are cuckoos like the Boom Brothers running around every day and there are cuckoos like me who go after them.

"Come out you police humping dog!"

Does the younger Boom Brother really think that will work? He must really underestimate me.

"Duhh...Glasus, can I make little man go boom?"

The older Boom. Has the intelligence of a sack of bricks, but is as large as one and can move one with his bare hands.

"Don't worry Chunk. We'll find this little fly and when we do, we'll pluck off his wings first, then his little legs, one by one and finally, we'll give him a little present. One that goes BOOM."

"YAY! I like making things go boom."

Really? Can someone please send these two back into the comic book they came out of? I look down at my leg. It looks pretty bad and I don't know how much longer I can run. Suddenly, I hear a hissing noise near me.

Crap.

I look down and see a stick of explosive lying not too far from me. I dive away from it as it goes off, but the explosion still rattles me to the core. God I hate these two. I am sure they said something to each other, but seeing as I can't hear a damn thing, I keep moving.

I pull my gun out. A modified full auto glock 18. Not the most accurate or powerful handgun, but it is fun to shoot and intimidating as hell. I keep limping my way through shipping containers. Suddenly I feel what seems like a truck slam across my chest.

"Found him! Now Chunk make you go boom!"

Damn. The big one found me. He stands above me and clenches his hands together over his head. Perfect. I raise my gun to his chest and pull the trigger. I watch as he stumbles back and onto the floor. The smell of blood is thick in the air. I scramble, knowing the sound would attract the younger Boom.

"Glasus...GLASUS!"

The older Boom is sobbing at this point. I get away far enough to watch what happens.

"Chunk? CHUNK?" The younger Boom runs up and kneels down next to the older Boom.

"Glasus? Is that you? Chunk no good. No make boom. Chunk go sleepy bye."

"Chunk, no, no, it is NOT time to go sleepy bye okay? See? It's Glasses, your little brother. Let's go make some things go boom like you like to."

It was too late. The older Boom was gone. That is one down.

"DAMN YOU! I'll get you, you little fly. I swear I will kill you!"

I should mention one more thing. The younger Boom is smart. Really smart. His downside is that he likes to play around. Arrogance. Too bad his arrogance was replaced by rage now.

He pulls a remote out of his trench pocket and presses all the buttons on the thing. Suddenly the shipping yard lights up like a Christmas tree. Damn. So much for cover of darkness. Was it really a smart idea attacking these guys on their own home turf? It doesn't take long before the younger Boom spots me.

"Little fly."

His beady eyes stare me down and he aims his Mauser at me. I try to dive to safety but what does that get me? A bullet in my good leg. Great. Now I'm dragging myself across the ground. I really wish I had brought another clip with me. He walks over to me and kicks me in my chest. Breathing? No good.

"So...the order has been changed. I plucked your legs off first. Now to pluck your wings."

Two loud bangs. I'm near blacking out as the bastard plugs me in my arms.

"What shall we do little fly? Shall I slice you up into pieces? Shall I boil you alive? Or should I just let you bleed and then stuff you and mount you to my wall?"

I would have chosen a fourth option. A bullet to the head so I would have to stop listening to this garbage. Luckily for me, a fifth option opened up.

As the younger remaining Boom walks up to me, he suddenly hits the floor. A loud crack is heard in the distance. A few men in black special ops gear swarm around me.

"Target down. One merc injured. Send ambulance now."

It was a blur after that. Maybe it was the blood loss, maybe it was the shock of it all. All I could remember were men in black special ops gear at the shipping yard, men in black suits at the hospital and more men in black suits in the hospital.

Honestly, between me and you, I thought I was a goner for sure. The worst case scenario and I still don't know to this day why some kind of power above said it was okay for me to live. I always figured that I was destined for hell. I guess it just wasn't my time.

-Victory and defeat are relative to the situation. Sometimes, victory can seem imminent and the same can be said for defeat, but all that can change in a blink of an eye.-

Word of the Day

Kismet: noun; Destiny; fate.


He looked down at his wrist. In his other hand was a small shaving razor. He brought the razor to his wrist, it trembled in his hand and he wondered if he should go through with it. He pressed the blade flat against his wrist and sighed.

"What the hell. How did I get to the point where I would even consider this?"

He thought about it. The next chain of events that ran through his head played quickly but vividly; it started with his girlfriend of five years dumping him by sending her new boyfriend with a "I'm sorry" card, his boss handing him a pink slip because his company was bought out by a national conglomerate and was outsourcing, his best friend of 10 years suddenly becoming a "bro" and telling him that he wasn't cool enough to "chill" anymore. All in all, he believed that he had every right to end it all and jump right to the end of the book. A final page with a single red period.

He slumped up against the bathtub, and dropped the razor onto the floor.

"What the hell. Really? Is this what fate has in store for me?"

He wanted to pick up the razor again but something in the back of his mind kept telling him not to do it. The voice, a familiar, gentle and sweet voice kept repeating "don't do it." He closed his eyes and tried to put a face to that voice, but who he saw surprised him.

He was brought back fifteen years. He was inside his room and standing in front of him was his first girlfriend. She had her hands on his cheeks, and she gazed deeply into his eyes.

"I have faith in you. Don't give up okay?" and as she finished saying those words she leaned in to kiss him.

He couldn't help but to cry. The memory came to him so vividly, her hands warm against his cold cheeks, her soft lips pressed against his. He wished again for that warmth that very moment, for her warmth to comfort him. In his second greatest time of need she was there again. He continued to sit there, crying tears of sadness, pain, joy and happiness at the same time.

He regained his composure and picked himself up off the bathroom floor. He washed his face dry, wiped it off and walked over to his telephone. He picked it up and dialed, it started to ring on the other side.

"Hello Jane? It's John. It has been a while hasn't it? Listen, I was wondering if you'd be free sometime soon...."



-This is the story of how I met your mother-

Balloon

Keep pumping this little red balloon. Watch in amazement as it grows and grows.
Oh wait. It popped.

Unintended Pit Stop

Everyone is traveling the fast lane.
I'm stuck at the last pit stop, still trying to change my tire.

Warmth

I walked hurriedly, attempting to break winter's frigid grasp.
"Spare some change?" a man asked, obligatory paper cup in hand.
I walked pass him, but I felt a twinge in my chest.
Guilt?
Perhaps.
Who knows how long the man had been standing there. Asking for change from people rushing to find shelter from the cold and from people in their cars. Did he even have a roof over his head for the night?
I felt troubled. I wanted to do something more than just give him a penny, nickel or dime.
"Subway" I thought to myself.
I walked in.
"Welcome, what can I get you?" asked the man behind the counter.
"What soups do you have?"
"I have chicken noodle and cream of broccoli." he sang out. I didn't believe it either, but the man behind the counter in a sing-song voice sang out "cream of broccoli."
"Chicken noodle."
The man packaged my soup and handed it to me. I took the bag, and headed back to the corner where I passed the first man.
He didn't realize I was behind him, he was focused on the cars waiting for the light, asking for change. The drivers shook their heads one by one, but the man never faltered. He saw me standing there on the corner and approached me.
"Spare some change?"
I looked at his face. A white beard, wrinkles showing how jaded he is. I lifted the soup.
"I know it is not much, but here is a soup. Chicken noodle."
The man hesitated for a fraction of a second, but his tone lifted as he reached for the bag.
"Oh! Thank you brother." He said.
"Enjoy and keep warm." I replied.
"Thank you brother." He said again. It felt different the second time around. It was filled with honest sincerity.
I didn't look back as I walked away. I just hoped that my little gift of a small chicken noodle soup would provide momentary warmth for someone in the cold.
I knew one thing for sure. Hearing honest sincerity from a complete stranger for such a small gift makes a frigid night seem less cold.

a generic break up

Indulge me in my little request.
A glass of gin -dry,
a period of silence, accented by my self misery.

A sip, a toast. To my once beating heart which bled for you. To your soft lips that I kissed.
A gulp. fill it back up.

Another sip. Another toast.To the empty seat across from me. To the extra space in my bed.

Maybe I should play a sad song on my radio.
Or maybe have another sip, another toast.