Today is February the 8th, 2012   Leave a comment

Today is February 8th, 2012. Today is my birthday. I am 37 years old. Life is fine.

I am listening to Jane’s Addiction. I love their earlier music, haven’t much listened to anything from 2000 on. I just haven’t been up to date on many things and that is one of them. Maybe this year I will go back over the last 15 years or so of music and breath it in deeper, the way I did when I was younger. Maybe, although I make no promises, there are many things I have promised to do and even on most of them I am not really planning anything solid. Thirty-seven years into this “situation” and I am no better at keeping my word. I am just better at knowing when it matters. Games I play, not to win, but to pass time.

I am going over the nightmares I traversed last night and trying to pin meaning down to the signifying events. Am I really going crazy again or were ideas merely planted in my brain? I listen to people talk sometimes just long enough to dig holes and surrender my rationale and reasoning. Someone mentions that someone else is the devil and I take that as an invitation to start sketching in my mind what they would look like with horns or surrounded by flames. I like to take their eyes and look deep enough into them to see the genocide they are day dreaming about, a handful of years into their future if they were not stopped. I look to see who was dismantled, who was erased, who was glorified. I look to see my own face tacked up on a board. Is it a “missing persons” or “wanted” poster? Then my mind swirls at the difference.

I’d like to do a “It’s A Wonderful Life” kind of event where I see just what would’ve been without me here to be apart of it. I don’t doubt I’ve done well for some, bad for others. I write as often as I can focus on writing merely because, deep down, I think that there will come a time when there will be some kind of turmoil and many people will hang their heads low while a great many others raise their fists and denounce me. I don’t know why or what for, but I want to make sure that if nothing else there is some kind of documentation.

I want there to be proof that my mother was right. I am a very intelligent person capable of anything I put my mind to. And then that thought makes me want to hide behind furniture until the demons at the door pass by. Too many temptations at over throwing the forces that are firmly in place and I’m not so sold on the concept that a revolution is not without merit. But I am convinced that I should not be the leader of anything. The most reasonable and possibly productive place for me to stand is just off to the side whispering my theories and logics so that the true leaders can have something to chew on while they attempt to rest their weary bodies. I am the spear in the side of Christ, not Christ, not God, not the Roman or the Jew. I am merely and yet profoundly the spear.

I use the Jesus story a lot. It’s sometimes because it fits best. Other times, it’s simply because it’s the one I know best and feel more comfortable contorting. I wonder sometimes if that is why the evangelists use him. They take the book and the history and mystery and just start rattling on, they sing songs using words, but it’s not the words that matter. Listen deeper. They are all telling you what you need to hear so that they may solicit some sought after reaction.
No one is talking about “Christianity”. They are all talking about something else. Some love, some fear, others doubt, hate, compassion, trust. It can be about anything really. I’ve seen late night preachers on TV use Jesus to lay out a story as to how giving until it hurts will help you sow your seed and reap your rewards and how giving what you hardly have to someone who has already more than they ever deserved to have is all in line with why Jesus died on the cross and how you too could have a fancy car and expensive clothes if you just play your cards right and sacrifice now.

And they explain, without any signs of confusion, that they mean in THIS life. Yes, the demographic audience of who is awake and channel surfing at 4AM probably fits well with someone just aching to believe that life could get better if they just hurt a little more. Hurting is all they know. And with no one offering to make sense out of it for them, someone else swooping in to say, “Just a little more, friend, and you’ll have all the riches the good Lord can provide.” Hell, it’s almost enough to make me take out my check book. But then I remember that I’m not looking for a better life.

I have other reasons for being here that do not revolve around ease or fine clothes or a big house in a nice neighborhood. I am not here to sell you Jesus. I’m not even here to loan him to you. I am here to waste time.

So today is my birthday. And I wanted to make sure that I took the opportunity I had to spend some quality time alone and writing down a few things to remind myself of just what it’s all about for me.

Documentation, for the sake of future pontifications to appear to be with basis and solid, grounded, well thought out debates and theories tested. Yes, I write when I can because I know what’s up around the bend.

And when I suffer, it’s not for a new car or for some expensive shoes. It’s because so often, when someone says that someone else is the devil and I day dream about just what that means, the person I am putting horns on is me. The genocide is internal.



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