the pain, riding
Something feels cold here. Bastardized filth and media trash twist humanity into green fakery and loveless gropings behind thin screen doors. Kids just watch and learn to do the same. There is no pain to replace this loss. Just emptiness. Maybe that is why it is so cold. I'm shivering. Hugging myself does no good, and hugging myself isn't what I really want to do anyway. I want to hug somebody else.
Heroism is dead, myth is dead, religion is dead. Some God, anywhere, come back to us. Stride the earth and point and pick and shake a few necks. Make us want to live.
Why is it that when you fight with knives you don't care if you win or lose? Do the pictures tell stories or are people just fascinated by pretty people doing dirty things? A drastic brain hemorrhage would not solve my perceptions of the world's problems.
I carry a handful of bullets in my pockets. Keeps me sane. "I love my girl." -- Five to One, The DoorsI have to go out in this car with these people.
No one in this damn town will buy my old Bon Jovi records.
I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful--a faery's child, Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild. -- John KeatsWonderment. love. a certain treasure. The dreams that curl your toes in a tingle of the lightest touch. Flashbeams of light that show things but give no real answers. Rising. Falling. Running through the night, a vast sweep through the darkness, coming upon that certain point, that perfect spot, where one can watch the sunrise.
Beauty. what does it mean, when is it real? why is it powerful, striking? why is it tinged with jealousy, desperation, struggle? Why is it frightening, why is it terrible? why do most everyone want to possess beauty? Why is beauty beautiful? Will such a wondrous thing always be so complicated, or can beauty truly be felt from the soul, recognized as a creature of nature, worshipped, yet not used as an end in itself? Lots of questions. I think about these things. Why? That's another question. Perhaps I hope to find answers to them all.
Beauty can be staggering, and it can terrify. Why does it frighten us? Is it because sometimes beauty makes us insecure, makes us look at ourselves, makes us compare? Is it because of aging, that withering away of youthful beauty, the visible signs that a person is dying? Beauty is vibrant, beauty is life. Ugliness hints at death, and that is hard to deal with. When a mountain crumbles, weak with erosion, the resulting rock slide sounds will make you cry.
Human passion, all our wants, feelings, actions. Are we, as individuals, something? It is easy to be blinded by the scope of time, to fear that our short lifetime is meaningless. Where is our significance? All I can guess is that when the good moments happen, they are there, they are real, and they are something special because we feel them. We believe, we roar, we love, we do everything . . . and it is only a mistake to not add our spark to the wonder that we see, the immensity. To be bright and beautiful, in our tiny human way. To try. I remember hearing that, as a little kid. Just try it. Trying something, doing it, hoping . . . I think that is success, whether you win or lose in the outcome.
Living is winning. Feel it. Don't get bogged down by distractions created by fear and insecurity. Just go, just live. And then whoosh! It will shake right through you, heart-beat-life, mind-life, you. And then you will know.
Love. It is unbounded, irrational, unable to be written down on paper. Let it always stay that way, the perfect mystery, the one feeling that makes us human, gives life, nurtures life, and asks for nothing in return. I wish we could all love each other, truly love. That would be amazing. That would be beautiful.