It Lives In My Drainpipe

Well, now that you're actually reading I figure you must be truly bored. I've hypothesized that people must be extremely bored to be reading this. To look at my life from day to day, it's pretty boring. My days are mostly cerebral. A great many have come to me seeking some sort of psychotic thrill ride and have left, in fact, rather disappointed.

A friend of mine once told me that someone should make a movie out of my life. Personally, I don't see that happening and there isn't an actor in Hollywood crazy enough (unless you're counting Tom Cruise) lunatic enough to portray me accurately. I'd probably look at script after script rejecting them all the while anyway. I suppose it helps to have a book written first...like an autobiography but rather than tell the story in the third person from someone else's point of view or getting it really skewed from mine, I think the play-by-play here will have to qualify to some extent.

Ok, let's just say they actually condense my life down to an hour and a half. Let's say the movie is actually ripped from here...my blogs detailing the activity within my cerebellum, what then? Most of the movie would take place in my head and even then, who would believe it?

It worked with John Nash (A Beautiful Mind) though, didn't it? Most of that movie had nearly nothing to do with what was actually going on with him until he and his "inner friends" developed conflicts of interest. Still, he was far more interesting. A mathematician with severe schizophrenia...it's almost saddening. I can't fathom how humiliating it would be to have to ask someone, "Is that person really standing there?" everytime I met someone new. To me, it would be an excersize of will each day just to summon that kind of nerve.

I suppose that in the end of it, I'd probably develop one hell of a depression on top of that.

A movie about me. Hell, I wouldn't even know what the hell to call it. Even then, wouldn't your name have to be nearly household status in order for that to happen. There has to be a climax somewhere in there and then a breeze down toward the end of it. Would it be a happy ending? Beats me really. I've been full of endings but where one chapter of my life ends, another begins.

I'm still alive, breathing, kicking. It wasn't always this way. Maybe I never truly lived. Perhaps I don't even exist. I've contemplated the possibility that I'm some mass hysteria hallucination. Though why or how is what befuddles my own mind in a lot of respects.

I wonder if the life I'm leading now is really mine. Maybe I'm someone else dreaming to be this man. Perhapst I'm this man dreaming to be someone else. I think it's that whole zen-type butterfly/man dreaming conundrum that doesn't seem to pan out. Either way it's a different set of eyes and perceptions.

Maybe that's why I'll never understand what it is people fight about. Race? Hey, we're the same species. Religion? It's a different perception and different sets of information. There's no divine punishment at the end. Evil always destroys itself, there's only so much you can do to prevent that. Politics? I find it funny that this word is derivative of the words "Poly" meaning "Many" and "ticks" meaning "blood-sucking creatures." Enough with it, people. You're all so similar. All these barriers made up to divide you are bullshit. They're some illusion that got imposed upon you. Let it go. Just let it go and realize that there are things in this world that you have no control over.

I'm really not sure what the point was or even if I had one to make. To take a journey through my own mind is a veritable roller-coaster ride fraught with things...well...maybe things no one should see.

I guess I thought about that face in my dream again and wondered if there was something I could have done to prevent it. There was a lot of agony then. I just watched her waste away, suffering and I didn't feel like there was a damned thing I could do about it. Maybe there wasn't. She was a bit empty and that was an emptiness I couldn't fill very easily at all. Leave it to an idealistic one to think that. The world made sense to me then, I think. Now I just think of the title of that one rock album and I can't remember who the artist was but it was "Mama, We're All Crazy Now."

I guess it's the reason I work so much. I don't want a spare moment to think about those things. I want those memories to fade. I'd almost swear they don't belong to me. When I do look back, I see them through eyes that are much different than the ones I posess now. The colors, imagery ...all of it is still the same but it's some kind of mentality associated with them.

Maybe, just maybe, I've stuffed all these into some mental drainpipe and it's clogged now. Perhaps the mental sewer is backed up. The mind isn't as simple as a computer. A few clicks, drag, drop and flush and all that crap that's been overloading your hard drive is gone. Quick virus and adware scan, clean the registry, defrag...hey, you're done and it runs as good as new. The mind doesn't work that way. Things don't remain forgotten for long. I think I've proven to myself drinking them away wouldn't help. Putting them in a shoebox labelled "burn" didn't.

But what if that's the case. You were thinking again, weren't you? What if the possibility exists that the two hemispheres of my brain are conflicting with each other. One side of me wants to find something wholly bigger than myself and the other part wants me to be the biggest thing out there. One part wanted to die and the other wanted to live. One wants to find little green men somewhere and the other wants to tell them where they can shove their nasal-probe implants...or wherever the hell it is they're implanting them these days.

There's a movie, in my head and it plays back over and over and over again. No, I don't think I want to show that to the world. They've seen it here. They'll see it again. Words are immortal. By the time I depart our Land Of Finite Temporal Existence (provided I do exist) then I think I'll let that projector finally run out...just kill the power to it.

Maybe you've seen enough of it. To see any more will probably drive you as mad as I've become in some ways, and it's not all fun and games, I don't recommend it.

For now, it's time to rest. Long night at work.

Yeah, that's it. Just slide down into that bed, old boy...it's all smooth sailing from here for a bit. Won't hurt a lick.

Damned right...