Tidying Up

My friend, who I used to be in a band with years ago, was looking through old manuscripts and sheet music, and she found some stuff I was writing. She gave it back to me, to my embarrassment. It’s pretty awful.

I guess this was from sometime around 1985-86. The whole thing’s a mess of scribbles and cross-outs. (Pre-computer days) Some of my margin notes are about nihilism. Don’t know where I was going with any of it, but I’ve posted what little I can salvage of the main text –for your amusement.

It’s corny and stilted and didactic. You know, the kind of stuff you write when you’re young and think you know everything, but you’re pretentious enough to act as if you don’t think you do. (You know, a recent college grad … in a band :-))

You may be thinking that some of my recent stuff sounds a little corny too, but –whatever man. I think I was either trying to write song lyrics or a new intro for The Twilight Zone.

Upon honest reflection, it seems like my thoughts are often stuck in an existential crisis loop. Is there a metaphysician in the house? (Or, in a pinch, I’d settle for an astrophysicist.)

L

Today…I begin.

What it is that I begin can only be known when it has passed its beginning and established its identity by its own witness. A journey maybe. Toward a kind of being. To a place that is more like a time. Within a time that is more like standing still.

And when I have finished what I now am beginning, who will say the sum of it? Who will bear witness to me? To my beginning? To my end?

These contemplations must always strive to find meaning while the life goes on, mostly unaware. Unaware and uninterested in knowing. 

The realization is that the life's span cannot itself bear witness, but it must be found of value by some existing judge outside itself.

The judge bears witness, along with my own reckoning of the thing. There must be two witnesses, or three: my soul being one.

I cover my eyes but I still see cause the light makes the dark appear and shadows prove the light’s here. Your eyes are light, but can you see me? Look. Check out the mirror. You’re there in the mirror.

He wears a shiny red suit
He wears a shiny red suit
He goes out on the town
And likes to walk kinda loose

He's got a shiny gold watch
That he slips into his pocket
That's where he keeps his ladies
It's just like money in his wallet

He's got a condo on the beach
He's got hair in his bleach
He likes to live on the edge
So he's always just out of reach

He's got a shiny gold watch
And power charger toks it
But since time is of the essence
He just leaves it in his pocket

---Watch out!
He's got three lawyers on retainer
Just in case someone is saner

He knows the corporate don'ts and do's
He doesn't know how to lose
He only cheats his friends
And he's choosey who he sends

Toward a blog that is more like a Twitter that’s less like an Instagram. . .

Bastian – Atreyu – Moonchild!

Oh the humanity!

Uhhhh. . . Well alrighty then.