What Was He Thinking?
Written By A Real Person
What Was He Thinking?
The Story We Tell Ourselves And Reality Don’t Always Match
The Problem:
I’ve come to some conclusions. You may wonder, how it is, that I was able to arrive at these conclusions? This is some of the story. I’ve kept notes of these things, for a long time. This, is likely stupid, boring, and trivial.
The Way
Seems, that I’m some kind of anomaly in this world. They don’t understand me, or even want to. I’m not what is expected, and as a result; it doesn’t feel that I’m wanted.
Being an anomaly isn’t easy. Sometimes you are torn between several different conflicting choices, and it seems; the double binds are so tight, that you are damned if you do, and damned if you don’t.
Truth be told, I’m divergent. It is like having twenty trains with full loads, on five tracks; and they seem to change tracks every 29.5 days. You wouldn’t believe the pained looks the conductor gives at the changing of trains direction or destinations. Seems to be some wild ride.
Read On
The conclusions I’ve reached may be profound. What you think of them, only matters if you want to care. Most people don’t.
This person I’ve become, is not really me. This is not who I am. They say, the matrix, can not tell you who you are. And after thinking about it, a long time; I can see the points, that shaped this version of who they think I am.
My writing, my actions, my thoughts, these things are not me. They are the product of my experiences while being mixed with my upbringing, and the people I’ve had the opportunity to interact with. However, this isn’t who I am. I see it in myself, this mask of who they want, isn’t who I am.
Seems, they want a warm sack of shit. That isn’t who I am. This isn’t me. And, to be very clear, this is not who I want to be. There are so many things about this life, that are not acceptable to me. And what I’ve become, is not who I aspire to be. Not by any stretch of my imagination. This hollow and empty shell of a person, that seems like damaged good that aren’t fit to keep.
Some Box
They want to try and classify people, in an effort to put them, into some kind of box; that makes the most logical sense to them. Seems, the boxes don’t really fit anything that I want to fit into. Seems, there is some heap of stones, that have been cast aside; left to gather dust. Yet, they are still good rocks. You shouldn’t expect for rocks to do things that flowers do. There is some kind of old joke, about what kind of rock that is: the joke goes:
What kind of rock is that?
Leaverite.
What is that?
leave it right there.
Sorry for the bad joke. Something remembered. Tired of these boxes, and trains full of them. A person would grow weary of life, should the boxes be only full of rocks. You would want to know what good they are for?
Seems, I’m waiting for my death. Not a friend in the world. No one that was here for me, when I was hurting and down on my back. They only laughed from afar, and lacked any compassion.
The Trains To /dev/null
Seems, the bridge on track three has collapsed, and the trains seem to be falling into the ravine. I’m sending all trains down track three, to fall into oblivion. No one seems to care, about all those rocks. They were however very nice rocks. Those boxes full of rocks didn’t matter to anyone. Seems, not even God gives a shit about those rocks. No one will miss them.
Guess next time, they make the world; they will all come back into place? They will make more, if anything.
The Real
The real me, is not a warm sack of shit. These temporary limitations, and these false stories of problems that seem impossible to overcome, are a fallacy of logic. It is made to look like real problems, and real issues. When really; there is no issue. They will be both remembered, and forgotten. Like, dust in the wind after the wind has died down, and the dust settles.
It would be something awful tragic; if I should only amount to this. If this is really all that I amount to; that is a real problem. Can you see the problem?
Conclusions
How could one life, of many really ever define a being that is so multi-faceted? Seems we adapt to the conditions, and make the best of it; while there is time. And, really there is the rub. Something has to be done about the conditions.
When life is reduced to just existence, that is not really living. Seems the trains will all be sent to /dev/null, and no one will ever really care.
The rocks here, all seem to have some anomaly. They all seem to deviate from what was expected, or from being normal. Really, the thing you have to think about, and I want you to consider:
If all the rocks were reduced to normal; would anyone want them?
Seems to me, that many rocks that all look exactly the same would be something as bad, maybe worse than if humans stopped having faces. If humans didn’t all have faces, and you couldn’t tell them apart, life would be awful boring. You would get tired of looking at each other. That would be too plain, and far too boring.
Like A Rock
Some rocks are bigger than others, and we can be glad about that. They come in all different shapes, and sizes. And we can be thankful about that. Likewise, people have differences, and come in all different shapes and sizes. Some have very small minds, that fit nicely into boxes they should go into. Some people, have minds that are as vast as an ocean, and nothing really seems to contain them, yet they contain a multitude of fine fish.
They say: You can not tune a fish. Maybe, a guitar. Or a piano. But fish can not be tuned. Not unless they hear some signal that humans are deaf to.
Have you listened to the ocean?
Final Conclusions
Seems being anomaly is both good, and bad. I’m not what they expected, and maybe not what they wanted. Yet, here I am. Seems people should be happy that I live, and the rocks will stay put. They don’t grow legs, and walk off. You know?