Loving Limerence

I have very different deep down priorities and interests than anyone I know, but that's besides the point, whatever the point is. Limericks, or something like that. I can be quite obsessive though. Not so much for people anymore, but I used to. Yes, I loved my limerences. Some might say dalliances, but I was all in. People have disillusioned me though and most repulse me now on just about every level, but especially emotionally. I find fear and anger and negativity repulsive and as far as I can see, that's increasing in humans. It seems like we are heading for another self-destructive world war or other species reducing calamity. The planet needs it and whether nature does it to us from outside or inside our heads, it happens again and again throughout history to all species like us. Intelligent life would be learning from past mistakes and not just repeating them. Still, there's hope, I hope.

Hey Hey Johnny

Wow, this started so long ago (in an echo) and I finally started posting years later (like an echo) and it has been years since (we heard the echo)... we can wonder why (the ego) if you want to, but for the moment, since you are not asking (at the moment of this writing in case someone does not know how relative time is on the internet as I write and may edit and post at three separate times and you likely read at at least a fourth time and, well, time is relative as it is, but even more so in blogs on the internet. Still the time date stamp may be accurate sometimes, which just adds to the relativity and amuses me as most things do eventually while I am writing... it's why I write (ego echo), in case you wondered and didn't know, among other reasons, but I believe digression shall conclude now and whatever it is I came here to write might actually happen), we'll just continue with whatever I came here to write), I wait until you do. Wide-eyed and narfing away :)

Empathy

I’ve got to get up early in the morning. Softball practice around the corner from where I just left. My close friends live there and yet I’m not invited to stay, over for a few hours. So I drive 30 minutes back here and I drive 30 minutes back there in the morning just a few hours from now. Wasting time that I could be sleeping. Wasting gas and putting wear and tear on the car. That’s what my friends what let me do. They all have extra rooms in and extra beds. Maybe I just don’t understand how it makes sense to them, but it doesn’t make any sense to me. Somehow that does not fit my definition of a friend. But those are the people who call themselves friends today. People just don’t seem to want to give or share or care, at least not how I define it or do it. That makes me sad.Maybe I am just more sensitive than well, more sensitive than I should be? That seems to be excusing insensitivity to me. I could be wrong. Still, I wouldm't let a friend lose sleep just to come play with me, not when I have the space to share. I don’t know how to love less. To care less. To give less. To share less. Less than that seems cruel to me. And I will not do it. So if I am more sensitive than I should be, then I am. I would not be happy being any other way.

ADHD, Maybe

I refuse meds. I've learned to enjoy the merry-go-round in my head. Sometimes it's a kaleidoscope, Sometimes it's a starry night. I've succeeded, I've failed, I continue. I gave up living a normal life or finding a permanent relationship (no I haven't... shhhh... if someone understands they might stay and share the dream) and I'll work until I die because I give everything away. I live in the moment, swim through the loneliness, try not to drown, and challenge my brain to find fun and humor in everything cuz it's there. I'm too stubborn to stop believing in love. Never give up, never surrender. There are cartoons playing in my head all the time and life somehow fits in now and then. Writing (babbling) maintains my own version of sanity. Perhaps you'v noticed. Self-therapy. Creativity. Communication? I read my words and feel less alone. I'm inside and outside and keeping myself company. I take a lot of abuse along my way, smile, and continue on my way. Sometimes someone rides along on this journey through this world. Those are amazing, wonderful moments. This is my experience. Loving every minute of it, even as I wish I could share it more. Anybody understand? There's always hope.

Cereal Box Philosophy

Writing, food, and love. I sometimes get bored, I often get tired. Boredom comes less often because I amuse myself well and I am amused easily). Tired comes daily as the body requires sleep to function at optimal levels. I do get bored engaging in the same activity for too long, day after day. I tired of repetition eventually, except in a few areas. That which I tired of or get bored with least are writing, food, and love. Writing is my mind expressing itself and I rarely tire of or get bored with me, so even when the world outside my head offers the same patterns for too long, I close my eyes and watch my world unfold before me. Food is sensory pleasure, so I seem to tire of or find it boring almost never. I don't recall a time, but never is probably not true. Love is my highest euphoria. The dream of it, the sharing of caring, helping, giving... I don't think I've ever gotten bored with love, yes, never. It is possible I have tired of limitation or superficial love that everyone I've ever met offers. What I do tire of is working so hard to find ways to love people. I tired of the fears and walls and defenses and cruelties people use to keep honest love away. So I suppose eating is the activity I resort to most often since it does not require another living thing (it only requires the dead things I eat). No wonder I am dying lol. Gotta love this life, at least until it's over, it's all we've got. And love, even alone, is better than not love. So write, eat, and love. That's my philosophy for a happy life. :)

What Was This For

Was this for fun, a tongue in check representation of the mass market futility of production and packaging in this overtly commercial culture that places profit over people and life itself? Just another attempt to write the perfect paragraph> Is that what I've been attempting over the years? Is that the dream? But dreams are so fragmented sometimes, even remembering them can be more confusing than it's worth. High blood pressure complains down my arm. I had a dream, he said. Repeatedly. Mountaintops and subway cars. Planes, trains, and opportunities missed. A crazy dream, but more stupid than crazy, but whatever. Nobody cared except for one person who cared ambivalently or partially or inconsistently or out of guilt or for selfish or mixed reasons, but not just to care. Feeling so alone in this world that even the dreams regurgitate abandonment and confusion over why it keeps happening again and again and from birth. And so suddenly. Why do I keep trusting people. Why don't I see it coming. I understand how weaker minds without a sense of self or write and wrong and some delusional belief in some reward after death can become serial killers or mass murderers. The human mind is so stupid at this stage of development. I wonder why I continue to care. No less feel good and happy. Narf :)

Bet You Can't Click The Whole Thing

As if out of the blue, yet seemingly long forgotten, though time being relative, long is a matter of perspective, this was supposed to mean something, profound, even. Revealing as all get out. Kinda of like this, but oh so much more. Beyond my control, by design. As if it was meant to be not, I seem to do it regularly and each time (oh, listen {oo wah oo} do you want to know a secret {ooo wah ooo} do you promise not to tell {oh wah oh oh} closer.... ahem), I want there to be no way out and still somehow, I find ways. Ways to forget. Ways to laugh at all the momentary mundane drama we create as if we are so important and what we think and do matters so much and laguishing in a dirty bath of wonder and self-pity, silently screaming who cares to the universe over and over again singing hello darkness my old friend and meandering as if simultaneously nothing really matters and nothing else matters when we all know nothing from nothing leaves nothing... oh! the places we could go (or could have gone, perhaps, but the record of a life is broken because it never really started and it succumbed to time and the elements in storage all these years (before the deluge, even... before time itself, no doubt - see the madness and emo, if you dare) and no one seems to really want to know what makes me tic anymore, if anyone ever did, in case it matters.