Butter up those onions.
You think flavor sticks
to your ribs without it?
I’ve cooked for ten thousand men
at once, four days a week.
You can’t tell me I don’t know
how to handle my kitchen.
I was flipping pancakes
before your daddy even gave up
his action figures, sport.
Filled with the spirit of anticipated emotion and wrought
from the steel of our enchanted brethren, we collapse
before the final charade ever takes the stage.
So why do we care? Do we have a stake in the matter?
Are we rushing around for good reason, or are we
concluding too early that life is a challenge
to be conquered, beaten into submission?
Can’t we savor it just for a minute?
A minute is all I ask.
Identifying the self with others (the public) as you truly exist with yourself and closest associations seems to be a farce; a production put on by your own self-interest in order to gain admiration from perfect strangers.
So why do I crave this attention (and make this blog post as an ironic twist)? Possibly because I was an only child / loner / weird kid in my more formative years, with the constant thought running through my head: “If only that big break could just happen for me, I’d look back on my tragic existence and laugh”. Of course, in order for anything remotely that fantastic / terrible to happen, a person must actually engage in their sphere and make waves. This is not my strong suit.
I worked on scrapping my ego a couple years back, only to find that most people label that as ‘depression’, and don’t understand why anyone would possibly do that. I learned a good many things from my existential struggles, and I can’t denote anything in particular at this moment (or ever, perhaps) that will adequately explain my journey within myself.
One thing I can say for certain is that my memories have lost the significance they once had. I don’t feel as tied to my past as I’ve observed with the behavior of most friends / family / random associations.
Stories, for me, are a way to describe a moment in the unbroken sequence of our lives, where we gained an understanding of something crucial to our existence at that moment. Sometimes stories are worth reliving because they can remind others of the best way to go about certain things. Sometimes they’re worth reliving because the teller wants to immediately connect with the audience and reach a common ground, testing the foundation for a grand edifice.
The ego is a delicate thing. Apparently everybody needs one, or they will starve by the side of the road. Everyone needs that “hey, look at me, I’m important” feeling within them somewhere, just so they can feel inadequate with the way they currently stand in their life.
Is this an innate thing, or have we been programmed over the generations to feel this way? I wouldn’t know where to begin researching that, because then I fall into the realm of conspiracy theory. So it goes.
This is my journal, I guess. I don’t ‘do’ journals typically.
But then again, I don’t have many pictures of myself in the past, virtually no video. I could be a clone of the old Aidan or a guy who looks a lot like him with similar mannerisms. Memories are a bitch that way, and I love to live in that ambiguity.
Ah, ranting. Is there any mood it can’t cure?
-Aidan
Ω: Float and gloat, that’s my motto.
ç: Easy for you to say, flying toaster.
Ω: Suck my chrome.
You waltz along,
123 123 123,
sticking your tongue out at me.
Do you want me to join you?
Are you being a tease?
My issue with this is no small thing.
You can waltz along, sure,
that’s no skin off my teeth.
Just give me the essence
of the message you’re sending
so I don’t spend the rest
of my spring and summer days
waiting for something
that may or may not be true.
Fall out of that lovely turnip hole soil
and cough up that dirt, we’re not poor.
No, we’re not leaving this place just yet.
I have to feel something warmer than that.
Warmer than what? A ground pepper flake
on the tip of your tongue or a flypaper
waxing session, somewhere in between.
You can’t do it yourself, it’s not a surprise.
No, we have to wait. Didn’t you bring a book?
You really should read more. Yeah, really.
I don’t mean to come off as arrogant! Come on,
how long have we known each other? I give you tips
that I hope will help you to be the best you.
What’s so bad about that?
Aside from looking like a nerd…
A sexy nerd?
That’s better, let’s go with that.
What good is a piece of writing if it doesn’t take you away from your life? Even if you’re reading for research, shouldn’t the text grab you and pull you into the writer’s mindframe?
Personality is often a device used by socialites of digital media, the fabricated aesthetic discovered over the evolution of their thoughts and hopes (when applied to the friendship arena (the battleground where each speaks over the another and fights for maximum exposure) and tested for kitsch factor) that somehow dictates their behavior and forces patterns of mediocrity.
Is that personality or programmed popularity? It’s obviously not organic.
Organic is an artichoke struggling to gather enough nutrients from the sandy soil without so much as a drop of rain for five straight days.
WHARVED 