(First off, the dates that are listed on most of these pieces hover around ’96-’97. I was a frustrated, angry, disillusioned dickhead sometimes, but I guess even a dickhead can write so-so shit (I really do love alliteration) from time to time. I am NOT saying that this stuff is all good; it’s not. I am, however, giving props to the mindset behind these pieces. It is nice to look back at these times and not feel anger or shame or regret for all the “woulda, coulda, shoulda” moments. I guess age does have many positives after all. At one time, I didn’t really see myself wanting to live this long. Now that I look back on that “me,” I realize that I am so thankful I am not him now.)
Quick digression because it just popped up in my head as I was writing the last sentence. Although the event I am about to discuss happened a little later than the ’96-’97 dates of the writings, it still brought up an emotional, bittersweet memory that will seem very trivial to readers. I used to have a hermit crab named Scooter. When I first encountered Scooter, my ex-wife was working part-time in a shop that sold random odds and ends. When I would visit her on the job, I was always intrigued by the random items on display. I found Scooter in one of the store displays. I felt sorry for him because he was missing one of his big claws (fortunately, it grew back slowly over time) and he was literally dragging (or scooting) himself across the floor of the display. He was my first “grown up ownin’ self” pet.)
9/14/96 (Revised 6/9/97)
All the words they speak
All the fools they take
All the fields they grown
All the lives let go
The Cause
?
Revised 9/14/96 (8:50 p.m. — Revision #1) (I drew a happy face under the date. Don’t ask.)
There are forks in my path
Rips in the pages of a fantasy
Unexplainable, Unconceivable,
Yet these crossroads exist.
Up and down, Up and down
Another day goes by
Time is a fragment of one’s subconscious
At a period within the past,
present,
and Beyond!!
(Date unknown)
The clock ticks.
Ticks.
Days move like steep mountainside streams.
There is no time for rest.
Yet, when rest is present,
it is not complete.
Anxiously looking towards the future
frequently ruins rest in the present.
Time is such a superficial object.
They rush to meet deadlines.
They’re already dead.
Does it have to be like this?
Only time will tell.
Mind Stroll 