Edited For Television

Well, it's a beautiful spring like mid-February day. The sun is warm, and the breeze is comforting. I could get lost in it and never want to be found. Sometimes, the dream is never to wake again. I have referenced the glitching out of the game, but I wish I could describe it more closely to what it truly is. I have also referenced Limbo, and maybe that is more apt. No, not the cool Jamaican party activity, but that plane of existence that is neither Heaven nor Hell. Limbo, Purgatory, the realm between realms, a domain of lost souls. Sometimes, it is blank, directionless whiteness. Sometimes, it is pure darkness, a nowhere of nothingness, a place where nothing that once mattered matters anymore. And yes, it's like having glitched out of the boundaries of the game. That's where I feel I am in life, while I go through the motions, pretending that anything still matters anymore. Life has lost whatever fun it might have once held for me. When one looks forward to sleep every bit as much as they used to look forward to hanging out with friends, I'd say we've glitched into limbo. I really need to find a new hobby. The things that once seemed to hold fascination have lost their appeal. I certainly need something better to occupy my mind, a worthwhile distraction from all these heavy thoughts, maybe just enough background noise to drown out the echos of the void, something to chase away these feelings of futility and hopelessness. I at least need the illusion of direction and meaning. If I can't have the real deal, then an illusion is better than nothing at all. Dreams do serve a purpose. It is wonderful to pretend now and then. I often lament disconnect, boredom, and isolation. However, with certain events of late, I have to wonder that maybe I was foolish to complain. I will accept the above most gladly if we leave off the stress, the drama, the uncertainty, and the worry. Limbo is lonely, but it sure beats hell by a mile. Peace, peace, peace. All I want is peace. To live in peace, to die in peace. I wish I could have lived in peace from the cradle to the grave. But, I'd happily settle for whatever years I have left. I don't like admitting that I am no spring chicken, but I'm certainly not. Not spring, not summer, and far from early fall. To get you in the ballpark of just how damn old I am, Nixon was president when I was born. [Harooooo! Four more beers! Four More Beers! Play that funky music, Agnew! Do the Watergate breakdown! I'm meeting you halfway, hippies!] In short, I'm too old to be young and beautiful, but too young to retire. In fact, I honestly doubt I will live long enough to do so. Some things are just not in the cards for me. 

There is so much more I wish I could say. I have this almost overwhelming need to say it, almost as if I'd go all neutron star if I don't. I know little about the extreme pressures an old star might find within itself, the balance between pressure and gravity. I know a lot more about the pressure to express my true heart, soul, and self, verses the gravity of the situation. Life, these days, is just not so simple. Maybe the most important thing is that I finally know on an actual conscious level. In other, more fundamental ways, I have always known. Friends, I am just tired of that pressure, so weary of that gravity. This is why I both dread, yet long for, solitude in two different ways. I long for a refuge where I can be myself. My own home should be that place. Who pays the bills there? I do. I shouldn't have to keep the figurative shields raised 24-7. Home should be a shield of its own. I think I should have earned at least that much for myself. I am not asking for the whole damn world. I wouldn't even want it if it were placed in my hands. All I want is my small corner, my little realm. That is all I really need. Lately, it has been merely the place where I pass out from exhaustion at night and fight my way awake in the morning. It really has been like time travel, like the celestial tonearm skipping across the record of time. Being awake is not a problem. Being asleep is not a problem. The trouble with me lies with the transition between the two. Though, lately, I've been passing out as if Mike Tyson punched me. Ding, Ding, Ding, Knockout! So maybe I don't know after all. All I really know is that I am one tired puppy. 

Recent events have really rocked this old boat. They have seemed like a hurricane on steroids, and I literally live in a part of the world where they can certainty be like that. Michael was a bastard, I'll tell you what. The figurative stress storm hasn't been any better. Still, I've managed nine days without vaping so far. I honestly hope I can hold that particular boat together. I can't let the Vuse Crack Man win. Keeping more of my money and being better able to breathe is worth it. I'm better today, but yesterday, I was literally so sick to my stomach from the stress and withdrawal that I actually thought I was going to hurl. I almost pulled over on my way to work to do so. Luckily, breathing exercises, along with two rolls of Tums, kept the monster at bay. Or should I say alien? Because it kinda felt that way. BTW, I can't watch those movies. Freddy, fine. Jason, okay. Chucky? Sure. Michael Myers? I guess. Pinhead? Questionable. Aliens jumping out of people's tummies? Hell No! There is just something about that that freaks me out. I can't explain. It just is. Problem with aliens? Try Tums! Do you hate winter? Try Hibernol! I honestly wish we humans hibernated like bears. Don't come knocking at the bear cave door unless you want to go to the maul for sure, wocka wocka wocka! A perfect one-liner for Fozzie Bear. I hope you find these puns bearable, harr harr hardy harr harr....

Speaking of my unique sense of humor, I have quite the stockpile of jokes that I doubt anyone but my baby sister would have laughed at. I miss her for all the reasons a brother would miss his little sister, plus the fact there is nobody here to laugh at my weird jokes anymore. I can almost hear her laugh. It was a beautiful, wonderful sound. I have yet to pass through a day without a thought of her. She was very well the only human being on this planet anywhere near my wavelength. Now it's either my voice or lonely static. It is a frequency of memories now. It lives in dreams and in the past. It is the background sound of the universe. It is louder than the silence, and the silence is deafening. As the song lyrics go, all by your side, but you're all alone. Like a rolling stone. Like Brian Jones. I can understand the futility, the loss, and the love. I can feel the weight of that song. It is a weight only a heart can bear. She's here by my side. But I'm all alone, a Ray without Jim, Cher without a Sonny, Mick without Brian. Some songs you hear with your ears. Others, you feel with your soul. All by my side, but I'm all alone, and they've all gone home.. On a tightrope ride..  On a tightrope ride.  Those who know this song are probably hearing Robby's guitar solo and Ray's keyboard in their heads along with me. It is spiritual, far more than any BS religion. I see that riff in my mind, roaming across the cloud tops, echoing through the sky, on a tightrope ride, on a tightrope ride. I wonder what she would think of the strange ways that I still grieve for her. They're all by my side, but I'm all alone. And she's long gone home like Brian Jones.