(Marsha was a major Joni Mitchell fan)
Well, hello again, Universe. How is time and space, and do we have enough time and space? Actually, from my point of view, there is never enough. I'd be happy with my own little corner, maybe a pocket dimension, so long as the noise and the stress could never enter that domain. I'd love a place where the pause button was perpetually on, where you could close your eyes for as long as you want, and nothing would ever change or be out of place. Just flowers, trees, sun, and shade. Maybe an old moss covered rock wall and a nice comfortable bench for sleeping. That certainly sounds like a utopia to me. Imagine just closing your eyes to the sound of the birds, the feel of a gentle breeze, the patterns of sun and shade dancing across your eyelids... Imagine a paradise where time could never harm you, could never steal your loved ones away, could never gradually make you old and weak... Imagine a place where happiness, love, and belonging are forever. Aside from destroying a planet to get to the nexus, Doctor Soran was absolutely right. Time takes its time, but it is inevitable and unstoppable. The older I get, the more I see. Time takes away a lot more than some people think. I see more, and I know less than I ever did. My grandmother (my momma's momma) said it best. It is amazing what you learn after you know everything.
Truth seems so subjective these days. I have seen a lot of click-baity headlines and titles of late, some that if true would have meant the world ended five minutes ago and would have had at least merited a passing mention on the network news. Man, the tabloids of old have nothing on this insanity. So before I put on my tinfoil hat and bow low before the almighty lizard people, let me just say that I never get my news and entertainment from the same place. I watched some sketchy videos on YouTube last night about supposed evidence of parallel universes. Now, I, for one, believe they do exist. In fact, it is my belief that they have to exist and that this is a multiverse and not a universe. However, I didn't believe the particular stories cited as 'proof' in that video. There is this story about a young lady who got in an automobile accident while texting and did not survive it. People even remembered attending the funeral. Yet later, she was just back as if the wreck had never happened. I guess they supposedly jumped some quantum divide to a universe where she didn't make that terrible mistake? Her close family had no memories of the accident or the funeral. She was just suddenly back and okay and living her life. Now, beyond my not believing this story would be true is (if I did believe it) my anger and jealousy on my sister's behalf. If the universe could bring this stranger back, it could damn well bring her back, too. But, since I don't believe it, I guess it's a mute point. Still, it did add another spoke to my wheel of thoughts. They, along with my writings, seem disjointed today, jumping from topic to topic in this disconnected way. I guess that Deejay and his turntables are back again, scratching away on my heart and mind as though they were records. One (rip rip rip) One Two Three. They like their Fruity Pebbles in a major way. Friends, It's gonna be a long, long day. It's like being in a zombie movie, fearfully looking around for the zombies, only to realize you're one of them. Pardon me, but do you have any grey matter poupon?
Meanwhile, and totally off-topic, this damn pollen is driving me totally, Nutso The Freakin Clown! Does anybody have a flamethrower and some agent orange? Ah, Agent Orange and nuclear tests: Two reasons why we should absolutely trust the government. (Yes, I'm being sarcastic) I believe a trustworthy large corporation was also involved in the former. (still being sarcastic). I disagree with Roger Waters on a lot of things, but I am wholeheartedly with his silent reply of "No fucking way" to his own lyric "Mother should I trust the government?" But it seems I am straying into things out of the scope of these letters to my missing universe. There are plenty of others sounding off on things like that, But I am the only one of myself that I know of. The thoughts remain just as heavy, and I'd rather write them down than carry them around. In reality, I do both, but I'm clinging to the illusion that on to the page really does mean out of my head. In many ways, Doctor Blog-ieo is the only friend I have.
Sleep has been one elusive bastard these last few days. Man, I was so tired when I got home yesterday, I thought I'd soon be out like a light with an off switch. But, no such luck. Sleep is the fugitive I've been chasing with no success, yet another thing I need so badly that has just been eluding me. Just more longing, needing, pining away. Deprivation seems to be a long-running theme of my life. I am not into religion, not at all. In fact, I have become far less apt to buy into that insanity as I have gotten older. Still, there is this one bible verse that runs through my brain now and again about there being a time and a place for everything. I prefer the Byrds version, myself. But, do you know? I've been around for a long time, and I have never seen that wheel come around, not even once. Oh well, I guess one either accepts all or rejects all, and there's nothing in between the former and the latter. And that is a discussion I'd rather avoid for now. I'd rather quote Robert Frost about the woods being lovely, dark, and deep. But I have a sister's memory to guard and an ex that I don't want drawing off my social security for booze and drug money for her shack up partner. Therefore, sticking to Mr Frost's writings, I can not sleep. Not until I have endured and ensured all the above. I just wish I could think of happier reasons to live. I feel like a fish out of water. I feel disconnected, out of my mind, and out of my time. And it is quite a lonely wavelength to be on. The price we pay for being true to ourselves, I guess. The world changes around you. That must be why nobody at work gets my Locutus Of Borg references when talking about those walking around well assimilated in their Bluetooth headsets. Sad, really. Because they also don't get when I say in my best borgified Picard voice, "I am le cutest of Borg" Oh well... That's when I drop it. Because "You will all become one with the Borg" or "Your resistance is hopeless, Number One" might be misinterpreted. They might reply with "Mr Worf, You're Fired ". See, my little sister would have laughed out loud at this, but nobody else really understood my humor like she did. We were always on a similar frequency, maybe not exact, but close enough to understand. I have probably mentioned this before, but it's one of those recurring themes in the remix of my thoughts. It's the only wheel that actually and faithfully comes around again. Have you ever fallen asleep on something and woke up with an imprint of it on your skin? I am beginning to believe that long-held emotions are just like that, too. The deap seated impressions they leave are in your very soul. They become the new self. They can't fade or be removed. Therefore, the old self can never be again. This was exactly why I deleted all my words and started over. It's like someone else wrote them, so changed I had become the very instant I knew she had been lost. So deep the mark in my heart, the impression from feeling this way every single day. I'm still here, but I'm not the same. Even when I think I'm okay, it's beneath the surface. All it takes is a song. All it takes is a memory, and suddenly, I am overwhelmed again. She is in my head, in my heart. I couldn't escape her even if I wanted to.
The fact that she was the only person even close to my wavelength is probably one of my more selfish reasons for missing my sister. There are a million more important reasons. The simple reason that she deserved far better being chief among them. Marsha was a wonderful person who deserved a full and happy life. This world lost someone wonderful and is a much darker place without her. Still, the fact that she was the only one who truly understood me makes it hit even harder for me. Being on a different wavelength is like being on one of those out of band CB channels back in the day... Far less noise... It's a good thing until things get too quiet. (Except for that time, I remember hearing some dude up north and some dude in Panama City threatening each other) (Proof the internet did not give rise to this) But this wavelength difference I'm talking about in particular is not in the 11-meter band. In addition to having started out on a frequency not on the main channels of humanity, I have been drifting farther and farther away, faster and faster in recent years. I'm not a quartz crystal. I'm an old LC circuit with an ancient electrolytic capacitor being the C. Frequency drift, man, frequency drift... I am just a bit more out of band than I used to be, and I honestly like it here, Quieter, more peaceful, maybe a bit lonely. There is nothing that anyone can do about it either. Not anyone's fault, not yours, not mine. You live and you learn and you change. You discover and understand and gain what can't be unlearned. It changes you, and that's not necessarily a bad thing. And maybe in that quiet static, there will be the sound of hope. That is the change within, where the hurt is simply growing pains. Far more painful is the change without, without her. Loss is a whole different ballgame, where the injuries last longer and are no ticket home, when you are on that field for the duration of your life. Despite this, It is only natural to fear the end, right? But do you know? Irony is the realization that simply finding out you're no longer afraid can be the scariest thing of all. It's just something for us all to put in our collective pipes and smoke. (Figuratively speaking, of course). Let me break it down, space cadets. You are no longer afraid.... When... When you feel you are just wasting your time and that time is what you're stuck with. When you feel like you're just running out the clock and the ballgame has long been over. When you feel their is no point in going through the motions anymore. Then there is no reason to be afraid anymore either.
How will it end? The ending, whenever, however it may be, I doubt it's gonna be any fun. I am mostly sure it's not something worth looking forward to. Still, I am not afraid. The game's long over, and it sucks that I am not allowed to leave the field. I am tired of the loneliness. At the same time, I want people to leave me the hell alone. Go figure, Go Fish. I understand this about as much as you might. I'm a mystery even to myself. Think I'm being silly? Think I'm a drama queen? Try standing in these shoes for a while. Surely, after that, we can all hold court and play croquet. How do you like your tea, my dear? Here I am outside of the regular broadcast band, nothing but the quiet static of far away lightening strikes, storms over the gulf. Maybe I could even hear the ocean, if only in a dream. And maybe I can still hear her. Maybe I am finally going down in madness. There are just too many places where the words "If Only" could apply. I am sick of the 'if only's. They only speak of what is lost forever. I need not be reminded. I know all too well. Give me something still here and free of those words. In a time of so much being long over, I need something new. Though, Again, I have no idea of where or what that could be. Well, this subject is not headed in a good direction, so might I suggest a clean cup move down? Would you believe I am truly trying my heart out to keep a positive attitude? I am. It just doesn't always show. These are some serious figurative demons I keep at bay every day. I fight them tooth and nail. And even though my footprint is clearly embedded in those hellish asses, I am not unscathed myself. I fight them with everything I've got. I wouldn't still be here if I didn't. I just miss my guardian sister fighting by my side. We had each other's backs, but in the end, I failed her. And that, my friends, is the meanest demon in the pack. I fight him with my love for her. I fight him with the determination to keep her memory alive. But he knows just how to hit me where it hurts the most. He accusingly points a flaming finger at me, questioning my right to keep fighting. They say even an old style clock is right twice a day, even if broken. Not everything can be dismissed as a lie.
Being honest with oneself can be painful when you know that maybe you could have done better and could have done more. Sometimes, the excuse of being an imperfect human being is just not enough, especially when dealing with the judge, jury, and bailiff that is yourself. We forgive others but not ourselves. We are demanding, strict, unforgiving, and never cutting the same slack we allow for others. From the dock, I see the dour, stern, angry face of the judge, and the judge is none other than yours truly. It is my own face I see glaring down at me. I find you guilty of failing to look out for our sister, and I sentence you to a lifetime of guilt. Now get him out of my sight! Then the bailiff escorts the mirror out of the courtroom. There is no worse critic than yourself. She would understand, wouldn't blame me, would be upset if she knew I kept kicking my own ass over losing her. She cared for me. My feelings and my happiness mattered to her. They meant something to her. She would want me to be happy. She cared for me, truly loved me as a brother, looked after me, and would not want to see me like this. So maybe I might do for her what I could never do for myself, forgive myself. Maybe understand that I was this imperfect human being, still learning, still working on becoming something better. There was no doubt that I loved her, still love her, will always and forever care very deeply for her. Maybe, just maybe I can do this for her. I could most certainly not do this for myself. And now, if you please, Mr Mad Hatter Sir, how about another clean cup move down? Man, how did it all get so heavy? I really do try to be light-hearted when I can. It's hard to be light when the thoughts are heavy. What lives within reflects without. Otherwise, I'd be lying. Nobody wants a dark cloud around them. Dark clouds only bring you down. But what do you do when you are that cloud? The rain within reflects without. Heavy thoughts make heavy words. And no bit of sunshine wants to stand in the rain. It's lonely, but could I blame them? No, not when I understand so clearly. I would guess a dark cloud has to rain if it ever hopes to be light and fluffy and sunny once again. It has been raining in this old heart for a long time now. Will the sun ever shine again? I guess I can only say, stay tuned.
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