At The End Of The Day

Thinking back on everything, I realize I've had a lot of opportunities for short-term self gain at the expense of what I felt was right.

But you know, regardless of what you do, at the end of the day, it's just you and your pillow at night.

Now, a lot of people might be able to sleep off any such deviations of right.

But I can't.

When the world is asleep and all the faces I know have disappeared, it's just me there.

Just me.

And all the things they say, and all the standards their culture forwards, and all the expectations brought on by other souls become all but quiet echoes from a past memory. 

I lie there.  And it's just me.

And I wonder:

Do I like who I am?

3...2...1...

 Go.

I've been thinking for days
About what I'm missing
These pages are blank
Chapters unwritten

I've been asking myself
Where are my friends?
Who are these characters
That all just pretend?

Am I insane?
Has the world gone all wrong?
Where are the high notes
In this gloomy song?

I've been thinking for days
And I'm reminiscing
Jotting down reasons
Quote by quote listing

Reasons to fly
Far from this place
Away from this town
Leaving no trace

I've been searching for months
For a single reason
To stay in a life
Where I'm hardly breathing

But honestly,
It's getting harder
I'm not sure how long
Or if I can go much farther

I can't tell you how much
That I fucking wish
That this pain would end
But to get over it

I'll need to find
A person or place
A thing or a sign
A word or a face
 
Give me a reason
Give me an answer
Give me a chance
To avoid this disaster

......

Time's up.

Insomnia

Done.

Now let's put this phase in the backburner. 

A Failing Fantasy.

Life feels so hopeless sometimes.

Maybe Shakespeare was right when he said that expectation is heartache's main cause. 

It's so damn true.

Damn Shakespeare.  Why don't you come back?

You could teach me a thing or two...

I find myself in instance
Of dawning livid guilt
Thinking ruined acronyms
My conscience leans to tilt

But I cannot go through any lengths
To satisfy these needs
For what would happen if they find
The trail from which they bleed?

I pray to God
I think it through
What I just might wish

If I asked the devil
For all his angels
With only morals at my risk

But then I have and may have gotten
A little more than I need
For I have felt sore and duly rotten
From smoking his black weeds

Shit......

And now I've got the chills.
My world has gotten colder.
 "...What happened to the old Will?"
"I'm afraid that he got older." 

Color Codes Control me.

Again, I find that I'm half-in-love with an image.

She's nice, too.

Maybe a little strange and immature--but she's a nice person. 


Love?  Infatuation?  Crush?

The terminology hardly makes a difference.  My heart jumps higher just to think about her! 


Call me shallow, stupid, or a hopeless romantic--whatever you want to call it.  I really don't care anymore.  I just know what I feel.  And though my logic tells me what I feel is an illusion--propagated by culturally-standardized pixels that forward artificial beauty--...I cannot deny that it brings me joy all the same.  And this joy does conjure passion. 

And I will lovingly write, draw, sing, play, or compose about it.

So why care for the reality of the situation?  

Why care for the person, the place, and the possibility?
Why care for the intrinsic motives and attraction-based chemicals that take place inside a human being when they feel they "fancy" another human being? 

These phases are so fleeting to me. 

But they are the only times in my life where I feel I can create works more meaningful than any theorem, mechanical, or logically driven insight or form of art.

And, as always, I find that I love people less--

than the idea itself. 

My Heart Swells

My mouth is dry, my stomach growls, my lids droop, my face is numb, my body aches, my limbs are sleeping.

But my heart swells.

And my brain is thinking:

God, I fucking love what I do.  

The music video is coming along.

It's not perfect.

But I've learned more valuable things doing than thinking could have ever led me. 

Truly;

I regret every bad thing I've ever said about you.

I regret every snide remark I've ever made about you.

I regret thinking you less for what you could be, simply because of my arrogance.

And it appears that my wrong turn has taken me to such a depthless darkness, that the light now becomes truly apparent.

I'm Sorry...For Absolutely Nothing.

0 Ambition.
100 Intuition.

Everyone seems to fly as the light runs by.

It seems to me that those who prefer to stay end up going faster.
Faster; making the past seem as though it's farther than it really is.
But to me...

I can't say...

And this uncertainty makes me this way.

I'm left wondering what to say.  And how to say it. 

And if this body won't let me do what I see inside.
I'd rather not be apart of it.
I'd rather die. 

Tick. Tock. Ting.

Tick tock, the days around the clock simply aren't what they seem
Pretty faces and Grand ol' places have me wondering what they mean.

There.  There it is.  Today.  A point.  A person.  Words.  I...hear them.

"You know Will, we only need what we have.  Anything we don't have, we don't need."
 
Brilliance.

And now..

I step on a stepping stool.
To reach the high wall
Where my clock hangs
higher than I am tall

I paint the new numbers
And wind the new spring
I set the clock back
And look at the thing

Yet again my life changes
The clock tells me yet
Of new perspectives
I'll never forget

Do I read it by number?
By sign? 
By day?
Do I judge my new clock by the words it might say?

This brilliant old thing
Has always been changing!
I'm illiterate now
that I'm arranging

The numbers by faces
The faces by days
The days through the places
And the places I stay...


Become more worth knowing
As I need them now
Now that I've heard
Wise words and just how

They've affected me so
In so many ways!
Just think of the plans
I'll have for my days

Now that I'm set
With a wonderful mind
Keeping in step
Keeping in time

With the new clock he gave me
Through his little notion
Unknowingly set
my cogs into motion

I don't need the girls
The drugs or the booze
I just have so much!
I don't have the room!

The room where I am
Is the best room to be
The best gear is here
With little old me

My friends are pristine
My parents are gold
My life is a wonder
Just to behold

I need everything
Because everything I need
Is right here sitting
This close to me

Stop.   You put the "here" in "there." 

Making it everywhere.

Disjointed.  Disassembled .

Break the rhymes.

Stop.

...do you hear that?


Tick tock, the days around the clock simply aren't what they seem
Pretty faces and Grand ol' places have me wondering what they mean.

And another one has left the building.

...why are all the shiny cars so...slow? 

Stream of Consciousness

I am blinded by the images.
--For how pretty they are
Those vibrant colored sketches
--Are the prettiest by far

With turns and sides that equalize
A balanced picture said
But little do my eyes tell me
Of the emptiness they've met

For as soon as I get close enough
The rainbow starts to melt
And as my hands are stained by them
I feel the worst I've felt

I can't believe I can't believe
What I'm seeing with my own eyes.
What's wrong with me?  What's wrong with me?
It's as if I'm seeing lies. 

Can I blame the media?
Can I blame the Lord?
Do I blame myself
For all the falsities I hoard? 

I spit "Fuck You's" to society
To how fucked up they've turned
An innocent perceptive sense
Into a blind-mind little worm

And even now I buy it--
I buy the color and the shape
I buy the lines and all the pieces
That make up the things I hate

I'm as shallow as a brook
I'm as empty as a shell
I can't change what way I see
As much as I can change the scents I smell

It's hopeless now, I'm done for
I hate this way I live
This test is getting far too old
What if I decided if...

If I didn't care anymore
And I drank the drops of rain
And though the drops might kill me
This thirst is driving me insane

I wonder...damn I wonder
If I gave in once or twice
Would Satan be a good friend
For the day and through the night?

Little by little I digress
It's as if I'm duly stuck
But I'm not like those fags who sit and chant
"I don't give fuck!"

Their apathy is conformity.
They sit with blanking stares.
They think that we're just organisms
Who fight and fuck like hares.

And now I've come to my real point
--I HATE my generation
I hate their crummy mindsets
And their failed retaliation

I hate their failing counter-culture
I hate their narcissism. 
I hate their ideologies
MY GOD, it's like a prison.

I hate their fucking attitudes
And cuts to drug life-lines
I hate their stupid would-be clothes
That brainwash all their minds

I hate the way they look at me
My peers are fucking tools
I hate the way they think the world
Is filled with only fools


I wish I could find someone
Who just might understand
But there's only one who knows it well
And he's typing with these hands

And though he's probably conceited
And snobby like his peers
He'll outgrow this bullshit even so
Like most young in coming years

And maybe I wont find someone
To hate me for who I am
To see all these little things
I do because I can...

To see that even though I hate
My peers from coast to coast
To tell me that I am hating because
I need help the most.

...
I am blind. 

Accelerate.

When you learn to breathe, it becomes second nature.

When you learn to read it no longer requires effort.

When you learn to analyze everything that pervades your perception, there is no second thought.

When does it stop?

I was practicing a riff on my guitar.  The most difficult riffs I've ever learned--in fact.  While watching Toy Story in French. 

Reasonably, playing a riff on my guitar might engage the part of my brain that is used to process audio transactions--rendering my hearing useless for Toy Story. 

But I palm mute it. 

I can only faintly hear the notes--as I practice the riff slowly. 

Everything begins to feel right as my muscle-memory starts to develop; my motor muscles are kept busy as I watch the movie in French.

Before I know it--I'm playing the riff without having to think about it--I can concentrate on the movie while playing seamlessly through the silent notes. 

It works.  

If I can walk or run while watching a movie--why can't I play a riff? 

If I can twiddle my thumbs or tap my foot against the carpet--why can't my fingers be trained in the same way--a collection of simple tasks to form picking and strumming? 

I want to be efficient with my time. 

I want to be good at everything.

Whatever.

I'm better than I was yesterday.

My Realization.

Lying here sleepless.
With eyelids half closed.
The morning threatens light.
Ah yes, it's one of those.

With thoughts dancing with each other.
A tango here and there.
Then a morbid thought strikes me.
Like a deathly paling stare.

She hides behind the tangles
Of blackened deadly silk
These eyes that pop out toward me
It's the worst I've ever felt.

Then I wonder where the ghosts go.
Do they ever leave?
Do they ever wander?
Do they watch me?

My mind begins to ponder.
The after-life and this.
What happens then and now?
After and before the deathly kiss?

I start to miss my loved ones.
For the dead I've always known,
Will never say good bye
And they'll never come back home

But then the tango recommences
As thoughts adjoined and new
A realization hits me
Ah! And I will share with you:

Fear not for the life before
Nor after--nor the next!
For this current state of presence
Will always be our best


And though it may seem rather daunting
--The ever pressed unknown--
There will always be a wanting
For the things we'll never know


Now here it comes--the best part!
And now my dread has ridden
Death is only a concept.  
A concept of the living. 

Je'naime pas être ici.

If I could combine the right words of the English Language,

And tell everyone what I felt everyone should know,

I just might put this intention to use.

But damn.  At this rate, I'll be dead by the end of this century. 

3...2...

Operation Get-The-Fuck-Off-The-West-Cost Commence.

Weeds.

Wandering blankly along a field of nothingness.
And the slow degrees tick by.

Talking heads sprout from loose ends
And their beginnings were weary and dry
 I tried to talk to these talking heads.
But soon lost hope along the wry.
Thinking thoughts that slowly sank in
Always ending with "Oh, Why?"

For they bore no ears nor hearts to listen
For reasons I knew not
And I wonder if I were once like them
But that was long ago and I forgot

So I backed away and left them
Without bidding them good bye
They did not take a care nor notice
minus one Asian guy

Wandering blankly along a field of nothingness.
And the slow degrees tick by.


"Have you ever felt that fleeting moment where you think you're the only sane person in the room?"  
"No."
"Then I suppose the feeling suits me well." 

4 Lines to pass the time.

"To those who found it in their worst to dream
a world beyond what's not worth dreaming."

And as they try to make sense of what I mean
I'll run off with the meaning.