serendipitydoodah

This is a cleaned up, more put together version of a stream of consciousness rant that I wrote earlier this week on MySpace, but then chickened out of posting for public viewing. This is just a better venue for these particular thoughts? Maybe it is the black background. MoSpace is an orange place. My brother called worried about me after reading my original posting- so I will attempt to lighten the moroseness and smarten the moronism of the earlier draft.

Can't sleep. Thinking about Cap'n Kangaroo.

More precisely- the Rabbit who played the piano- he was the best!!! and SIMON!

"Well, y'know my name is Simon, and the things I draw come true. And the pictures take me, take me over. Climb the ladder with you."

I wish I could draw the world as I imagine and then jump into it just like Simon.

I find myself in a place of inexpressible restlessness. When I have recently tried to articulate these inner wrestlings, I get all the advice and answers that I knew I would. All the same things that I have told myself to try to invalidate my thoughts and emotions. I have tried to negate myself. My closest mates don't understand that I am telling them the truth about myself- that I have never been honest with anyone, and now I am trying to be honest. They think I am deluded, that I need counseling... Christian counseling. Problem is I am feeling more in line with Neitzsche at the moment- I guess everyone thought he was crazy too? Ah well, me (Sorry grammar guys and gals, slipping into the vernacular works better)... me and the horse-kissing madman, we'll hang out one day sipping our morning tea or cocoa (no coffee- it "spreads darkness") and talk about how everyone should have just realized that they were all holding themselves back. I wanna be a SuperMan. But...

"Simon, stay within the lines, Love. Don't draw your own reality- that is bad. Look at the mess you've made of things. Here is a colouring book. Mum will wash the fence, now you go play nicely."

Poor Simon and I
Are Going down
Down to the bottom
Of the floor
Just searching for
That enchanted
Chalk line door.

Perhaps I am just bummed 'cause all I really want to do is hop into our tangerine dream and drive- nowhere. Follow the Double Yellow Lines. Wherever those ribbons of moonlit sunshine take me. Are they like a spelunker's ropes that someone rolled out in order to find his way back out of the darkness? Will they lead me in or out? If in, will I find someone at the other end? Someone who understands and says, "You are not crazy, but you are also not normal and going through what everyone else goes through. You are uniquely you finding your own way, though I say, why are you using my guides?! The unusuality of this whole night is like a dream! Where shall we to next?" If it leads me out, will I stumble into the light, and be dazzled? If so, I may go back into the darkness, once again hiding my discontent (without even having to use my super power of invisibility- now you too know my secret). Of course, here I am on a small dark spot of the internet exposing myself. I guess my brother is right, "Blogging is the new exhibitionism." Should I jiggle a bit? ha ha ha. Physically, there's really not much to jiggle, but this brain sure is rattling.

Okay, back up, look up, there are clouds hiding the moon, but she is out there. A cold white eye staring, a giant spotlight glaring, a delicate chalk circle flaking on a blackboard from a time when it was still okay to dream.

I think when I finally implode, when I supernova and finally set off an explosion of self, when I finally do something beautiful, I will have them scatter my ashes in space. I wish they could scatter me on her face, and I could be cold and beautiful too. Unable to feel pain or anything else. No need to be ashamed. No need for anyone to pity me because I am higher than most anyone else has ever been. Just dirt that shines.

I need to find an expression, some form of utterance for this thing I have been living with- this symbiote. I would love to shout so loud that the roof flies away and all I am left with is black sky and at least this one silent wall- holding the chalk drawings of a dreamer.