The Way We Live

Pieces of trash fall from the sky, fluttering like fluffy snowflakes caught in the current of a passing car. The refuse stacks up slowly, in the corners at first but after a few short minutes the entire in between is filled. Cigarette butts, old newspapers, soda cans, and condom wrappers are all accountable for the piles, none of it much use as of right now. Every one has it's story, stories of passing strangers and better going-ons. None of them quite expected to pile up next to some young couples passionate love. None of them expecting to be so tossed aside.

The music is what made it.

Please just lay next to me and be there for more then 22 minutes.
Please just let me be close to you and let me care about you.
Please just know what I mean.
Please just stare at the stars in a perfect silence with me.
Please just know who you are and know who I am.
Please just give me five minutes worth of a chance.
Please just understand why I need this.
Please just let me cry while I listen to this magnificence.

I felt like writing for a 4 year old

There once was a boy, he lived in a place that was full of very big people. He was constantly lonely for none of the big people ever took notice of him. They all went along with their daily lives and more often then not walked right over boy without taking any notice to him. The boy didn't like it in the least and on several occasions he would end up crying himself to sleep.

One noteworthy day, when the clouds split the sky in half, the boy met a small girl, she was a lot like him, in the fact that the very big people gave little notice to her either. The boy was so happy to meet this small girl, he finally had someone he could relate to. Every day the boy and the small girl would talk, and entertain each other with tales of their lives. They were happy.

A long time passed like this and the boy thought of the small girl as the most amazing person he had ever met. The only problem was that over the time the boy had known the small girl she had grown bigger. In fact now she was not a small girl at all, but much rather a few inches taller then the boy. This made the boy very sad and he talked to the girl about it. All the girl had to say was that it was time for her to grow, and that she needed to be a bigger person to accomplish certain things. This made the boy cry, because he wanted to stay the same size forever.

I try to live.

There is nothing, not a word, not a sight, not even a smell. Why not? It doesn't matter because we're all just little specks of dust waiting to be inhaled into a giant kangaroos nostrils where we will then embark on the most entertaining few minutes of our life.

Think of the kangaroos sneeze like the big bang, only bigger.

Fuck... why do you even read all this bullshit? Seriously? half the time it's something massively incomprehensible, and the other half of the time it's me complaining about my friggin lack of love in a twisted and covert manner purely to disguise it from the reader who it is about. Either way do you gain anything from reading this?

Okay you can say you get to know the true Logan better, the one that doesn't give a shit about half of everything, but do you really? Is any of this randomness even a half open window into my persona? Can my random ranting and typing actually be me? I don't even know what I write about, I just type and let the words come to me, inserting fancy verbs here and there to make me sound half intelligent.

I'm not the same person I was 3 years ago, I don't say "'ey". I say "Howdy" I don't grunt, I mumble. I don't give a damn anymore, I try to live.

A Knock to the Head

Whenever I get hit in the head I really hope that I'll get some sense knocked into me. And thinking of the last two time I did hit my head I'm not sure if it's the correct thing to be looking for.

The first of the two was at the rugby game. It was maybe three minutes into the game, at most five, but I should have been fresh either way, although a nasty blow to my upper thigh massively slowed me down. Anyways, back to the point, lets say four minutes into the game. The El Paso team has the ball. Their outside center is carrying, running down the sidelines with his wing in a miserable spot for anything else to happen. Perfect set up for the tackle, and sure enough. BAMF! There I am getting up off the ground, all I can do is clench my teeth and try to recover my balance to the left. I can tel I was hit on the left side of my face purely because I can't control where that eye was looking, at one point I see the ground and the next I see the sideline while I'm trying to follow the ball. I was hit hard and I could feel it, but like I said, I was looking for the sense it might have driven into my thick skull.

Sure there may have been something that got in there, but honestly it just made me think, and then the fact that I couldn't just made me frustrated. I couldn't think straight at all, but how much of it was from the hit? How much of it was the events from the night/morning before? I don't know, but I knew that I was playing as hard as I was because I told people I would, more specifically one person. I also know that that hit to the head made me alot more serious about that one person then I should have been at that point, but whatever kept me going, right?

The second hit was later that night, I had more then one drink under my belt at that point and in all my grace as I sat down next to Madam V I squarely nailed my head to the wall. Did I learn a lesson? More then likely not, but at the same time I might have. If thinking didn't hurt as much as it did I'd give you a straight answer.

I won't hide it, this is about you.

The thump of the fan was constant, like the beat of some techno remix on crack. It drilled into his head as he lay there staring at the shapes on his ceiling, much as if he were staring at a formation of cloud. with each revolution came a new thought, far to many to sort all at once, but a portion of it all could be held, a familiar face here, a rainbow there, perhaps a wonderful feeling just on the brink of his touch. Each thought in itself was perfect calm, but in the rapid succession it was grating to say the least. As one comfort came it was quickly ripped away from him just to be replaced by something else. The replacement was not always worse and more often then not it was better, the thing that he could not stand was the change. Slowly the fan started to slow down. Whether or not it actually was, or his mind was just slowing it down for him did not matter, each and every thought suddenly became a memory of a dream.

The sun was barely coming in the window, but he could still see her face as perfectly as ever. It was beautiful, the softness of it, the little freckles that lightly dotted the ridges of her cheeks. It was the definition of calm to look at in her sleeping state. He knew he should sleep too, and just let the utter comfort he felt being next to her take over. Then suddenly she opened her eyes looking straight at him as if even in her dreams she had been looking into his eyes. No words were passed, none needed to be, both were content and happy, and it showed by the smiles on each of their faces...

There he lay, not staring at the ceiling this time but much rather the stars. It was nice to look at the stars, on several occasions before this moment the lack of stars had quite literally depressed him. There was always something about looking to the heavens that calmed him, whether it be the eternal mystery or the hope of new horizons he wouldn't be able to tell you, that is of course was if he even cared much about that. One of the most intriguing aspects to the stars he thought was that someone, somewhere else is looking at exactly the same piece of sky. It is a beauty you can share with absolutely zero prejudice. It is perfection...

It was dark outside but it didn't matter, the steady hum of the engine would continue no matter then time. It was comforting in some way. Like an old friend holding your hand, or someone you care about talking to you on the phone. It just felt right. It was his old beater of a truck, but it was more then a truck, it was a friend. And why not? The cowboys of an earlier time had made best friends out of their steads why could that relationship not be modernized? Feeling the wheel in his fingers, and the green glow of the stereo on his face just made him feel at home. It didn't matter where he was, because he was in fact home...

I don't know why I continue.

The thing is that it isn't failure, it just the way life is. Let go of some of the bullshit that you count on and think about exactly what you're doing. Fuck all those little mushrooms, and even more so the small feline monkeys who try to steal them from you. Let this thing out of the cage and ride it like a turkey with its head recently severed from the rest of it's body. Eat the purple sauce, it's probably not what you think it is, but hey it is vegetarian so we need not to worry about the risks we take with not cooking it. But we never loved anything like that before anyway, it was all desperation. We make constant attempts to love, but as humans it the closest thing in our lives that will ever approach perfection, do you really think we can make that the first time around? Butterflies are all that tasty goodness we were always told about, but it's not like we can actually let our teeth feel the tear of their beautiful wings. It would cause insanity and even worse it would tell us who we were. But for now it doesn't matter, our cups fill themselves with hate, greed, and power. We are humans and we will be the end of ourselves. We hope for the best and we are sad when we get the worse. Just sing a few more songs, someone might appreciate them, but really it's nothing more then an annoying ring tone, set for someone who you really don't want to talk to. Let the cowboy take a look at what you really have to say. sometimes I wonder about the stars, this is something that proves we are mortal.

Flies in the Pie

Time is such a thing, it comes, it goes, and above all else it flies. Flies like a little spaceship orbiting a far off star not anywhere even close to out solar system. As it orbits it's speed is completely relative, it could be going many thousands of miles per second, or it could be crawling around at four feet per hour, but for whoever is on the spaceship it will feel like a constant pace no matter what. Like that spaceship we ride time, some times we look back and see that we've come thousands of miles in just an hour, and other days we see that we are right where we started.

I honestly don't know what to think about time, I just know it works against me, every second I sit here staring at the screen is another chance to do so many other things, every day I sit doing nothing is another 1000 miles I could have gone. It seems like I need to justify every second that passes just so I don't feel like I'm wasting my life. But much more often then not it's not justifiable. This is when I just need to sit back and realize that sure I may have a limited amount of time, but with a little thought I have alot more then I know what to do with.

Right now I don't know how I feel. I'm in a state of near pure confusion I don't know what to do so I just sit back and smile, take absolutely everything as it comes to me and just take it for the better.

Maybe this is the way I am?

Lets play a game. I call it try to think of the most interesting thing you could possible shove into your life and add a whole lot of undeserved, invisible mind fucks. This is a game I'm very good at playing, sitting here trying to see how I can change my life, never thinking that this is in fact my life and that this is in fact the only chance I get. But if it is my only time around why can't I have fun? Why can't I mess it up for the better? Why do I need to care about everyone else's standards. This is my life, this is my only chance, and this is exactly how I want to live.

But is it really? Yes. When you doubt your actions you become insecure and you get depressed don't question yourself, question reality and all that it tells you. Question not just your own limits but the barrier of reality itself. Live like you're in love and just slam it all.

Happy Oblivion

There he was, looking out at the rest of the thanklessly small universe, trying not to fall backwards into the violent grip of some other unreality. This wasn't quite what he imagined it would be but it was unquestionably the end. Not the end of everything but the end of nothing. From this point on everything was going to happen. Not all at once but in a rapid succession fired neurons and digested proteins. It was all falling down. First fell the stars, and then with no lights to mark upright the ground quickly followed. The fall was similar to that of August just with more fire and less golden sunsets. The fire was not consuming but much rather creating. Creating that which one must fear, what one must love, what one must worship. In this fire of creation he could see himself. Not as a reflection, but much more as himself in everything else. And as he looked at himself he fell. He fell into himself and out of this world. He fell toward the beginning and back into his mothers womb. But the falling did not stop there. He slowly folded into himself and could see all the little minerals and insects that once had an existence free of love. He could see how eternity looked from a standpoint of mortality. And this was what life was. Not but a small fleck of dust on a infinite glass plane set in the sliding door of a forever expanding consciousness, awaiting for the rock of reality to slide unnoticed through it in a splintering headache of dreams and hopes. He opened his eyes and could see not.

Inadequacy Overcomes

Inadequacy overcomes me. I feel as if I can not be the person people want me to be. And I know that is complete and utter bullshit. I need to be who I want me to be, but I only want to make those around me happy. I can't do it. I've even resorted to not going out of my way for those people who are a little further from me, and trying to only appease my close friends. But even then I feel so much less. I feel like it's not me. I don't know what to do, I'm worried that the real me is horrible. I'm worried that I won't even like the real me. I don't know what I want to do, I'm not sure where I need to go. All I know is that I need to know.

I look at what I just wrote and all I can see is "I"... That makes no sense to me, I've never been "I" I've always been him, or not even written at all, just a tragic undertone for you to twist out of the deeper message. Writing about "I" is so weird, makes me feel so afraid. Just the fact that people will know what I'm actually feeling is scary. Have I always been this closed?

Lost

Here he lays, silently staring at the stars, wondering just what the next step is, wondering where he needs to go. Slowly his vision begins to blur. Tears. He lays there crying as the sky softly disappears into a foggy memory. So much confusion so much insecurity, he doesn't know what to do. He can smell the grass, but that is quickly outlived by the sharp tang of tobacco.

The smoke wafts from a location not in his near vicinity but much rather from a point in his memory, a point in his life where something like that was much more of a welcome, comforting scent to escape the reality that he would have to face otherwise. At this point there was no confusion, but much rather cruel certainties that racked his brain for time on end. Even then the bitter smell of the smoke wasn't truly welcome.

His vision clears, but what comes into view isn't the original picture of the stars, but much rather his face. A horrible sight, not nearly aged as one would think but subtle and calm, the eyes have a look that they have seen much more then eyes of his age should have seen. A light blue accented by what looks like thunderbolts of a almost blackish blue.

He closes his eyes in hopes to make it all go away, hating every one of his senses wishing that each would stop, and let him live in the present, but it's too late, he's lost somewhere that he's never been, with absolutely no familiarities and no safe havens. This is it, this is what life is.