Have you ever played chess? I haven’t played in years, but in my novel chess is a theme. Why? Because it represents life in this way: this battle of good and bad and what not. I don’t know. I think the marble pieces are pretty also.
As one of my friends pointed out, I did say to her at some point that, when people go to Toys R Us don’t they want to play chess? Because at home we don’t always have all the pieces. I was missing pieces in my plastic chess set…how about you?
My friends thought that was hilarious, why I still wonder. The point of the story is: What pieces are you missing? I’m currently missing my King. I don’t know; that’s just me. Or maybe I am the King, because we are playing a sexist game. What are we playing anyways and for what?
And what’s at stake? Our very existence.
Alright already, I will stop with the metaphors.
Sometimes I want to laugh about it, metaphors and symbolism and all that crap. Yes I do have several degrees in this type of thinking and I do live and sort of die by it. I still can laugh at it. I mean come on now…
But it’s not funny. Everything is funny and not funny at the same time.
Everything is and is not a lot of things at the same time. Dichotomies are present in almost everything, duality. We are made of ego but we are all pure love. We are animals but we are also gods. We are nothing but we are also everything.
I want to be a bird, but I’m more like a statue. Maybe I’m man made, I’m not real and I’m not able to move. I want to fly. But I can’t and I can. I know how to stand.
What are these things, these things we speak of? Look today we are not going to talk about my undergarments, I’m sure they will come up another time. In fact I just bought some fancy underwear I will tell you all about it in some other post.
Today I want to talk about what’s real.
You and I sitting on the dock of the bay, talking, that is real. The only real thing is our conversation. The only real time is when you are you.
You want to have a breakthrough, so do I? I want to break through it all. I want to stand tall, while they wait. Who are they?
They are nobody; don’t worry about them. I’ve said so much yet so little has been said.
Do you understand me? Do you even care, about me, about you? Do you care about this, whatever this is?
I want to surprise you and I want to make you make yourself.
I am nothing if I don’t make myself. I’ve created me.
That’s the key. I am the creator. I mean I will admit that “he” probably gave me the idea to make me. Maybe he even gave me a blueprint. But I created this monster and I’m going to own it.
Are you a monster? Did you ever see the movie Monster? Not Monsters Inc., Monster.
She was sick. We are sick, in this way.
If you get sick what happens to the game, can we still play it? What is it?
We are all one big thing. Just one big conglomeration: a huge thing. Like a monster. We are all together one thing. We make one. We are one.
I came here to dance with pieces of stone and call it a game. I ended up staying late into the night and called myself sane.
I was thinking of writing a song…a song about songs.
I was thinking about writing my way until the music just came into the room by itself. I think music can walk. It can definitely talk.
I know how to talk. That may be all I know…which way I want to go with the story is another matter. I am unsure, unsure of what road we are on or if this is a road at all.
I don’t think it is. I think I’m walking on air.
Believe it or not I’m walking on air…Do you remember the Greatest American Hero? I remember him well. I remember which way he flew. I think it was to the right.
I’m not high I’m saying these things because I’m not high. They don’t make any sense. Is sense all you came here for?
I’ve got much more than sense to give you. I can show you the world, the senseless world. My senseless mind. That I can show you. I am you.
I’m thinking I’ve got so much more to say. There is so much heavy space on a page, so much room. You could dance in this room if the piano was in tune. But there are songs not written yet and words we still have to say.
To each other we still need to be nice. The mean people are the ones that edit our words, make us rethink our own thoughts. The question is, should you censor your thoughts. Are there things that are taboo to think about?
What is the right side of the window where the wind blows into the west, saying to me? I want to know the message. I want to know everything. Or maybe understand nothing.
I am something of the nothings because some infinities are in your void, and some are in your reality. Some things are infinite; somethings are nothings.
Am I really even saying anything at all?
Catharsis, this feels like catharsis. This feels good. I feel clean.
I feel like I’ve said it all. But nothing has been heard.