The Slow Burn

Judge not the sinners.

They are your brothers and lovers.

Judge the god you gave life to.

You created him only to judge you.

His creation brought you comfort and relief.

To distant others his creation brought pain and grief.

Genocidial warriors of a invisible creation.

As you cling to vague rules with quiet desperation.

The one who doesn’t have the urge to wander is someone that lies too often to them self. To not want that rush or satisfying feeling of discovering something new. A street, a town, a person, an epiphany. To deny yourself the possibility of possibility. Depressingly wandering the same roads trying to find something new, only to find your back stepped footprints ingrained in the path.

I’ll travel, I’ll wander, I’ll be alone, I’ll die alone, but I’ll have no regrets.

I sat there watching the band play. Another three piece playing about women and politics. They’re pretty good, I like them. As i watched them in another shitty Michigan basement with a single flood light as a mood setting back light, I knew I would die that night.

It didn’t frighten or surprise me. I didn’t know exactly how though. I started walking through the many ways it could happen.

Scenario 1:

I looked around at the backdrop of drunk fools, fueled by hormones as well as liquor, thrash around even when music wasn’t playing. I saw one of them hitting me or a friend of mine and getting very angry at them. Confroting them. Losing. My body lay limp as everyone continues with business as usual. My body would be found when a drunk slut came to find her underwear that was discarded on my bloody posthumous self.

I stared back toward the band, looking into the flood light. Watching the shadows of the bassists head stock eclipsing part of the light. Truly a phallic symbol that Freud would be proud of. As he went to sing i watch the cloud of spit exhale from his throat as he screamed his words. The passion of it all made me uncomfortable that people can give so much for their music while playing for a crowd of weak minded alcoholic walking travestys to man.

Scenario 2:

I saw my ride home. I grabbed my bike and started riding home. I watched the drunks painted in green and filth scream obscenities and slurs at me. I saw myself enraged once more but avoiding conflict. I rode home faster and faster trying to escape the trash of the world and escape into some music and possibly a book when I arrive home. I saw a truck, driven by a drunk trying so hard to watch out for cops he doesn’t notice me. I don’t notice him. I become painfully aware of his presence when my leg gets stuck in his grill when he hits me.

Some drunk asshole just tried to scream something into the mic, failing he retreats to his original spot a hero to all drunk assholes. I stand there trying to forget that they stand only 2 feet away from me in this basement and that on this playing field we are equal. I try and forget that while they’re wasting their life in this basement, real people suffer trying their hardest to succeed. These people have been given so many chances to create something with their lives, instead they just sit on porches screaming anarchy and protesting. They protest against workers instead of leaders, they protest for progression without helping to create the progress themselves. I take solace in the fact that they will probably end up in the gutter of a 7-11 after taking too much bad heroin in their body.

Scenario 3:

I get home just fine. I sit down and turn on some music and lean back in my chair and try to finish some work on a project. I stop half way and set down my pencil. I grab a pack of cigarettes and i walk out my front door. Standing on the porch I see a group of drunk assholes walking infront of my house. They scream at me. I ignore. They are the ones that get angry this time. They beat the shit out of me and rob my apartment. I attempt to cry for help, my throat collapses.

I get home just fine. I sit down, put on some music and sit quietly. I think about the people i see on a day to day basis and wonder when they will believe in something again. I hope they don’t. I fear that they are so lost that anything they will create will destroy equally. I believe that as fact and am disappointed i didn’t die that night.

I love these fantasy worlds i read about every day. The world where people find each other and have problems together and are better because of it. I love these bullshit fantasy worlds. Two people can find each other and instantly connect and you always have the idea that everything is going to be okay. You can always skip a page to see the out come, breath a sigh of relief and then return to the previous page.

I feel like a story with no solid stream of consciousness. I feel like if i told my story how it goes, it would be graded “F-”. There would be many unanswered questions, many goals never obtained and who knows, the ending may suck. I want to be more, I need to be more. That path unfortunately isn’t on the current one I’m on. That path, lies just outside my step right to the side. There’s a good chance that if i miss, i cannot return to my current path or any path for that much.

I truly don’t know what awaits me on that path. I don’t just want that path, I lust for it.

I Just need to take that leap.

It’s like reading the news and seeing your child killed in a car crash after making him breakfast. That sunken feeling isn’t easily shook from your mind. You sit for a second questioning the world around you. You stare at your coffee, wondering if it’s real. Maybe it’s a dream? Maybe you’ll wake up and you will have a startling realization of how your living your life and change. The second chance no one ever gets. When you wake up, you decide that you’re going to spend more time with that person and let them know how you feel. The message was sent to help you on your way.

It’s no dream. There’s no secnd chance. He wont be in his room. The breakfast will go cold. The funeral arangments will have to be made. Not only is he dead, but so is your dream.