Hyperion Avenue

Sometimes the hardest thing to learn in life is to let go of what is not meant to be. I am learning that through this life, I imagine what things should be like and how they should go. I imagine a world with different colors and actors playing the roles. I guess it might just be my junkie mind playing tricks on me.

You imagine people always spending their life with you and being part of your world because at one point in time you both agreed that is how life would be. Things change though and so do people. They learn the inner demons and sometimes the inner child. This process of growth brings love sometimes, other times, pain.

You sometime make frivolous mistakes that if handled in a timely manner can avoid disaster.

Unfortunately, many of us will choose to run from confrontation in hopes that somehow it will sort itself out all on its own. This rarely happens and is why I find directly approaching situations to be far more affective. Fortunately, I was given the benefit of the program and steps along the way that preach to make amends swiftly and move past the situation in hopes for a better tomorrow and less pain for all. This is not true for all people and this leads to miscommunication and disaster.

Some days, I believe this was the ultimate downfall of many of my personal relationships, which breed with arrogance and the belief that I was always right. Once, again, the junkies mind.

So, tonight I sit at the end of this pier, wind blowing across my face, stars illuminating this screen and my fingers as they dance across the keys in some dysfunctional ballet of the broken hearts. I find that the ocean water not only does miracles for the physical wounds but also for the mental ones. The air attempts to cleanse the soul and set you free. In some ways I believe that staring into the ocean and absorbing its awesome power with remind you how inferior you are and how small your problems are in the world.

Today, I am learning who I am, learning to let go of those that do not come to me naturally and making plans for building a better, happier me.

Tonight I will sleep on this pier and wake-up with the water rearranging my diseased building blocks looking for the cure to make all things right inside again. This is the forgiveness of my past and the creation of my future. It is found here in my center.

Passing the central offices of the assembly of God, I am slipping back into the common me that comes pre-packaged, not unlike the cans of Vienna Sausage that adorn the counters of the local gas station. The center of its essence crammed into a tight space and devoid of any breathing room. You can live on it, but it lacks taste and substance. I guess you can say that once you taste excess, everything else can be very bland.

When I woke this morning, I looked to the left of my head and noticed the bottle that just last night I placed to the side of my head and pulled the trigger. Its contents quickly filling the synapse that lies between the scattered thoughts and memories of the past few weeks. I have learned to change much about myself and learned so much in which nothing can be done.

A short time ago, there was a person that claimed eternal love, unconditional in nature. The junkie mind in me believes immediately that such a thing is real and easily attainable. Just grab on with all your life. One morning you wake up and you realize that you don’t fit into their world any longer and you sit in the corner and place your life on the chance of a maybe, never. Left alone with this broken soul and small notes scratched out on restaurant napkins that scattered the road your life has traveled through.
On these tidbits of Pulp Non-fiction I share my thoughts and insights in vague to description so that you might be able to make them your own. I grasp onto the illusion that this tangled mess of “what ifs” can be delivered in a adaptation of poetic application to your life.

So, sit back and lay your hurt to the side and watch me fall apart. The whisky that just last night acted as the fuel for this fire of dysfunctional mental conflict is starting to burn from its neon blue into nothing but smoke and apparitions that once gathered in the auditorium of your life. Standing ovations and accolades rushing you through the skies of self-approval. You are now afraid to fly and your wings we clipped by the sadistic controller in your mind. This could be the last day of your life. I guess you could say that life is an occasion, rise to it.

Open your eyes and watch your future and puzzle pieces of this life unfold in the ripples of the ocean water attempting to cleanse your wounds, both mental and physical. Sit and watch the sky rub elbows with the moon. Its neon glow casting clowns upon the vast nothing that your life could possibly become.
So, here I am looking at the little squares on the walls where the paint never faded sitting behind the picture frame collection of moments past that once gave inspiration and promise for more beautiful days to come. Now those places and thoughts are entirely empty. They promised if they didn’t want you anymore that they would just leave. You took comfort in knowing that each day they were there was made out of devotion. Never giving thought to the day that the person would come true with their promise. Leaving like a ghost in the middle of the night, leaving you to wonder what happened to yesterday. What the hell happened? How the fuck did I get here?

They are not there to answer your questions, so you create a collection of what did you do to make them do what they did to you. It was somehow your fault after all and there is nothing to do about that now but find the missing reasons.