No Place for a Stallion

Photo thanks to sroliveira33 of Flickr

What a hell of a name for a post, eh! It came to me as I was in the passenger seat of my room mate's truck (he was getting a bed and needed help moving it). We were sitting there; he was talking some nonsense about Michael Jackson and how great he was and I was just sitting there, thinking.

I was thinking about a show I watched the other night, about some Marines in Iraq who were frustrated about how they were taught how to win a war and were stuck in a crappy part of Fallujah, playing the role of overly-armed cop. As I was watching this, I realized, that there was no place there for a brave man (which I like to think I am), only the lazy ones and the persistant SOBs.

Maybe that's the way life works; it's the classic tale of the hare and the tortus. The guy that gave it all for hour is not remembered, he burns out bright, but no one remembers his light. Only the far less bold man who bides his time and gives a little more than he takes will be remembered.

It's a depressing realization for a young man, who wants nothing more than to give it all. So it seems for now, there is no place for me. Call me a stallion.

Currently listening to "Give it All" by Rise Against

Unstable (yeah, it's me again)

So I guess if I let anyone in and actually know me (or read all this shit I type), they would describe me as that: Unstable. Coming to a personal realization that I am fucked up... no, not a realization, an acceptance of the obvious, is theriputic (spelling anyone?) in a way.

Now that I've accepted that something's wrong with me what will I do? Starting lineup: Go smoke, clean the bathroom, take the trash out, fold up my laundry. See, while I thought there was a rational way out of the demons in my head, it became an all-encompassing task to fight them, to figure out where they came from and resolve this war in my head or try hard enough to ignore them. Now that I understand that this fight is really not worth it, I can stop trying to fight it. Maybe that is the cure, though I will be keeping counceling and all that in mind.

When all this occured to me, it made me think of the end of the series "House" where the doctor admits that he has a problem and gets help.

Currently listening to "Danger-Keep Away" by Slipknot. I think it, along with this video of a Canadian patrol in Afghanistan getting ambushed is truely powerful http://www.liveleak.com/view?i=9626eda582. I shouldn't have to warn you that dispite having no blood or injuries, this video is very violent. It shows war, enough said.

What I Want

What do I want? I had an answer before I came up with the question, but here it is: I want to have a comfortable and satisfied answer for those irritating questions in life like "What is it for?" or "Is it worth it?" and all that. I'm almost certain that I won't find these answers, so second best thing for me to do now is to let it all go. Drive it out, give it up; but I don't think I can.

If I will have to wrestle these demons all my life, I want to know some girl that I can say all this shit to (like this blog shit), and for her to still love me. Maybe that's a reason that emo chicks attract me, cause they'd have stories of their own and we'd be able to talk about all this as equals, not me being some freak that needs special help.

I can deal with having these problems, but I need terribly to have someone who can understand and relate. Maybe that's the reason I made this blog. So my good friend, if you're out there, give a hollar!

The Man and the Canoe

Photo by cevans_pollard of Flickr.com

Once upon a time, a man lived by the river. He watched the canoes as he sat by the shore and thought "Ahh! If I could just have one of those, I would be complete. All my troubles would be over. I would move places much more quickly and I would have a way of carrying all my gear rather than relying on my weak ankle."

As good fortune would have it, one stormy night, a canoe washed up on the shore near this man's home. He patched it up, inspected it with great care, and finally pushed out into the water. The canoe worked just how as should have and smoothly moved through the water. He paddled it around everywhere for a week, until one morning he woke up and realized the pain in his back was much worse than it had been for years. He realized that this was from paddling the canoe, and since that time he has not touched the canoe.

I know this story because the man told it to me. At the time he had a pack on a back and a stick in his hand and I am certain I will never see him again. Just before he walked out of my house, he said this to me: "I am an old man, and I have now seen all there is to see, but I still have no advice to give you. I will walk west, if anyone asks, tell them where I have gone. I wish you well!. And with that he turned and left, walking slowly and favoring his left foot.

For any readers, I would love to have your feedback on what you think this story means.

Currently listening to "Hell of a Year" by Sage Francis