schmittforbrains: February 2012

A bath, a real bath in a real bathtub; I could only be home. It was only the place I grew up in, but it was often the only place I remember who I was.

I could relax at home. Here I asked the questions, here I wasn’t responsible. The tub seemed smaller, the fun of the hot water splashing my feet had diminished.

Could I stay here forever? My pores opening up as the hot water surrounded my body. Only at home could I get a real bath. A lot of love, a lot of respect, a lot of understanding, a lot of living.

Wash away the bullshit. All the badness encountered since I left this place surfaced and was scrubbed away. Why was I taught to be so nice to use common sense?

A few tears mixed in with the bath water. Imperceptible dashes of salinity, the aqueous humor became the only bits of me intermingled with the filth of others I washed away.

Truly, truly I had been the tabula rasa scribbled and scratched on until I was white with only a few fingernail scrapes screeching across my suface.

The world waits. The drain is open.

Another Friday evening had come; no plans, as usual; no particular people to see. Only loneliness; it wasn’t the “no people around” aspect that bothered him. The thought of being one-on-one with his Self; that feeling of emptiness which crosses his mind as the thought skirts by. For who is He; he wonder? Why is each circumstance in life faced with an appropriate personality, one only for gain at each circumstance with no guilt left behind. “Who am I” he ponders. Everything that needs to be done gets done, but that leaves so much time. That time is void of circumstance, so no personality arises. His thoughts dart away, but where does he roam too?

It was still Friday evening, only moments had passed, and he still had no place to go.

He went to his place, a blank numb feeling in his motion.

He was a machine, a survival machine. Survival was too easy. That left time. What does a man, a woman, a human do with that time? There was no challenge to survival, no need to read up on it. There was no need for opinion, opinion less alone, circumstantially opinionated when required. Do other animals have this time, or is their “no time” only a sense for survival?

Other humans use their free time for survival oriented activities; over, better, stronger, content, happy, love; none for their denoted emotional meaning, but as he saw it, for acceptance to a certain group, a certain scapegoat which together provide them security and survival as a group. His thoughts turned and confused drift away, but he drifts nowhere.

Unconsciously he set down to watch the tube. All is absorbed, the pertinent details stored away for future reference. When needed for survival they will be called up. Minute details fitting into moments of life with no emotion of feeling behind them. Absorption itself was time to ponder, as details were stored, as input was made, the feeling of non-involvement, non-caring, the sense of being above and beyond it, the time, the time. “Who am I” again he wondered. “Why am I” blew through next; he shook it past and slept.

Only a nap, real free time. No fantasy, too rational, too easy. He was torturing himself. He had been able to do it every moment since abstract thought. No thought sleep.

Cheeseburgers

Time?

Time. Awareness. What time is it?

He was awake. Friday had passed.

Saturday had just begun. Who will he be today?

No one ever, really. Only a puppet to the environment. Who was the puppeteer? He was. He knew it. You never see the puppeteer, so how do you know it is you? He came out emotionless, lost, content, alive.

The inner core knows only life. Once life, easy life, is attained the core stagnates to the pace necessary for survival. What is easy life? The knowledge of a future, of no untimely end, is what he purported.

Does the loneliness, the identity confusion only occur when he doesn’t allow himself to be with others to let some personality come out? Is there a chance once he is settled in a lifestyle, one type will dominate? Then he’d know who was there and then, but still have no idea who he was somewhere else –especially alone.

Pending…

Life has been pending up to this point. Now it’s been attained. What else is left, existence?

Existence, what meaning is there in it?

He knew there was no meaning to the world, the universe, to mankind.

We had to make up a meaning. Now those made up meaning had become our pitfall.

He still knew he was alone. For no reason, he existed. What was he to do?

He thought about challenging existence. Quit his job. Take off. To where? Where would he, could he, go? Why go there? He screamed.

No one heard, not even himself. He went right back to where he was: alone, existing.

Existing quite well. “So what?” That was easy, what about the rest.

Lost. He knew everyone was lost. Each only a quark of energy compared to the Earth. Imperceptible, compared to the Universe.

Potentially a great energy source compared to some other men.

What about Cheeseburgers?

The weekend had ended. No time was left.

Too much time. He put his keys in the ignition. No peace of mind would ever come. He couldn’t look inside himself and see his world as good. He knew he couldn’t.

Where was he bound? Just groceries? He thought he saw something beyond, over the storefront. What is beyond Krogers?

He eased out the clutch along with his breath.

No, eyes, don’t swell!
First gear.
450 dollars.
12 hours per day.
20 dollars per day.
22 days.
One tear rolled down his cheek.
Second gear.
Two tears.
Third gear.
Three tears.

Stoplight.
Time.

Time to muse.

First gear.
Four, five, six tears.

Green light, GO!

Seven, eight, nine, ten tears.

First to second.
Second to third.

Krogers approached. Third gear.
Krogers approached. Fourth gear.
Ninety, one hundred, two hundred tears!
Fifth gear.

“Bye Krogers” he laughed, bye town. There will be no more me. No more existence. Now life begins! No more work. Life on the edge. Find me, and if you do, you will find me.

Tears poured. Tears of joy. Time to disappear. No where in particular. Just not any where.

He had a cheeseburger at Willy’s drive-in. He complemented the waitress, paid the cashier and drove off.

Already 500 miles gone. What direction he didn’t know. Away, just away.

No one recognized the lad as he bounced into Park Street Grill. They all stared in curiosity as he waltzed to the counter, spun down on the stool, and grabbed a menu. Who could this be in our town? Who could have a grin on their face? Not in our small town, no way. Oh my.

He knew their thoughts pretty well, he was a stranger with a smirk of knowledge on his lips.

He ordered a cheeseburger.

A tune from outside; a youth with a boombox waiting for the next stranger to come; caught his ear. He started tapping his feet. He closed his eyes. Two tears dripped on his sleeve.

Of course everyone noticed.

He ate his cheeseburger…

schmittforbrains

Friday, February 17, 2012

Beauty

The Horror and the Pain and the Ecstasy

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

The Bath

Verses for the day 10/29/1987

4/7/1988

In search of the perfect cheeseburger. Chapter one, 1986

Christmas 1987

Gossip Perception 4/9/1988

Monday, February 13, 2012

Propped Up