Where shall I begin? Then again does it really matter? Shall I rant and rave about conspiracies old and new? Shall I speak about what keeps me awake at night? This is my stream of consciousness. My dream of consciousness. Don't analyze my words too much. Let go and let them carry you wheresoever they will. Syntax and structure be gone! Grammar and good sense go away! Here anarchy prevails. Here untamed thoughts and paradoxes rule the day and oppress the night.
This shall always be a work in progress. An unfinished symphony. A road without an end. An idea without any conclusions.
My computer keyboard is wired to my soul. It brings cohesion and clarity to thoughts swirling madly in my brain. My computer keyboard is connected to my heart. It brings stillness and peace to emotions promiscuously breeding in my heart. My computer keyboard always provides catharsis and sometime generates greatness when words are germinated that will stand the test of time.
I put my thoughts down on paper for everyone to read. I have a specific message that I want to convey but you are free to form you own opinion and free to interpret my words anyway you see fit. I will not explain myself or my words. For a writer or an artist to explain his work is like an announcer doing a play-by-play of a couple making love.
Man is a mass of conflicting impulses. If I contradict myself in my writing I am only expressing the nature of man. If my prose was strictly linear and completely coherent I would be exhibiting the souless brain of a computer.
blank screen stares at me. taunts me. torments me. i type but the words don't rhyme. don't sing. don't flow. blank screen dares me to cover its nakedness. i type. i retype. the words drip out. a drop at a time my sweat covers the screen.
I breathe effortlessly, I write painstakingly. I eat voraciously, I write stingily. I make love with abandon, I write circumspectly. I live haphazardly, I write with caution.
minimalist is my approach to life. i own few possessions. i have few friends. i have few dreams. i have few regrets. daily i write but with an economy of words. minimalist is the way i live and minimalist is the way i want to die. with no religious ceremony to mark my passing. no long winded preacher praising my life. just scatter my ashes to the frivolous wind.
Fifteen minutes of fame. Every dog has his day. The birthright of every American? My biological clock is ticking. My heart is pounding. My thoughts are racing madly. I am not a serial killer. I am not a spoiled athlete. I am not a screaming televangelist. I am not a crooked politician. Oxymoron? Will I be cheated of my Andy Warhol moments in the spotlight? Oh to hell with fame! To hell with celebrity! I love to labour in a quiet place. I find solace away from the beaten path. Away from timeworn cliches.
We are mortal beings yearning for immortality. We are desperate to leave a legacy. I am dying to leave a legacy. Something-Anything that proclaims that I was here. Something-Anything that will outlive me. Something-Anything that tells the world that my life made a difference. I want to leave behind a living epitaph written not in stone but in the hearts of those who knew me. I bequeath to my loved ones not monuments made of bricks and mortar but my words that have the power to break down the walls of prejudice and hatred and the power to heal and to edify. My words are my legacy. My words are all that I leave behind. My words immortal. My words living forever not in paper or cyberspace but in hearts and minds.
Yesterday I overheard a man exclaim "go fly a kite" to his companion. I hadn't heard that expression in ages. That peculiar phrase was so evocative. It carried me back to my days of childhood when I would buy a paper kite for a quarter and race to the park for hours of leisurely fun. When the world gets to be too much and time rushes by too quickly how I wish I could return to those days of innocence when time just crawled by and summers lasted forever.
On my ninth birthday my eyes lit up as big as Frisbees when my beloved mom and pop presented me with a transistor radio. That magic little box became permanently affixed to my right hand. My radio was my constant companion providing a backbeat to my days of wonder and innocence. As I grew into raging adolescence my raunchy rock built a wall of noise against my insufferable parents. As I became a young adult and wonder and innocence turned into disillusionment and cynicism punk rock provided a dissonant soundtrack to my life. Now as I relax to soft rock seeping from my high tech stereo system I recall with fondness and nostalgia the rapture I experienced devouring the rock blasting through the static of my tiny transistor radio so many days ago and so many songs ago.
little guppy swimming in a fishbowl. round and round it swims. determination in its eyes. purpose in its stride. round and round it swims. oblivious to anything outside its bowl. its world so absurdly small. its dreams so ridiculous. round and round it swims. it keeps me fascinated for hours as the traffic screams by outside my home.
Meaning? Do we find meaning? Do we create meaning? Do we imagine meaning? Do we invent meaning? Should we strive for meaning? Should we search for meaning? Is meaning an elastic concept? Is meaning in a meaningless universe absurd? Should I live my life as if it meant something and hope that in the end it meant something to someone?
Time flies. Time drags. Nothing but time. Time for nothing. Everything keeps time. The beat of my heart. The purring of my car. The rays of the sun. Time will end for me. Soon? Only time will tell? And then what? Time melts away into nothingness? Time ushers in eternity? Time provides many questions but no answers. Ah, time!
Slice of life? Life is not so easily compartmentalized. It's more like a fragment of life. My life is not so neatly divided into years or periods but into tiny bits and jagged pieces. The past nothing but scattered jigsaw puzzles and the future nothing but billowy smoke. Slice of life? No thanks.
My dreams are ever present with me. They shadow me. They envelop me. My dreams are embedded in my brain. They question. They accuse. My dreams are festering in my heart. They gnaw. They tease. My dreams are alive in my soul. They kill. They destroy. I deperately hold on to my dreams. They are all I have.
Falling in love. The term is so evocative. Falling intimates a loss of control. Regardless how agile you are you can't choreograph your fall. You have no control of your limbs as they fall in a heap. A galoot in love seems to loss control of his own tongue. He will babble endlessly and tediously about his loved one. Falling implies a temporal state. You fall down and you get up again. You fall in love and when you regain your senses you fall out of love. Falling suggests a factor of unpredictability. Unless you are involved in a scam you can't plan a fall. A fall happens when you least expect it. Likewise you can't plan on falling in love at a convenient point in your life. You can't plan on graduating from school, finding a good job and then falling in love. Love happens when you least expect it. Falling hints of pain. You can't fall down without experiencing pain, a few bruises and maybe even a broken bone or two. When you fall in love expect bruised feelings and perhaps even a broken heart. Falling brings to mind a loss of grace and composure. No clumsy oaf looks graceful taking a tumble. A victim gets up from a fall with a sheepish expression on his face. A buffoon in love will perform all sorts of circus tricks to keep the object of his love amused. There in nothing graceful about a man or woman in love. Falling indicates a loss of free will. No person makes a rational decision to fall down. If you stub your toe on a rock you will lose your balance whether you want to or not. A lover is no longer a free agent. He is the slave of the object of his desire. He seeks only to do her will. Falling points to an inevitability. No matter how careful you are sooner or later you will fall down. Everyone falls down. You are only deceiving yourself if you think that you are immune to falling in love. As sure as the night follows day you will fall in love.
Hello love. Love you madly. Crazy cliche. Spellbound and sane. Moonstruck. Farewell lucidity.
walk with me for a moment in time. hold my hand and squeeze it for a second. kiss me briefly as we part our ways. let an ironic smile grace my face as I walk into an eternity without you.
Move over just a bit, I need some space. Be quiet for just a spell, I need to think. Look away for just a second, I need to concentrate. Drop dead just about now, I need to live.
in my world you are omnipresent. in my world you are everything. in my world you are sovereign. please don't crush my world with your indifference.
The Beach Boys. I love the Beach Boys. I love their gentle soothing harmonies. I love their lyrics of surf and sand and sun that never sets. Let me hear those heavenly voices sing of eternal love and endless youth. Go away dark angels of the night. I don't wanna hear about Manson and Brian's Madness and Mary Jane. Just put the record on the turntable and let the magic spin my cares away.
Chaka Khan! Chaka Khan! Diva of the night. Singer of delight. Singing from her heart. Singing from her groin. Oh what a magical night at Kimball's East. Singing the night away. Singing my blues away. You can have your divas of sophistication and style. You can have your Whitney and your Barbara. Give me the rough edges of Chaka. Let that unfinished diamond sparkle and shine. Let her sing to my heart and to my soul.
The sweet freakiness, the bedroom growl, the lush symphonies. It can only be the Icon of Love and the Maestro of Makeouts. It can only be Barry White. The big boned Cupid shoots his arrows of sweet love promiscuously to lovers of all ages and of all colors. Barry White's silky soul streams from the radio warming my soul and stirring my heart. Barry sings not of social consiousness or street revolution. Barry has one universal and timeless message. His one note, his one mantra, his one message is love, sweet love. As long as lovers fall in love his music will live on forever.
Lite Rock! Lite Rock? What the hell is next? Lite S & M? Lite Boxing? Rock should be hard as a rock! Rock should be loud and rebellious, angry and delirious, profane and spiritual! Long live sex, drugs and Rock and Roll! Marketing radio executives who worship Barry Manilow as a god pour rock and roll through a sieve and the dregs that remain they market to an indiscriminating audience as Lite Rock. You can keep your Amy Grant and Peter Cetera. Give me Janis Joplin and Kurt Cobain. Lite rock should be consigned to the nether reaches of the am radio band.
I love movies. Going to the cinema is my Sunday morning ritual. The movie theatre experience starts not when the opening credits start rolling but outside as I am anxiously waiting in line salivating at the prospect of forking over my 15 bucks so I can gain admission to the popcorn littered sanctuary. Before I enter the Holy of Holies I make a pit stop at the snack bar and purchase enough provisions to keep Rosie O'Donnell in pig heaven for a month. I buy a candy bar the size of a Yugo and a tub of faux butter drenched popcorn big enough for Gary Coleman to take a bath in. Cradling my precious sweets I find an empty seat and join my fellow film aficianados. As the sanctuary darkens our eyes light up as another Hollywood film begins to cast its magic spell. We marvel at another multi-million dollar production replete with marvelous movie stars and punctuated every ten minutes with a fiery car crash or an ear splitting explosion. Ah the magic of Hollywood!!
Seinfeld a show about nothing? Hardly! It's a show about self-absorption and meanness. How proper and fitting that the most popular episode of this reprehensible show was about masturbation. Seinfeld! Even the name of the show bespeaks its preoccupation with self. Seinfeld had nothing to say about the human condition and everything to say about the shallowness of contemporary society.
pop culture. Twinkies and Doritos and hold the meat and vegetables and fruit. pop culture. stomach gorged with fluff and mind filled with celluloid dreams. pop culture. fascinating and repulsive. Lorena Bobbitt and Bill Clinton and Jimmy Swaggart. pop culture. trivilizing death and trivilizing life. immortality only for those captured on video and film. fame the only currency honored everywhere. better than American Express or Visa. pop culture you aren't anyone until you are on tv or splashed on the pages of The National Enquirer. inquiring minds want to know about ufo's and Elvis and signs and wonders . american pop culture. the world envies us the world hates us. iranian islamic students railing against the great satan while wearing Levis and t-shirts emblazoned with american icons. pop culture. nothing is sacred. everything is hollow. better stretch your 15 minutes into an eternity of memories.
In generations past people were divided into Sinners and Saints or Peasants and Nobility. In this present evil generation we separate people into Winners and Losers. With the vacuous and vapid deciding who is a Winner and who is a Loser. Well Homey don't play that! Screw power lunches! To hell with win-win scenarios! Damn german luxury automobiles! To me there are only the good guys (generically speaking) and those that ain't. A good guy is anyone who e-mails me with positive feedback about my web page. A good guy is a waitperson who keeps smiling after my 5th refill of coffee. A good guy is a teen age girl who smiles at me and doesn't remind me of my mortality by addressing me as Sir. I don't care if the world considers me a Winner or a Loser. My only concern is to try to be one of the good guys most of the time.
I explain. I implore. She turns a deaf ear. She aims her eyes at me. She goes into histrionics. I listen. I nod. She slaps me with vehement hatred. I recoil. She hurls her insults at my retreating back. She demands that I come back immediatly. I think not.
with my shades as my shield i walk briskly. i look neither to the left nor to the right. i stare straight ahead. i ignore the imploring beggar with his hand outstretched and i evade the screaming preacher with his hand pounding the bible. i cut a path though the crowd until i reach my place of employment. i take off my shades and put on my headphones and stare into my computer screen as i do my best to ignore my fellow employees.
an elderly chinese lady enters the bus and gingerly walks by several empty seats and plops down next to me. i notice that african americans are seated next to all the seats she passed by. she nervously clutches her purse as her eyes dart in every direction. although she doesn't deign to look in my direction she feels safe sitting next to me because i am not black. i am not one to tolerate or condone racism and prejudice in any shape, way or form but i am at a loss as to how to deal with her irrational fear of african americans. should i hit her upside her head and grab her purse to demonstrate that muggers and criminals come in all colors? i feel helpless and frustrated when providence directs my gaze to a black female sitting by herself. i get out of my seat and sit next to the ebony lady and i send out a silent prayer that a brotha will sit next to that elderly asian woman i left behind. i feel good about myself. i have killed two birds with one stone. i have struck a conversation with a beautiful nubian princess and struck a blow against racism at the same time.
"Jesus loves you friend! Do you know Jesus?" Yep I sure do but he moved back to Tijuana a couple of months ago. "Sir why do you mock Jesus? Aren't you afraid of Almighty God?" Nah I am only afraid of some of his more zealous followers. "Sinner if you don't believe in Jesus you will go to hell!" Wow talk about tough love! "You reprobate child of the devil! I will sing hymns of glory to God while you burn in the fires of hell!"
"Sir! Got some change?" the face twisted by anger barked. The meek may inherit the earth one day but until that day comes they are all safely ensconced in their homes. Only the despicable and the desperate walk the streets. "No! Sorry I don't" I snapped. My muscles tensing for physical confrontation. "Have a nice day" he sarcastically spit out. "Thanks" I shouted out as I briskly walked away. Another encounter survived. Living in the city on the edge of chaos.
the bartender barks "pal how's 'bout another beer?" I've been nursing a Heineken for an eternity. Not really a drinker. Just needed to escape the oppressive quiet and chilling loneliness of my apartment and spend a few moments in the drunken noise and ersatz camaraderie of the neighborhood dive. "Sure", I reply. Guess I have to pay the rent for the barstool.
"Fly often?" With my hardcover book shielding my face and my headset proclaiming "I'm busy. Leave me alone!" I thought I was safe from unwelcome intrusions, but that clarion voice broke through my defences. I bopped my head to the music pretending not to hear, but my adversary was implacable. She brushed my knee and motioned me to remove my headphones. A beaten man I reluctantly complied with her order and spit out "Yes?" "Fly often?" she sweetly inquired. I briefly considered brushing her off by snarling "NO I don't fly often. Do you see any damn wings sprouting from my back?" Alas I could not speak harshly into her smiling eyes and smooth countenance. I dropped my book to the floor and replied "Why yes I do fly often..."
Standing in line. We waste so much of our lives standing in line. As more plebes file in back of me I feel somewhat better but then I look at all those in front of me and my smirk vanishes. Why didn't I bring a book or a newspaper to read? Why are all these folks chattering? Did they come with their friends to keep them company? Did they just meet? I don't spy anyone that I would want to start a conversation with. Am I even in the right line? It's the DMV and I'm not ever sure what line to join. Why doesn't the line move? I'm not sure if it's even worth the interminable wait. Has anyone ever just walked away from a line at the DMV out of sheer boredom? I attempt to visualize my turn at the front of the line but even that doesn't help. I imagine I will be here for an eternity of ticks of the clock.
"Just relax" she smiled. "It's just a test" she cooed. "Sure" I exhaled. "Ok you can start" she chirped. I sweated as my fingers fought a losing battle with the computer keyboard. Why the hell do I have to take a typing test for a marketing position I wondered. "Times up" she sang. "Ok" I sighed as I pecked one more time at the keyboard. "We will get back to you" she promised. "Yeah right" I whispered.
She speaks volumes without uttering a word. She laughs without making a sound. she smiles without moving her lips. She's a brilliant explosion of peace and love and tranquility.
She talks and talks and talks... Spitting out a torrent of words. Drowning me in noise. Stopping only to catch her breath. Providing me not with a moment of silence to respond. Imprisoning me with her chattering. Praying I had the courage to cry out "Shut Up!".
she turns a deaf ear to my earnest entreaties. she shuts her eyes to my salty tears. she recoils from my gentle touch. she graciously give me one more chance, but only if i promise to be more blatantly obsequious.
overheard bits and pieces of a couple having an animated conversation. late at night as i stare at the ceiling i attempt to glue the snatches of dialogue together. but the words have become blurry and indistinct and lifeless. only the emotions behind the words are alive and singeing my mind. i turn on the stereo and listen to some cool jazz to snuff out the fire.
the joke was on me. funny but i'm not laughing very hard. hilarious how you are chortling too hard. amusing how everyone is snickering. yes, the joke is on me. i'm not laughing very hard but the punch line really knocked me out.
you mentioned that to me once or twice. i hear what you are saying. i've heard you all along. my response is crystal clear. just heed the sound of my footsteps as i waltz away.
Don't look back, I'm not there. Don't look to the left nor to the right, I'm not marching with you. Don't look ahead I'm not within reach. Look up to the moon and dream.
Forgive me my bold impudence. I didn't mean to intrude in your precious space. Pardon me for not holding my malodorous breath. I didn't intend to breathe your precious air. Allow me to abruptly slink away.
i welcome your intrusion. i delight in your derisive laugh. i open myself to your closed fist. i love the ways you love me not.
Softly he whispers loud and boisterous secrets. Meekly he peddles saccharine dreams. Brusquely he wipes my river of tears dry.
Did I agree to fall? Sorry it slipped my mind. I will limp on until I reach the abyss. Then shall I plunge into the darkness.
I don't live life within the lines. I ooze all over the landscape. You will find me here, there and everywhere. I have clear vision but forgiving eyes. I walk with those that walk haltingly and get out of the way of those that march purposefully. I don't follow the sun by day nor the moon by night. I follow only the aura of my spirit. Within the lines there is safety and comfort and religion but outside the lines there is danger and worry and god. I don't live life within the lines...
Opportunities not seized transform into nightmares that paralyze the mind and sicken the body. I've tossed and turned on countless nights because of what I failed to do. The only remedy is to grab the next opportunity and not let go eventhough it sails me to the stars and there is no net below.
Did we not promise never again to travel down that road? Let us not stare down into the frozen abyss. Look up do you not see the seagull soaring over the fog? Lift up your arms do you not feel its fluttering wings? Let us close our eyes and fly high into the heavens.
every night i dream. every day i wake up with a vague remembrance of the wonders of the night. the cares and worries of the day soon wash away every last vestige of the visions of the night. How I long for the night dream that will forever banish the dreariness of the day!
trapped onboard a speeding train going heaven knows where. i spy out the window and see the world of butterflies and children playing that i can't be a part of. my fellow passengers provide no consolation or relief. they are too preocuppied reading glossy magazines and drinking stale beer. i briefly contemplate jumping out the speeding train but that would only result in oblivion. i make my way to the diner car where i fully intend on drinking until i pass out.
driving down the road stretching out to infinity. no particular place to go. me and my ragtop cruising along with the sun kissing the back of my head. hop on in. we'll take you to where you want to go. i'll nod along to your idle patter or we can just let the songs and the breeze and the road carry us along. i've got enough gas to take us far away from our past. we can drive you to a new tomorrow. my car will spit out exhaust and moldy memories. let us drive into the edge of the night. the headlights leading us to where we need to be.
My cable outfit a malignant monopoly. Outrageous rates. Cursory customer service. Cavalier attitude. I finally had enough. I can survive without HBO, ESPN and my MTV. I bit the bullet and called to cancel my service. That was eight years ago and I am still bopping my head to my MTV. I'm not illegally hooked up. I didn't covertly purchase a device that magically unscrambles the signal. I am still getting cable thanks to the incompetence of my cable company. I don't feel a single tinge or twitch of guilt. My sole regret is that because I am not a paying customer I can't order any Pay-Per-view movies. I'm a couch potato rebel lazily enjoying his good fortune.
Wordlessy we sit side by side. Compulsively I click the remote. Ford, Nike, Pepsi, Springer and Oprah, Seinfeld, Jerry Falwell and Bud Lite dancing before our eyes, seducing us to sleep. Savagely she grabs the remote, Furiously we devour each other, as the television embraces us with its heavenly glow.
Waiting patiently for my Jesus. He is coming again in all His glory. I am diligently waiting for the sound of the trumpet to announce His arrival. I will look to the skies for my Saviour. I just hope He didn't fall into a black hole.
And so my site is supposed to be about truth. You can't write about truth without people anointing you a Messiah or declaring you a madman. I am neither. I am only seeking, soaking and sharing. I write not in tablets of stone. I speak not from a pulpit. I am but a voice sharing my thoughts and ideas in this electronic wilderness. I hope my words find fertile ground in receptive ears and open minds. The truth is precious but it should not be hidden away like gold or silver. It should be shared. If you have truth to share I am open to hear it.
© 1998 Robert Paul Reyes
Did I raise your consciousness? Did I bore you to unconsciousness? Send me an e-mail by clicking one of my two e-mail addresses.
RReyes4966@aol.com or EastBay57@aol.com
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