got the Kansas City blues
wishing it never happened
waiting for closure
Everything is reflective
at the mall
a mirrored calamity
who makes the $50 t-shirt?
who makes the plush princess puppies?
my conscience is riddled with guilt
I am the consumer
one of millions
eating away at the ozone
one stuffed animal at a time
typing poems on my Chinese made laptop
sharing it on my Chinese made iPhone
there is a good chance that you are reading this
on a device made in China
how can we look at ourselves
in these mirrors
without feeling slightly disgusted?
that is how I feel anyway
I feel like none of us really care
and that is sad
and does not bode well for the future
of this planet
weaknesses and flaws
hidden in shadow
light cannot reach here
the shadow is my dark-side
the wild unknown
the monster inside
a vision in a dream world
dark and exotic
my everyday persona
protects me from you
I keep waiting for something brilliant to just burst out of me, but all I’m left with is this. My damaged brain, still telling me there is two when I know in my heart there is just one. How can I trust my brain when it is always telling lies?
Seeing double is my reality. I have never seen the world any other way. If I open my eyes and relax the whole scene is repeating itself just slightly above the original image skewed diagonally to the upper left,
I see 20 fingers, 6 lights on a stop light, two stop signs, two screens, two keyboards, two shutter buttons, 4 eyes, 4 ears and 2 heads.
I see double. I see your alternate self when you see me in public. Eye contact is such a struggle for me, and double vision is a causal factor. I know how it looks to other people. It’s as if I am talking to air, similar to the way a person with a Bluetooth headset might fool you into thinking they were talking to you.
It confuses people when we try and have a conversation. It’s this whole other conversation I have to have before I can get to the point I wanted to make.
This fact has made me become increasingly less adept at social situations then your average straight eyed person. I think the repetition is what did me in. How many times have I had the conversation with drunk assholes about my lazy eye? How many self deprecating jokes about it over the years? I’ll turn 40 this February. That’s at least 35 years of struggling socially with my stupid eyes. It has shaped me into what I am today.
People have the capacity for hate just as much as they do for love. People will literally hate you for your imperfections. Some folks just never grow up, never mature. I have had grown men ridicule me about my eye The exact same way I remember it from the elementary school bullies.
It brings me down sometimes. I can’t help it. Being imperfect gives you x-ray vision. Ignorance presents itself much more frequently. Maybe that’s a good thing. The way I can see the worst in people before I really even speak to them. Early detection is key in avoiding assholes.
No matter how much I want to believe that most people are inherently good, I am always presented with evidence to the contrary. Nothing is shocking.
Virtual reality scares me, but at least here I don’t have to explain to you why I won’t look you in the eye. I’m judged by the words I communicate and not my weird eyes.
So that’s my problem. My eyes are a constant nuisance and distraction and I’m still hung up on that. We are social beings and I’m cursed with awkwardness in that area. It affects every second of every day that I am alive.
The worst of it is, I shouldn’t even be feeling this. I should be grateful that I can see out of my fucked up eyes. Some people are blind. Some people have disfigured faces, missing limbs, or life threatening illnesses.
I should be grateful for what I have, and I am, but I am only human.
I’ll end with this thought. It’s almost two in the morning. While typing this into my phone I can actually hear my neighbor snoring through the bedroom wall. I’ll take that as a sign it’s time to shut it down for the night.
I always say, why write a diary if no one is going to read it? And so I tell you these thoughts. Good Night.
2:08 ante meridiem
Sound input through ear
Chosen not incidental
The white noise kills me
Not sleeping at all
Mesmerized by crazy world
Eyeballs behind dust
And droopy eye-lids
All the indecisiveness
I paralyze me
One more song to hear
Block out the reality
For a moment more
I’m not ready yet
Let me stay a little while
Just a moment more
I will live and die
a self portrait
The whirring of the fan beneath the outer layer of the computer
The fan over the dining room table wobbles and groans in an upbeat tempo
The refrigerator hums and chortles as it kicks into it gear
The drone of an airplane motor can be heard passing overhead
The tippity tap of my fingers typing ever present
Every so often my breath skips a beat
I scratch my beard and the side of my head
Pop my knuckles
And belch under my breath
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Le frontiere, materiali o mentali, di calce e mattoni o simboliche, sono a volte dei campi di battaglia, ma sono anche dei workshop creativi dell'arte del vivere insieme, dei terreni in cui vengono gettati e germogliano (consapevolmente o meno) i semi di forme future di umanità. (Zygmunt Bauman)
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