When the winds of change come blowing and it knocks you off your course, I pray you find your balance and pick up where you left off. Forget all that’s behind you. It’s time that you moved on. This life is temporary. We’re here and then we’re gone.
Home is an ex-girlfriend. We can’t be friends if we’re not lovers. Home is now lost under all the rubble with the fossils and non-recycled plastics. Buried in a cardboard box in the backyard. Rotting. Dead. Alone. I left you behind. Stranded in the cold. I had to look out for myself. Your ship was sinking. I wasn’t about to go down with the captain. I thought I’d find peace out West so I hopped in my car and put the keys in the ignition. I drove away into the pink and blue sunset only to find that it was an illusion. Hollywood sunsets are only beautiful because some graphic designer edited them that way. I sleep on the floor now to teach myself gratitude. I haven’t put the blinds up either. Eighteen airplanes fly outside my window every night. They keep me awake. I wonder where they’re going. Can they pick me up along the way? I shave my face now. I pay my taxes. I read the paper. Doesn’t mean I’m home. Doesn’t mean I’m a man. Doesn’t mean I’m a boy. I can’t lay down in a green field anymore and look up at the sky. What if I fall in love with a cloud formation? I can’t touch it. I can’t put a leash on it. I can’t put a leash on anything anymore. Nowadays, you can even buy a star! Doesn’t really mean it’s yours. It’s arrogant to think that. It belongs to us all. God. I just want to feel something. Anything. Wake me up on Christmas morning and let me be genuinely excited again. Let me prick my finger on a thorn to feel a little pain. Let me know that I’m alive. I feel like a zombie. A zombie addicted to coffee, not blood. I just want to be free. Free to do as I choose but no one is ever free. One must accept that. Even birds are chained to the sky.
He dreams in cartoon. Reads coffee table books and looks through picture magazines while petting someone else’s dog. Kind of taking it in. Kind of not. Constantly brewing cups of coffee trying to fight the urge to sleep. The clock is always ticking. If he rests, someone else won’t. Wanting to be outlandish. Wanting to be a mad scientist. The New York Times will say “He has a strange tone but he speaks so triumphantly. Such a fluorescent mind.” Whatever. It’s probably all forced. Forced creativity. Pretending to be intellectual. Acting like he knows everything there is to know about politics and religion. He’s never met Jesus. Have you? Maybe he’ll buy a ticket to the matinee after he visits his friends up in the solar system. Everyone needs a break. He’ll sit in that old, rustic Hollywood theatre on the corner of Whatever Blvd and So-What St guessing what celebrities would show up there in the 40’s. Probably Marilyn. Before she slept with Kennedy. Before she died. Probably. Then, he’ll sit in a coffee shop for 3 hours. Plotting. Reading people. Listening to their conversations. Someone over there said they were getting married tomorrow. Is he invited to the wedding? No? Then he probably doesn’t care. I mean, good for them though. When he gets home, he collapses on the couch. Watches Forrest Gump for the 18th time that month. Crying at that one scene. Always gets to him. He goes to sleep with his eyes half open after he puts out his cigarette. On the floor. The blinds are always open and he can see you. You can see him. No strangers. No hiding. Not anymore.
I’m on your turf now. In your territory. It’s affecting me greatly. I’ve realized while walking down these streets and turning every corner that my heart is growing fonder to the thought of you. I’m in that beginning stage where everything hits me in a new light and I fall victim to everything around me. In some kind of odd sense, I feel like you’re causing it all. You’re making it rain. You’re making the clock tick and you’re hiding behind every conversation I overhear waiting to see what I’ll do next. I’m the experiment in your laboratory and there’s cameras all around. I wonder why I feel jealousy towards those who interact with you around the table. Like somehow they are winning the race when I’m the one wearing the running shoes. Jealousy digs deep sometimes, you know? It digs up my heart, puts it in front of my bloodshot, 2AM eyes, slaps me in the face and says “HEY. This is yours. Focus on this right here, okay?” Everyone lets me play around in their casinos but when I start scoring big, they feel guilty that they were the ones giving me the quarters in the first place. Not you though. If God gave me wings, I would fly to you now.
I’m a rolling stone. Always moving. Always gone. No looking back. I don’t have time to catch my breath. I don’t have time to offer you my shoulder to cry on. I don’t have time to fall in love even though I’ve already started. I’m always under the radar and I trust no one. I see the world through black sunglasses. I face the rain head on. Collar to the wind. In the city, in the suburbs. East coast, West coast. I follow the shadows down the Avenue of the Stars. I think I’m ready to show you who I am now. Not what they want me to be. They won’t throw anymore paint on this canvas as long as I’m Van Gogh. I’m an electic boy. Plug me in and listen. I’ve faced the music. I’ve walked around the city at night and found a part of myself in that dark alley. The one I’ve always been scared to go down alone. Nothing happened. I’m still here waiting. Waiting in line. Waiting at the light. Waiting for the angels to sing and for the planets to align. Someday they will and someday you’ll be mine.
I feel that as human beings, we’re selfish- Some to an extent, some wholeheartedly but who’s to judge? Consciously or subconsciously, we all have a list of people that we rank based on importance in our lives. Jesus might fill the number one spot. Your mother might fill it or in some cases, you might fill your own number one spot. We all do it and therefore not everyone gets equal respect. That’s just the way things work and if you’re one of those people that claims to treat everyone the same and you’re not biased, you’re lying.
There comes a time when we realize that we have to accept people for who they are and that we can’t selfishly change them to make our lives a little bit easier. I’m not happy with the way that everyone around me acts but not everyone around me is happy with the way I act either so therfore, we’re equal. I think somewhere deep down, we prefer it that way. Imagine a Utopian society where everyone got along and there were no problems. That wouldn’t be fun, would it? We enjoy conflict. It keeps us problem solving. We enjoy violence. It keeps us entertained and on our toes. We love hearing about car accidents as long as they don’t involve us or anyone we know. Why? Because we’re curious, selfish human beings.
How many times have you been heavily involved in something when someone wants to rant to you about a problem they’re having. First you think, “Shit. Well, do I have time to really deal with this now?” Or maybe you’re just not in a good mood and you don’t feel like dealing with their problems because you have your own problems to deal with. After all, do they rank high enough on your list of importance? If you know someone like this, is it fair to call them selfish or would you just say they’re normal?
When the game is always changing and your competitors are always waiting for you to slow down, how does one take a break? I understand that breaks are needed, but as a writer, my mind is always wandering. Even when I try to take a break, I can’t fully. I can’t turn my mind off. Ideas pop into my head constantly and I feel like I have to act upon them when they’re fresh or else I might lose them. Honestly, it’s kind of annoying. Ideas for a song will hit me right before I leave to go somewhere. Sometimes, I’m late for meetings or appointments because I’m expounding on the idea that I just had. Often times, I ignore them and then I feel guilty later.
I’m sure Bob Dylan was laying in bed reminiscing one night, got tired, turned the light off and decided to go to sleep. Then, during that brief moment between awake and asleep, an idea for a new song hit him but he ignored it and went to bed instead. I feel that situations like that happen all the time. Imagine if Edison got a specific idea for perfecting the light bulb during an important meeting and instead of writing it down then, he thought “Oh, I’ll remember it later,” and when the meeting was through, he forgot about it.
Think twice about ignoring your ideas. They might turn into something great.
Sometimes I take a look around and ask myself “Is this life real,”? I’m not talking about my life in particular. I’m talking about life in general; existence. Is how we perceive life through our eyes really how life is or is there a whole other side to it that we’re not supposed to see?
I remember a time when I was in elementary school and my teacher was showing us how to write in cursive on the chalk board. After she showed us many times, she then called us up one by one to get in front of the class and write a word in cursive on the board. I had this strange thought that there was a whole council of people hiding behind the chalkboard that I couldn’t see…staring at me…testing me to see if I’d learn how to write in cursive quick enough. I pictured them all taking notes on me. It made me nervous. I felt as if I failed, they would score me low and I’d be pushed down in social ranking.
The thought stuck with me for a while and I then started thinking that life was just a big room that we’re born into. It’s a big white room and there is a whole council of beings taking notes on us. They throw holograms up in front of us to see how we’ll react. They put us in holographic situations meant for us to react to pain, love and happiness and they rate us on how we respond and they call it “life”.
It’s crazy what kinds of thoughts you can create out of sheer nervousness.
As I live each day in a city where everything and everyone are constantly moving, I experience a lot of change. You get so used to something or someone; a feeling, and then all of a sudden, you don’t recognize it anymore.
Recently, I was in a position where I got close to doing something pretty damn awesome with my career but as of a few days ago, it didn’t work out. I’m grateful for the experience that I had but at the same time, I’m bummed and I have every reason to be. I got my hopes up.
That’s why I bring up the topic of change…
For the past eight months I’ve been living in a tiny apartment complex while working 30 hours a week at a job I despised but then I got an unexpected phone call, went to a few auditions and a few weeks later I was in a better living situation with other artists. I got used to the feeling but everything changed in literally ninety seconds. Now, it’s back to reality again.
I flew back to my home in Texas this morning because I need to be out of LA for a little bit. I need some time to regroup and figure out what to do next. I’m a very persistent person and I will not give up on my dreams no matter how many times I fall down. I fully believe that things happen for a reason and in the this big, scary thing we call life, we must believe in and accept that we have our own destiny wheater we realize it or not. The hardest part about it is that we can only control our future to an extent. Somewhere in the stars, our life is planned out for us and the only way to experience it is to live on and move forward.
It all comes down to how we accept change. Do we push it away or do we embrace it?