Yesterday gave me insight. Which is why these words stand here today.
Saw an old buddy of mine in a diner around midnight. I'd had a few too many - people to deal with, that is. People and their mediocrity. Beers too, but the alcohol served as little more than novocaine. We danced through the normal niceties, but I was having such a violent reaction to social interaction I barely responded. Feel kinda bad about that. We were very close at one point and I still respect and revere him above most others. One of those prototypes the likes of which you'll never encounter twice. It's too bad we lost touch. It's too bad I'm such an inconsiderate prick.
And I am, you know. Always have been.
I don't know what people expect of me. Nor think about me. I forget to take note, because I don't have enough respect for most to give a damn, even though some days I'd like to claim otherwise. Words flow out of me - that is my gift. Most people tend to read that as the markings of an open individual. I get along with people without having to adjust my wavelength to match theirs. Some see that as empathy. In my case they could be right or wrong. Depends on the day. Seeing the lighthouse from afar doesn't mean the light is warm or that you're welcome on the island it stands on. Sitting in one's living room doesn't mean you're ready for what's in their closet - nor that you'd be welcome to inspect it.
There are so few people who manage to inspire me these days. It's banality upon safety upon triviality upon indifference, and sometimes I have to grip my teeth to stop myself from scolding people for their lack of vision. I will never understand why most settle so easily. They sacrifice dreams, aspirations and curiosity for a life built from scraps. Even worse are people who have absolutely nothing in them beyond their job and routine. I refuse to believe anyone exits the womb preprogrammed like that. I guess there's comfort in regarding life's playground as an arena and giving it leeway to overpower you, but letting the world turn you weary rubs off easily on others. That, if anything, should be way up on the mortal sin ladder. Perhaps I'm as much to blame as anyone. It's not as if I'm nailed down to this course of life - and if I were, it'd be me holding the hammer. But it's hard to find a poet if you live on Planet Robot.
I'm as much an alien as ever to most people around me, but many seem to think we share common ground. That's mostly untrue. I stand on my own ground, generally very happy in my solitude, merely treading as a visitor upon theirs. I guess it doesn't register, as I rarely step on anyone's toes. No need to - rarely do I feel like I'm even the same species as most human beings. We breathe the same air, crave to be touched and our tongues twist in similar fashion to contort thoughts into lingo, but parallels do not signify unity. This is something I've grown to recognise and frown upon more and more as the days pass by. It's like having a food fight with a bunch of monkeys - everybody's happy as long as you remember to throw something once in a while. Visiting everyone's neuroses and shortcomings in a comfortable environment without a true field of depth is bearable, fun even, as long as I don't think about it to any lengthy degree. Sometimes people's warmth towards me sideswipes me, knowing what I know about the guy in the mirror. Percentage wise I wouldn't drop a donut to save most of 'em from drowning. Or maybe I would? We can find out if you want. All men are heroes in their dreams, right?
Reading back what I just wrote emphasises even moreso why I need this. This is important. Healthy and therapeutic, two things sorely lacking in my life nowadays. In more ways than one. I can understand if someone feels insulted, but that is not my intent and is beside the point anyway. Truth tends to sting, but feeling the jolt just means you're not dead inside... yet. The grind will get you only if you let it.
Stay tuned. Or don't. But thanks aplenty for taking time out of your busy Facebook/Twitter schedule to click a link.
