Evolution
Every once in a while I will tumble across an old sketch pad, or one of my many collected black books, and marvel at the changes I've had over the years. When you're young you tend to think this is it, this is how you are and how you shall always be. I have trouble remembering the low times I've penned out. When deep in my bones I knew without a shadow of doubt that this is who and how I was. My precious time of teen angst and the curious wonder I feel now looking back with the urge to give my younger form a good thwack. The strange thing is, if I could warn my past self of my future problems I wouldn't. All those disbeliefs, diisillusions I had, the mistakes I made, I wouldn't stop them from occuring. Maybe it's the cutter in me but they're my little iidiosyncricies, my faults, my sins and I'll reap their punishments till the day I die and after. There are some studies that believe there is a chemical, an enzyme most likely, that is essential for the minds ability to think ahead to future occurences and consequences that humans don't devleop until adulthood. Which expalins all those bizarre incidents where you do something like hitting you head against a wall then wonder in surprise at the pain that follows. Is that the chemical makeup that distinguishes us between child and adult? Could you bottle that stuff? Now there'd be a killing. But if you could go back and talk to your younger form what would you tell them? That'd it be alright, that 'don't bother, you're fucked no matter what,' or you'll get through it, chin up. I can't imagine, sarcastic, angsty me going up to the blonde bunndle of energy I was once was and saying it'd all turn out alright. I'd be lying to myself and god knows I've done enough of that for one lifetime. Would I believe me is maybe the real question. Would first grade me, lying outside the school in the grass in a sun dress with a tootsie pow would look to the bleach blond, plaid wearing, eyebrow pierced me would connect us. She'd probalby think I was an Aunt Esther rip off minus the mowhawk. But I'd smile and she'd look at me quizzically and somewhere far off the bullies would be taunting and I'd point up and ask, "What do you think clouds taste like?" And we'd debate and then I'd say "Fuck all, have at, and give your sister a hug and a kiss for me" and that'd be it. I probably wouldn't even remember it, just another lost memory of childhood. But then years later, looking at the clouds that resemble brocoli, I'd wonder what they taste like and smile. In my insane sorta way.
Crist I want a cigarette.
Crist I want a cigarette.