"out of the way, it's a busy day and I've got things on my mind..."
My entire theory of life is wrong. Everything I say and do has no basis in reality. When 20 years of friendship end, one's reaction should not be about the monetary issue. Holiday cards were sent out rather late, but they may arrive before the new year. It is possible that some may never arrive, and that at least one will be marked "return to sender." I want to take responsibility, but what does that mean? Why is it that I either suffer in silence or explode like the sun? Oh! If only I were a flash of clean, light hope Right now, I still want to explode, but I mostly want to drift away, to fade into nothingness...But maybe Mr Young was right, and I should still strive to burn out?
To paraphrase a popular cultural metaphor, "all the world's a stage and all the men are actors." I am 25 and have been playing the same role for more than a decade. The role is typically the skeptic turned believer. The same archetype found in, say, a Christmas Carol. I am Scrooge --the man with material wealth but otherwise lacking in wealth. I am George Bailey, wishing I were dead only to find out "it's a wonderful life." I am Dalton Ames... I am no one, yet I am told no man is an island [He's a peninsula]. Heaven knows I am miserable now, but like the Grinch who stole Christmas, I am expected to return the presents in the end. As Howard Beale says and as the popular cliche goes, nobody ever gets cancer at Archie Bunker's house [ironic sidenote: Network was correct about that in 1976; however, All in the Family did end with Edith's death...from cancer]. in 30 minutes (of compressed time; there are definitely Golden Girls episodes that imply months of time passed) the problem will be solved. There is a solution, that one is God, may you find him now...
I may not end up drowned in river, like Virgina Woolfe. My brains will not be splattered on live television, presumably because a bullet will not solve my problems and because I will not be on television. Don't push me I am not okay... sang Dalton Ames. Don't push me I'm a real live wire...sang Dalton Ames.
But it is the same old song, and for all we know we're just here for the length of the song...I never know when it's done, when it's gone....
But I've strayed from the point. The point is that if life is a stage and we are all actors, I have been typecast. The role no longer feels comfortable. I am either in a rut or need to be recast. Or, as I would prefer, I would rather be a writer or paint the sets. Please, let me sweep the floors, sell and check the tickets, plaster the advertisements around the town.But I just don't have it in my heart to continue the bullshit. My belief in the stage games is over. The dream is over.
I am on a rollercoaster and I haven't reached the bottom. I don't care about sweet cherry tomatoes and I do not want to go back to the way things were. Nor do I get to the bottom and go back to the top of the slide, where I stop and I turn and I go for a ride till I get to the bottom and I see you again...
As I wrote in September 2004, when I was forcing a relationship to end (perhaps one that should never have been or that was ended prematurely? but who cares; that was 2004, and the future is now...the future is Dalton Ames...).
I wrote that I wanted no longer to be Sisyphus; as I wrote above, I no longer desire to act. I no longer want to be part of the debating society, and yet though I know it is over, I still cling...I don't know where else I can go...please don't drop me home, because it's not my home, it's their home and I'm welcome no more... My position will continue to be there. I will try to toil in silence and will gladly, quietly, mutually, continue to hand in resignation notices.
I am like a rolling stone, with no direction home. And rather than attempt to be arrogant and invent a new wheel, or to be more practical and find another use for the wheel, I decide not to use the wheel. This entry brought to you by greater minds of the 20th century.
There's someone in my head, and it's not me...
To paraphrase a popular cultural metaphor, "all the world's a stage and all the men are actors." I am 25 and have been playing the same role for more than a decade. The role is typically the skeptic turned believer. The same archetype found in, say, a Christmas Carol. I am Scrooge --the man with material wealth but otherwise lacking in wealth. I am George Bailey, wishing I were dead only to find out "it's a wonderful life." I am Dalton Ames... I am no one, yet I am told no man is an island [He's a peninsula]. Heaven knows I am miserable now, but like the Grinch who stole Christmas, I am expected to return the presents in the end. As Howard Beale says and as the popular cliche goes, nobody ever gets cancer at Archie Bunker's house [ironic sidenote: Network was correct about that in 1976; however, All in the Family did end with Edith's death...from cancer]. in 30 minutes (of compressed time; there are definitely Golden Girls episodes that imply months of time passed) the problem will be solved. There is a solution, that one is God, may you find him now...
I may not end up drowned in river, like Virgina Woolfe. My brains will not be splattered on live television, presumably because a bullet will not solve my problems and because I will not be on television. Don't push me I am not okay... sang Dalton Ames. Don't push me I'm a real live wire...sang Dalton Ames.
But it is the same old song, and for all we know we're just here for the length of the song...I never know when it's done, when it's gone....
But I've strayed from the point. The point is that if life is a stage and we are all actors, I have been typecast. The role no longer feels comfortable. I am either in a rut or need to be recast. Or, as I would prefer, I would rather be a writer or paint the sets. Please, let me sweep the floors, sell and check the tickets, plaster the advertisements around the town.But I just don't have it in my heart to continue the bullshit. My belief in the stage games is over. The dream is over.
I am on a rollercoaster and I haven't reached the bottom. I don't care about sweet cherry tomatoes and I do not want to go back to the way things were. Nor do I get to the bottom and go back to the top of the slide, where I stop and I turn and I go for a ride till I get to the bottom and I see you again...
As I wrote in September 2004, when I was forcing a relationship to end (perhaps one that should never have been or that was ended prematurely? but who cares; that was 2004, and the future is now...the future is Dalton Ames...).
I wrote that I wanted no longer to be Sisyphus; as I wrote above, I no longer desire to act. I no longer want to be part of the debating society, and yet though I know it is over, I still cling...I don't know where else I can go...please don't drop me home, because it's not my home, it's their home and I'm welcome no more... My position will continue to be there. I will try to toil in silence and will gladly, quietly, mutually, continue to hand in resignation notices.
I am like a rolling stone, with no direction home. And rather than attempt to be arrogant and invent a new wheel, or to be more practical and find another use for the wheel, I decide not to use the wheel. This entry brought to you by greater minds of the 20th century.
There's someone in my head, and it's not me...