Oh, look at me. Really, someone should take my computer away. I'm probably dangerous
I looked in the mirror and saw myself a million times. I looked harder, seeing the me I was as boy of nine, boy scout uniform on, cowlick cursing the slopes of my forehead. Round headed smiling boy, two teeth missing from the front. Who was I? I did not know what was coming. I look again and see a me that has all the wisdom of my years, and I see me facing that little boy. What have I gained from the knowing? I look further and see my beard grayed, shirtsleeves rolled up after a day of working, gazing into that mirror looking back at the me. And what had I accomplished? What had I earned except the second to look in the mirror and wonder where my life went.
I look and I see the mirrors turned to me by everywheres. To keep me looking at my life all along. To keep me wondering where I’m going until I stop where I am and gaze backwards down the corridor of me. And I’ll wonder if that person there likes vanilla coke. Or if he can speak spanish. Or if carries a wallet or wears a watch. And each possibility shows me something new, something to add to myself and continue along the way looking backward wondering where I started and why?
Any of this make sense? Ever stop and wonder why we type? Why we share our existence with anyone. Why not just live in our heads. It’s safer there and at least everyones warm. It’s a place where the authorities aren’t reached because two men stand outside their house warming their selves in the steam of a dryer. Not that the authorities were reached mind you, just that this is the world. At least we’re only looking in half of the times. Have you ever wondered whats worse, looking in, or looking out. What if you were stuck looking in all of the times? I shudder at the thought.
Then wonder, is the moon more like faces. Or is it a bunny. And what cultures care? But to look at that moon and be able to think it a lost dog. That’s pretty profound, except for the fact that it’s shit. Nothing I say makes much sense, but I type anyways.
So I guess it al doesn’t mean a damn, and I’ll probably never be clever enough to use the cut and paste of the mouse to get this into the journal anyways, and then I probably couldn’t remember a name or password if I tried. But I’ll tell you what, the room looks a lot different tonight. It looks a lot more dangerous, like things could hurt, and I can’t stop typing.
I probably should go to bed now.
I look and I see the mirrors turned to me by everywheres. To keep me looking at my life all along. To keep me wondering where I’m going until I stop where I am and gaze backwards down the corridor of me. And I’ll wonder if that person there likes vanilla coke. Or if he can speak spanish. Or if carries a wallet or wears a watch. And each possibility shows me something new, something to add to myself and continue along the way looking backward wondering where I started and why?
Any of this make sense? Ever stop and wonder why we type? Why we share our existence with anyone. Why not just live in our heads. It’s safer there and at least everyones warm. It’s a place where the authorities aren’t reached because two men stand outside their house warming their selves in the steam of a dryer. Not that the authorities were reached mind you, just that this is the world. At least we’re only looking in half of the times. Have you ever wondered whats worse, looking in, or looking out. What if you were stuck looking in all of the times? I shudder at the thought.
Then wonder, is the moon more like faces. Or is it a bunny. And what cultures care? But to look at that moon and be able to think it a lost dog. That’s pretty profound, except for the fact that it’s shit. Nothing I say makes much sense, but I type anyways.
So I guess it al doesn’t mean a damn, and I’ll probably never be clever enough to use the cut and paste of the mouse to get this into the journal anyways, and then I probably couldn’t remember a name or password if I tried. But I’ll tell you what, the room looks a lot different tonight. It looks a lot more dangerous, like things could hurt, and I can’t stop typing.
I probably should go to bed now.