"Imagine what you want, and then hold onto that thought...

...'cause that's as close as it will ever come."
--Conor Oberst.

Overlooking the city on Sunday night, I was huffing away on a grape cigarillo and thinking.
I'm always thinking or writing.
Sometimes both simultaneously (yes, some guys can multi-task).

With pen scratching furiously away on the paper, I attempted to create something that expressed what my soul felt at that moment.

I read back what was on the page, and somehow, I had missed the connection.
My disconnect is far from intentional.
Old habits die hard, I guess.
I used to separate my feelings from my art, using the former as an inspiration for the latter, rather than simply writing what it is I was feeling and thinking.
Tonight I screwed up.
It wound up moderately contrived, much like the stuff I wrote back when I was 14.
So much of that was drivel.
I was amorous - my head simultaneously in the clouds and up my ass (told you I could multi-task).

I wrote to impress, dazzle, and appear intelligent and mysterious.

I learned words firstly out of an innate interest, secondly to expand my subject matter, and thirdly to impress others with an extensive vocabulary.

These days, society on masse is frighteningly dull when it comes to their choice of verbiage.

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, there are nearly a 250,000 different words one could choose from to form sentences and communicate.

And yet sadly a vast majority chooses to misspell what few words they know.

People's love of language has been sacrificed at the altar of speed and convenience.

When did people begin valuing quantity over quality, especially when it comes to the use of language?

I have a dream, a dream deeply rooted in the Martin Luther King Jr. dream (but mine is for diction).


I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.


In other words, I want my words to have a rich depth and meaning that can be savored and cherished like all language should, not one valued for being communicably speedy.

But I digress, it's windy, and I'm going to attempt to steer this ship back on course.

After becoming frustrated at my hackneyed attempt at poetry, I set about returning to my apartment.

When I arrived, I made licorice tea, lit candles, burned vanilla incense, and began my attempt to translate raw emotion to the page.

Whenever I extract the raw feelings and thoughts, I find that I create something that I am proud of.

I am slowly learning to listen to my own advice when picking up a pen.

However, I wouldn't be here today without an endless slough of dross behind me.

I came out of the mines with a couple of gems, and in the process, learned how to express myself.



An open letter to The Puppet Master, (Fate, Karma, God- whomever you are),

Anytime now.
I'm ready.
Can you hear me?

How many times have you heard me say this?
Heard someone else say this?

Astrologists use the stars to console their need for a guide.
Hindus use their lack of good deeds to explain the misfortunes in their lives, calling it Karma.
Buddhists consider themselves as the problem.
Their solution to the ache of dissatisfaction in this life is to seek death.
This as a gateway to a oneness with all that is.

Atheists piss me off.

They seem to think that ignoring/denying the ache's presence will somehow nullify it, and they claim to be strong and self-sufficient because of this.
I honestly wonder if atheists are, as a whole, emotionally dissociative because of their "beliefs."

At the very least, an Agnostic will pursue pleasure - seeking out various fancies in the world to satisfy the dull ache of loneliness - not unlike Solomon did in ancient times.

He attempted to be absolutely certain that there was nothing in this world that could possibly satisfy the ache in his chest before he wrote "Everything is meaningless."

Don't forget, this was a guy who fooled around with a lot of women.

He could have likely wiped his ass with the extraneous money lying around his palace.

The guy had so many skills, he virtually shat gold.

Also involved in politics (He was a king) and real estate (the guy owned tons of property), there was no end to the power, money, and sex Solomon had at his disposal.

Any waking whim would be satisfied (And probably sleeping whim too [There's bound to be a kinky concubine somewhere in the 1000 wives and concubines he had]).

Surely, someone like this could be happy!
But he decided to pick up a pen so that thousands of years later, I might pick up the book his letter was in and read "Everything is meaningless."

He must have been onto something I think.

Later, in Ecclesiastes 3:22, he concludes his thought with this verse:


"So I saw that there is nothing better for a man than to enjoy his work, because that is his lot. For who can bring him to see what will happen after him?"

I think Solomon's pleasure bender was partly due to a yearning for hard facts - facts that would prove a hunch in his heart.

The man was clearly in possession of a copious amount of wisdom when he set out to do this.

I have a hunch of my own - that Solomon desired to be the litmus test to which we all could later refer, and avoid wasting what few years we have on earth chasing our tails.

Unfortunately, wisdom is earned through trying and failing.
Wisdom is earned through humble, honest, self-examination, and knowing the true difference between success and failure.

But history repeats itself, friends.
You and I are no exception.
We are doomed to the same journey, because humans are rebellious and prideful.
Self-discovery, then, becomes a necessity.

The man of the hour also once penned "With much wisdom comes much sorrow." and "The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom."

I've feared God for a long time.

Not in a "He's ready to hurl lightning at me," or "If I watch smut, I'll burn in hell," sort of way, but in the "He's an old dude who has seen a lot more than me, and listening to what he says probably isn't a terrible idea," sort of way.

I know he loves me, or He wouldn't have sent his son Jesus to die for my sins.

An instance of déjà vu  caused me to realize I'd seen this skeleton of realization before, I just never kept him around long enough to bother to flesh it out, dress it up, and breathe life into it.

Indeed, I am sorrowful most of the time.

More than likely it's a melancholy, a certain sadness, but a peaceful, restful one, and certainly it's the furthest thing from depression.

I will never be truly satisfied on this earth, and I'm happy with that answer, because I am not permanent.

I know that he placed within me a question, and I know that its answer is a living, breathing being, and it wants me to chase it.

It will continue to run from me all my life, but that is the point of the race.
I must run to keep up with the answer, and at the end, when I cross the finish line, I will finally get to meet the answer.

I will get to personally know the answer to my ache, the answer I've been chasing all my life.

That's all Solomon wanted was to get us running in a straight line.
We're no puppies, that running in circles should amuse us, and yet that's what many of us do our whole lives.
Thank God some of us are given the wisdom to realize that we're truly going nowhere fast.

Do we all not possess an ache in our chests, a yawning void that aches to be filled?

Have you chosen to respond to it?

How?

Never attempt to measure yourself alongside your peers, and whatever they may be frenetically pursuing.

You are individual, and the sooner you sequester yourself off, connect with the hole in your life, and find out what you truly seek, you will wind up chasing your tail, or the tail of your peers, until you've completely lost the inkling as to why you started running in the first place.

So do I want to follow in Solomon's footsteps exactly?

Not particularly. 

I merely want to study his method, and deliver his message in a language my people will understand.

As the old Hollywood adage goes, "Give me the same thing, only different."

I believe my ache is one that yearns to be united with all that is.

Let me rephrase that. 

To be reunited with all that is.

I believe the fear of the LORD Solomon claims cultivates wisdom is actually awareness. 

It's a Zen-like concept of acknowledging that I cannot possess all knowledge, but I know someone who does. 

A trinket of wisdom that both dissatisfies and completes.

A circle that begins, ends, and yet is one.

This is what possessing the beginnings of wisdom feels like.

Simply put, all I can do is be me. 

I can be happy and content by doing what it is I was made to do:
Write.