A stranger in a not-so-strange land

I'm a stranger in a not-so-strange land.
The streets, the views, the panorama - it is all familiar, as if it was all a carbon-copy of "home sweet home."  And yet, the foreign eyes with which I view every curb, every boulevard, every blade of summer pasture have me pondering without discontent.  I am a visitor, an outsider, and yet I have a strange sensation of belonging.
Have I come away from far, or am I just far away from where I came?
The clock strikes back trice more the hour, and the delayed presence of my routine is played twice again - truly, there is something magical to this feeling of my pacific time frame.
The lights are a sparkling reminder of my humble beginnings, an the street noises of a busy night life remind me that I am not yet dreaming.
But I remain a stranger in a not-so-strange land, and sleep has found a new hit zone to provoke my dilemma with silence.  And I am contented enough to disregard this struggle.  And I am oblivious to acknowledging that I am still awake in a dream not once forgotten.  Serenity now sits by my side, accompanying my mesmerized pleasure to measure the distance between my narrative and the surface of the ocean from where I was born.
Where today's venture had me re-acquainted with the inner child, tomorrow's sunlight shall bring forth an adventure unknown.
After all, I am no more a stranger than this stranger land.

Boredom made this

There are days when no matter how sunny it is outside, and no matter how many activities there are to be done, one can't help but feel bored...  Perhaps, due to procrastination; perhaps, due to the inability to break free from what instigates unnecessary thoughts...  Either way, it is possible to feel bored even when there are so many things and activities available.  The question is, (and it seems to always be), "WHY?"

The most reasonable answer revolves around the concept of self, and the ability for self to re-animate itself and lead a life full of adventure or be trapped by the unsolicited binds of laziness that sometimes gets the best of moods.  I would call it a disease, as it were, because it affects even the most healthiest and the most active of individuals.  Only those who are most affected by boredom may find something adequate to do - though, in truth, their moment of satisfaction is temporary.  So why is the cure as simple as doing something?  Is it that boredom is tied to a sense of depression?  Or is it as simple as getting rid of the laziness that keeps one hiding underneath the blankets of their home?  And with that said, could boredom be restricted to the four walls that shelter us at night?  No, I think we all know that boredom can exist in any place, at any time.

But the boredom I'm referring to is the type of boredom that has one confined to feeling a sense of nostalgia, which in turn could affect one's eagerness to enjoy the sunshine, (or the moonlight, for that matter).  To those who would disagree with my perception of boredom, what else, if not nostalgic depression, could keep someone away from enjoying some healthy vitamin D for a change?  Too much of it? Too repetitive in the days?  I must admit that even an individual who claims to love sunshine and to be active on a daily basis can get to feeling bored at times - choosing to use the word 'bored' with discontent.  Alas, perhaps I begin to think more than what is adequate for this posting... So before I digress, read the message of the image above, and re-read this with caution.

Speaking to a Ghost in the Ringing Silence

I tried to speak with the ghost of my past, but the silent ringing muted my speech.

Post-mortem and indecisive, how it lingered in my thoughts to be played and re-played until the discs of words became a jumble of impersonations, and I would lose the interest to see the lighted aura of this ghost's shadow.

In the dark-half of the blue moon, I traversed the distance that kept me waiting, and the ghost sounded whispers of an unwanted awakening.  And I, too lost in translation, forgot the lyrics to an old song composed for deaf ears.

The rain melted away my distress, and in dialling the forgotten digits, the ghost of my past answered, "hello?"  But only silence replied throughout the commotion, and in the black encasing that parked by my drive-way, I stayed awakened by disbelief.

That thought that still lingers at the end of my memory lane

That old fresh fragrance of your hair,

It still lingers beneath the surface of my skin.

Oh, what a scent that was embedded in my memory,

As I held you close every night.

That perfume of your delicate skin,

That taste of your softest kiss,

That smoothness of your playful touch;

It lingers in stillness at the end of my dreams.

That soothing voice,

Which echoes in the tunnels of my recollection,

Tunes my sense of reality in an out of its idealist setting;

And that deep stare of your contemplative eyes,

How they used to see me through the night

Keeping company to my darkest of measures,

Exercising their discrete distance

To see my inspiration come to life.

That thought that still lingers at the end of my memory lane,

How it remains alive despite the disillusion of its deceit;

And I converse with it during every full moon,

And I salute it every time I drive by the lonely road,

Hoping that when amnesia overcomes me,

My recall will fold over the pages to oblivion

And your lingering memory shall be no more.

Time to grow up and act your age!

There's a difference between keeping your inner-child alive, and refusing to act your age. Some people need to realize that their behaviour has consequences and it is time to grow up and take on the responsibility of life.
There's a fine line between acting a certain way because you were robbed of those experiences in your youth, (or because you were sheltered in one way or another), and acting like a careless being that disregards the cause and effect of your actions.
Go to clubs, go get drunk, go travel, but don't forget to grow up and act your age!

Mis-representation of Dreams 2: Drive-by Car Wash

I stood by the corner of the busy avenue...My car broken, down in the middle of the busy traffic, stood on three wheels, (the other was nowhere to be found).  The trunk was left open and I stood behind it, paying no mind to the tools, forgetting that the rain threatened to fill up the space with the splashing sounds of rushing vehicles.

I stood there, looking past the other side of the road.

Thoughts arrived, which asserted my diversion from ignoring the oncoming dangers of the blind traffic madness:

-------------------------

Most people here have taken the 'blue pill' rather than the 'red pill'
"People frustrate me..."
Just let them be.  There's a grand illusion that people keep trying to make when they're special, different, and unique
"I want to let them be despite their arrogance and lack of humanity."
They're way less grandiose than we'd like them to be
"There's something to be said about the civility of their mind and how it interacts with their surroundings.  Some claim to be attentive, others claim to be apathetic...I try to believe them but they prove me wrong all the time with their actions."

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Towel hanging from my hips; the rain caressing every follicle, every pore of my body.  My hair, long as it ever was, pointed to the surface of gravity.  The drops of water, hanging from the tip of my split ends, tried to connect my body with the fluidity of the puddles on the road.

To my left, a grey vehicle is turning towards me.  The license plate on the front bumper is missing, (it is an out-of-province car), replaced by a sticker resembling the German flag.
My heart pounds slightly faster as it slows down before me.

----------------------------

You ponder too much about something so certain

"Who am I?  What am I?

The post-modern classic dilemma of existentialism

"No, I've been through this phase before...I can't be thinking of this now at this day and age.  It is something else...something uncommon and yet quite familiar."

I am born and I am dead on a daily basis, always with that thought in mind

"I thought I was past this worry...I was content."

Look up, you've just missed the sunrise

-----------------------------

The rain had stopped.  The road was quiet, deserted.

The grey car had come to a complete stop, and I attempted to sneak a glance at the driver.  Drips of sweat still held onto the metallic shell of the sedan, confirming that rain had indeed fallen - I was not completely imagining it all.

The window is rolled down gently only to reveal its vacancy.  Who was the drive-by Samaritan that stood beside me in my moment of need, offering no help but the presence of meaningful essence?

I will never know.

That feeling when you're surrounded by a crowd, and yet you can't help but to feel alone...

Ever get that feeling of loneliness when you are in a room full of familiar faces?

There are times when even the most crowded of spaces cannot offer a sense of peace, and solitude is lost in translation - the only feeling, (behind all the masks), is that of emptiness.

Why?

How is it that all the external smiles that impose on your sudden thought cannot bring fulfilment to your heart?  How is it that nobody can see past the façade you apply with effort in order to cover the frown that hides beneath the skin?  How is it that the fresh air that surrounds your being cannot fill the lungs with the breath needed to stop the incessant sighs?


The feeling is awkward.  It does not cease to exist and it is discomforting.

If I was to offer an answer that explains this imbalance, I would have to get personal, and it would mean that I would need to generalize the primal effects that are instilled in us by experience.  (And if I was able to offer a piece of sense, my mind would not be requiring the answer to the question stemmed by this intriguing empty effect).  Therefore, look within next time this feeling comes and ask yourself a series of questions:
Do you feel this way because you feel something has been taken away from you?
Do you feel this way because you're unhappy with the location of your meeting?
Do you feel this way because you're unhappy with the crowd that keeps your company?
Do you feel this way because of a need to make a connection with the right personalities?
Do you feel this way because you're unhappy with yourself?


Where does this feeling of emptiness stem from???

So many questions could be equated to help determine the source of this lament...  But when one question begins, another one follows, and at times these just build up and are jumbled upon a mountain of scribbles that lose their sense.

Perhaps the solution lies not in asking questions but in looking within yourself because only you will understand the reasons behind your sudden sense of emptiness...

Everyone's a critic when it comes to someone else's Train of Thought

The eyes that read my mind with their critical intent (and even those unfamiliar with my text) judged my scribbles as dark and as depressing.  I said "I don't care" with respect to the labyrinth of my journey - and so thoughts come and go; they are sad and happy, dark and familiar.  It is a means of salvation from the dangers of self, and not for the faint of heart: "Read with Caution..."


However, the thought alone intrigued me enough to realize that there needs to be a change of page - whereby the chapter has been read and re-read and my pen should reconsider where it attains its ink.  There is no room for sulking in the lanes of my memory, would it not be for amnesia that is sometimes contested with, challenging oblivion.  What's done is done and what is to come shall come - this is (somewhat) out of my control.


Things are looking up.

Una y Otra Vez - Sergent Garcia

Una Y Otra Vez


Caminando por las calles de mi alma
Laberinto extraño de mi soledad
Pensando en las claves de mi existencia
Viajando en el desierto de mi intimidad
Repasando y analizando de mi vida los sabores
Cuando fueron mis errores
Mis alegrías y desamores
Con que piedra yo tropecé
Cuál fue la meta que yo no alcancé
Cuáles tragos amargos de tragedias y otros milagros
Caminando entre fieles y fieras
Recorriendo el sendero una y otra vez
Una y otra vez
Poco a poco se diluyen y se van
Las nubes que desde años, nuestros sueños alborotan
A lo lejos en la niebla, voces se escuchan
Bajan de las montañas, los tambores reclaman
Soñadores con soluciones vibramos con inteligencia
Nuestro sueños no son ilusiones
Tenemos corazón y tenemos consciencia
Y aunque caigamos mil y una vez
Naceremos con más fuerza una y otra vez
Una y otra vez
Caminando en las calles de la ciudad
No tengo miedo porque sé que un día
Todo vuelve a empezar
Y ese día caminaremos con alegría
Porque nuestros sueños se habrán hecho realidad
Seguiremos soñando, seguiremos cantando
Aunque te cueste aceptarlo
Estaremos siempre como sombras vigilando
Una y otra vez

Blue Moon with a pearly smile

Oh Blue Moon with the pearly white smile;

Oh frozen Moon that keeps me warm beyond desire -

How are you this fine night?

What's that?  It's past the hour of night?

I'm sorry, I did not mean to wake you;

Nor to have the birds serenade you.

But where is the Sun this early hour?

Does the sky not share your translucence

And the bright light of morning rays?

Oh silly Blue Moon that smiles and smiles;

You had me fooled,

You had me bailing on my dreams,

Contemplating you tonight,

As every other night.