Big deal...

If you want to build a ship, don't herd people together to collect wood and don't assign them tasks and work, but rather teach them to long for the endless immensity of the sea.
I don't always remember what dreams come to me in the night but the ones that I do remember almost always involve the sea.
I dream of hallways, windows, doors and beaches.
I dream of the cool breeze, the warm sun and a sad story about a girl.
Love is only for the lovely and such a glamourous thing to waste. No one likes to see a pretty face sad.
I dream of palm trees, curling waves and saying goodbye.
I dream about plan B, the borders of Mexico and taking chances on living what's left.

Then I wake up alone and wash my face. I don't want to live forever, and I don't want to know myself better.
Big deal.

Hype and dissapointment..

When I was young much like any other american child was told that I could do anything I whimsically decided upon. Life experience, inherited genes, and coincidence and/or destiny eventually fogged the whimsical view.
Who can say really if they've had a good or bad life? I, myself have had good years and years that I'd do over if given the chance.
I remember sixteen being so enamoured with music and writing songs that I was sure it was meant to be my legacy. I formed a band, took every opportunity that presented itself, and promoted my music furiously.
At twenty I remember after the last gig I played for an audience of five at a bar downtown in San Francisco the manager handed me ten bucks and told me he'd call me. I walked outside in the rain, my guitar in hand, sat on the curb and looked at the sky. I dropped my ten bucks into gutter and watching it float away. I was too strung out to cry and too lonely to try to forget about it. I remember driving to the beach in Pacifica in my beat up little black toyota. I went layed in the wet sand and asked God, if he wouldn't mind, to just kill me and get all this hype and dissapointment over with. I didn't answer my phone or see anybody for weeks.
The year passed and I moved on, but some part of me wants to be sixteen again.

Don't fear the reaper..

But with the throttle screwed on, there is only the barest margin, and no room at all for mistakes. It has to be done right... and that's when the strange music starts, when you stretch your luck so far that fear becomes exhilaration and vibrates along your arms. You can barely see at a hundred; the tears blow back so fast that they vaporize before they get to your ears. The only sounds are the wind and a dull roar floating back from the mufflers. You watch the white line and try to lean with it... howling through a turn to the right, then to the left, and down the long hill to Pacifica... letting off now, watching for cops, but only until the next dark stretch and another few seconds on the edge... The Edge... There is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over. The others- the living- are those who pushed their luck as far as they felt they could handle it, and then pulled back, or slowed down, or did whatever they had to when it came time to choose between Now and Later. But the edge is still Out there. Or maybe it's In. The association of motorcycles with LSD is no accident of publicity. They are both a means to an end, to the place of definitions.

Bring on the breakdown!

Losing ones mind is a consequence of too much narcotics and compound letdown. Or at least this is what I'm finding to be true. I start talking to myself when I'm alone going over memories and saying out loud what I would've said differently. The other day I caught myself in this situation and thought "how did I get to this juncture?" From all the way up there to all the way down here and gaining momentum.
I run out of words eventually. So it starts again from the preface. I do the things I know to do, but the pages are wearing thin. The place I promised myself to stop is always getting pushed back just a little. The faces are different but the idea's still the same. I can't fight the urge to crack a smile and say that everything's going fine. The lights shine through the windows smokey haze and who can help but wonder if we really can see the world as it is.