Oh Fingers, Don’t Let Me Down Now

Listen to this song before, after or during reading this post.  Or don’t.  I don’t give a crap either way.

So, I haven’t been on here in a while.  I know this because I tried to log in several times then had to have the site send me my login and password to my email address then realized that the email attached to this account is in fact my OLD email address so I had to do five tries on login and password with my OLD email address, unsuccessfully, and have the password and login sent to my OLD OLD email address, which I knew I had no clue in remembering the login for that dinosaur post.  Shockingly, I knew that login and password…the name of the girl I lost my virginity to and what she called out when she climaxed.  WICKED PEACHES.

I’m drunk…duh.  Had a brush up with Knob Creek this evening courtesy of my new favorite bartender at Rosie O’Boyles.  Check her out Tuesday nights from 3-11.  She’s gentle, gentlemen.

What the hell are we doing here?  Anyone want to gesture a guess?  Any right wing nazi accusers want to register a guess?  See, ma’am, that’s just mean.  And ironic.  A hoe chasing a hoe chasing a hoe.  FYI.  You are going to die too.  Probably painfully, like most of us.

I know, news flash.  We are all going to die.  So, my question, to Touchdown Jesus, is why are we here?  What are we doing here?  I just want to beat my own face in with a blunt instrument because I can’t wrap my brain around what is the purpose for us being here?  Is it entertainment?  Is God up there sitting on his couch with a bucket full of popcorn (extra butter, extra salt, cause God don’t have to worry ’bout no fatty acids) and a 40-Ounce of Beast (cause God ain’t got no liver) laughing his ass off, watching us fight each other (sorry, HAD to do it again, cause that lady is hellafunny) and cry and scramble around in His maze looking for a bite of cheese; knowing all the damn time…THERE AIN’T NO CHEESE.  Matrix line, anyone.  Maxtrix, please.  Neo?

My name isn’t Neo, it’s Keanu: Dialogue

Thank you, Surfer Boy.  It all makes sense now.

See, we live, we die.  It’s as simple as that.  Those of us who live longer get the wonderful experience of watching those of us we love die, which in some way will define our lives for a short time.  Because the times when we feel the most alive are when we are experiencing love and experiencing death.  The rest, in-between, is non-reactive.

So, is that the big purpose?  Are we really living to accumulate loves, then die, to most impact those we love, thus shaping and changing their lives?  Cause I can’t comprehend a more complex vision.  At some point, our entire world will die, and those of us (or them, because one would hope that the ones alive right now will not get the opportunity to experience the death of our world) around at that time will feel such a sense of euphoria, such a feeling of orgasm of death…well, the rest of us will never feel those tingles on the tips of our fingers.

That’s why we are living?  To experience death.  That’s it?  Sweet.

OMG!!!!!!!!

Eureka!!!!!!!

I figured it out!!!!!

I love Eureka moments!

And, sign me the hell up.  Oh, that’s right.  I’m already here.  Cool.  Talk about being in the right place at the right M-Fing time.  Small pleasures.

So,

kill me then, already, kill me, cause I’m tired of waiting.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  Take me.  TAke me.  Taje me.  Take me.  Take me TAke me take me take me take me tamt me take me tame me tame me take me tahe me mtake me tame me take me mtame me taje me at ake me takem ektamtatemacme metamtematematem tamek mteametemat tematemtetmeam

The Death of Dreams

Do you have dreams?  

I guess we all do or did, whether the dream was to make it to outer-space, create a unique math formula, become a Hollywood actress, eat a forty ounce t-bone, run a four minute mile, make a million dollars by thirty, marry a supermodel, live in Brazil, become a father, make it to the Big Leagues, become a writer or a train conductor or an accountant (not sure if someone ever dreamed of becoming an accountant) or a gym teacher or police or fire or mother, what happens to those dreams when they slip away?  What I mean is, we all can’t be professional baseball players, in fact most of us won’t be, but our dream to become a professional baseball player is as real to us as anything else, so what happens when we don’t reach our dreams?  Is there a scrap-yard where discarded dreams go or are they put out to pasture to run with other unachieved dreams?  Do we bury these failures deep within ourselves along with all the other multitude of failures we accumulate in our lives?

I have dreams.  My dream from conception (my mother swears it so) to twenty-four was to play professional baseball.  I worked hard at this dream, too.  I built a batting cage in my basement consisting of a mattress and sheets and a batting tee.  I woke up every morning an hour before I needed to get ready for school and hit in that basement.  I studied professional players stances and batting and fielding techniques and emulated them.  My brother and I practiced pretty much all day, everyday.  I showed up early to school to hit and work out with a couple buddies from my high school baseball team.  Ultimately, I quit halfway through my freshman college season to smoke pot and hang out with my friends.  Two years later, I tried out for Illinois State University’s baseball team and made it to the last five walk-ons standing before I was cut.  I’ll never forget the feeling of knowing I’d never make it to the Big Leagues.  I can feel that pain in my heart as I type this blog.  I compare the feeling of losing baseball to a marriage breaking apart.  I’ve never felt more comfortable then I felt on the baseball field, never felt as right as I did in the batters box, just like love, I guess, which gives you an intense high but when it breaks up you feel as though the world’s gonna quit spinning and toss you off.

I’ve never gotten over failing at my first big dream.  I don’t think I ever will.  I could look at it many different ways, it just wasn’t meant to be, timing wasn’t right, playing pro ball wasn’t your destiny, it’s not your fault, there’s something else out there for you, but in my heart I know that life is really short and you only get one go around (if only I could slip into the wonderful beliefs of reincarnation) and Ryan Theriot is playing shortstop for the Chicago Cubs and  I am not and I never will and all that extra effort, all those hours I logged in the family basemen slugging away were for naught.

My latest dream was to get into graduate school and earn my Masters in Fine Arts so I could become a college professor.  I received my ninth and final rejection this afternoon.  There’s a peace that’s come over me in realizing that no, I will not be attending graduate school in the fall; no, I will not begin the journey toward a career as a viable writer and talented teacher; yes, I am looking at another year, another ten years of slinging drinks and faking smiles as your local Scottsdale, Arizona bartender.  I know in this case, unlike when my baseball dreams ended (when I chose smoking pot and drinking with friends and chasing Capris pants), I did everything I could to attain my dream.  Looking back, I can’t see anything I could have done better or different.  But knowing that doesn’t give me solace.  

The food of failure, dipped in any sauce, tastes terrible.

I am curious to find out how other people deal with the death of dreams.  Is it easier for you to just brush it aside and move on?  Or is it something that you hold in the deep recesses of your soul, where you lock up everything other disappointment, all the other life failures, behind padded walls so they can’t hurt you anymore?  Or is it just not that important, am I making a huge deal out of something that shouldn’t matter (like I’m prone to do)?

Maybe life isn’t about the achievement of dreams at all; maybe life is about the striving toward them.  The journey, so to speak.

I’d love to hear your thoughts.  I’d love to hear what your dreams are/were/will be.  I think it would be so therapeutic if others heard your stories, learned of your struggles.  Please don’t feel embarrassed to share.  We’re all fellow sufferers here!

Thanks for reading and commenting and sharing.

MJ

To reach me, you may email me at jonah14646@yahoo.com.

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