A Box of chocolates
It's been a long time since I've even looked at this thing and I have a TON on my mind right now and it might get kind of deep, so get your waders on kids and jump in. (If you don't know what waders are, then I pity you and tell you this, go fishing!)
Forrest Gump is full of it. Life, is not like a box of chocolates. It's not even close. It is true that when you reach into that pretty box and pull out one of those chocolates, that you never know what you're going to get, but you do know one thing, it's gonna be a tasty chocolate. If life were like a box of chocolates, then things would just work out, and everything would be good; just different types of good. And then there would be people who are allergic to chocolate, which in this metaphor it means they die upon receiving life, or just blow up like a balloon, either way it's not pretty.
Life is much more like a box of chocolates mixed with chocolate shaped balls of $*#@. You reach in, and things all look good, and then you go for it and bite into it and realize you have a hunk of dung in your mouth and there's nothing you can do but swallow it down.
As you may be able to tell, I'm not real enchanted with life right now, nor am I enchanted with people in general. I wonder if everyone else feels this way too. I can't imagine how you wouldn't get jaded with life sometimes. Maybe I'm just too much of a pessimist. Maybe I'm realistic and everyone else is deliriously optimistic. I hope it's the former.
You know what, I don't mind so much if life gives me a chocolate shaped ball of crap, I've had my share already, I know what they taste like. (Not literally, geez) I have confidence and faith that no matter what happens, I'll be able to get through it and get past it, as do most people I'm sure. But it's not a matter of whether you'll get through it or not, it's a matter of how you get through it and who you become at the end of it. What I do mind is watching someone else choke down a lump when they expected a chocolate. To stand aside and watch that or know that someone is experiencing it is unbearable to me. I have all this resilience and strength built up over the years of suffering at my own hands, and I can't give an ounce to someone who may need it or want it. It's odd that no matter what kind of sadness or depression hits me, even the kind that erases all my energy and desire for weeks, I don't mind it that much and I'm ok with it. But when someone else has something happen to them, the huge hole in my scarred armor is quickly exposed. Maybe if I can somehow absorb some of that pain, I can make it better for them. It is infinitely frustrating to be helpless when I want to help more than any other time. This, this one thought and declaration, is at the heart of my true passion: writing. I've never written out the exploration or reason behind why I am so passionate about writing, be it word or music. When someone is tasting that foul treat of life, people often can't help or are not asked to do so for fear of inconvenience or looking weak. I am partly the latter in that I don't ask for help because I don't want to be perceived as weak, and contrary to what you would normally think, it's not an ego thing. I won't get into the psychological blab behind that now. When someone is looking for escape, they sometimes go to music, to movies. They can trust a song, or a movie because it's not a person, and it can't be selfish. Selfishness is the biggest reason behind distrust, and an expression of emotion and thought can't be that. It's the only way that I can help, and if I write hundreds of things, and it helps wash down one putrid piece of life for one person, then I've made a difference. In that one moment, when someone is profoundly touched by something you've created, it transcends any other feeling or experience I've ever had in my very young life. It is however, ironic, that my own selfish desire to help is what fuels that writing. Maybe you now see more of me, maybe you didn't even get this far down the page, maybe you think I'm way off base and talk to much psycho babble, and maybe you'll remember me when you need a tall glass of escape to wash down some life.
Angel of Mercy
Angel of Mercy, come nigh to me,
compassion begs you near.
Relieve this pained and empty shell,
this heart that once beat here.
Angel of Mercy, extend thy grace,
please keep me from the day.
Make this night a final moon
that ne're shall set, I pray.
Though I have asked a thousand times
for comfort, joy and peace.
I wish for only one wish now,
a hasted, sweet release.
Release from now a half of life,
and memories I knew.
Questions from a broken heart,
and now I ask of you.
Angel of Mercy, come nigh to me,
and leave her here to stay.
In me you find a willing soul,
take me instead, I pray.
-- The D
Forrest Gump is full of it. Life, is not like a box of chocolates. It's not even close. It is true that when you reach into that pretty box and pull out one of those chocolates, that you never know what you're going to get, but you do know one thing, it's gonna be a tasty chocolate. If life were like a box of chocolates, then things would just work out, and everything would be good; just different types of good. And then there would be people who are allergic to chocolate, which in this metaphor it means they die upon receiving life, or just blow up like a balloon, either way it's not pretty.
Life is much more like a box of chocolates mixed with chocolate shaped balls of $*#@. You reach in, and things all look good, and then you go for it and bite into it and realize you have a hunk of dung in your mouth and there's nothing you can do but swallow it down.
As you may be able to tell, I'm not real enchanted with life right now, nor am I enchanted with people in general. I wonder if everyone else feels this way too. I can't imagine how you wouldn't get jaded with life sometimes. Maybe I'm just too much of a pessimist. Maybe I'm realistic and everyone else is deliriously optimistic. I hope it's the former.
You know what, I don't mind so much if life gives me a chocolate shaped ball of crap, I've had my share already, I know what they taste like. (Not literally, geez) I have confidence and faith that no matter what happens, I'll be able to get through it and get past it, as do most people I'm sure. But it's not a matter of whether you'll get through it or not, it's a matter of how you get through it and who you become at the end of it. What I do mind is watching someone else choke down a lump when they expected a chocolate. To stand aside and watch that or know that someone is experiencing it is unbearable to me. I have all this resilience and strength built up over the years of suffering at my own hands, and I can't give an ounce to someone who may need it or want it. It's odd that no matter what kind of sadness or depression hits me, even the kind that erases all my energy and desire for weeks, I don't mind it that much and I'm ok with it. But when someone else has something happen to them, the huge hole in my scarred armor is quickly exposed. Maybe if I can somehow absorb some of that pain, I can make it better for them. It is infinitely frustrating to be helpless when I want to help more than any other time. This, this one thought and declaration, is at the heart of my true passion: writing. I've never written out the exploration or reason behind why I am so passionate about writing, be it word or music. When someone is tasting that foul treat of life, people often can't help or are not asked to do so for fear of inconvenience or looking weak. I am partly the latter in that I don't ask for help because I don't want to be perceived as weak, and contrary to what you would normally think, it's not an ego thing. I won't get into the psychological blab behind that now. When someone is looking for escape, they sometimes go to music, to movies. They can trust a song, or a movie because it's not a person, and it can't be selfish. Selfishness is the biggest reason behind distrust, and an expression of emotion and thought can't be that. It's the only way that I can help, and if I write hundreds of things, and it helps wash down one putrid piece of life for one person, then I've made a difference. In that one moment, when someone is profoundly touched by something you've created, it transcends any other feeling or experience I've ever had in my very young life. It is however, ironic, that my own selfish desire to help is what fuels that writing. Maybe you now see more of me, maybe you didn't even get this far down the page, maybe you think I'm way off base and talk to much psycho babble, and maybe you'll remember me when you need a tall glass of escape to wash down some life.
Angel of Mercy
Angel of Mercy, come nigh to me,
compassion begs you near.
Relieve this pained and empty shell,
this heart that once beat here.
Angel of Mercy, extend thy grace,
please keep me from the day.
Make this night a final moon
that ne're shall set, I pray.
Though I have asked a thousand times
for comfort, joy and peace.
I wish for only one wish now,
a hasted, sweet release.
Release from now a half of life,
and memories I knew.
Questions from a broken heart,
and now I ask of you.
Angel of Mercy, come nigh to me,
and leave her here to stay.
In me you find a willing soul,
take me instead, I pray.
-- The D
posted by The D at
11:08 PM
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