The Epic Poem (Holy Frustrations)
Most of my friends are callous and they need to be.
Most of my family's idealistic and they need that, too.
And if he's got a baby, he'll become a man,
And if he's got a woman, he'll become a man.
And if I fail to grasp the truth
I'll be sordidly lost in holy frustrations.
But my identity's not something I can borrow, bend, or give away
And I won't stay on the East,
in it's shallow haughtiness and earth-staked tradition,
probably not. Then I think
"Well, the West is no better. It's been sun-kissed and left out too long."
And the Middle's just the inbetween. Where you are when you're going somewhere else.
I guess that leaves me at a loss. Of words and ideas and ambitions.
The world's depressing. I'd like to be able to throw something heavy at it.
But I'm told I should just wake up and get out of my bubble. My bubble?
I'm trying to live life as openly as possible and now apparently I've failed.
I'll live in the West though because it's easy. Cheap and easy and quick.
It'll take five or so minutes, clenching my eyes shut while it scares me and feels good at the same time. And now I've lost track of what I was talking about.
But you've got to have direction. Well, I'm not getting hard over making money and I'm not getting hard over love. So there's that. Do what you love but what if what you love is not a feasible career?
You'll find a way, the optimists say.
Don't think so hard about it, the pessimists call back.
And it's a tie. Do you flip a coin or just forget about it?
"You live!" is what they say when they haven't. The only way to learn about something is by ignoring it when you were young.
At least that's what I'm taking away from this thing. I think I'll call it "visceral living".
Yeah. That sounds good and conclusive. This hasn't got any answers and maybe one or two questions at most.
All in all, I am trying very hard to be demented and I think I am really just sad.