Interests:hmm...hobbies, what I like to do. I like to sing in my car (by myself), dance (when no one is looking), skateboard (when I get bored), write as you can read, and play super smash brothers for the game cube. something about me and that game, we conect you know? you probably dont but oh well. This whole hobby thing is hard, its difficult to just plop (hehe plop)down everthing I like to do. oh and diving
Expertise:I think I am an expert diver. Not in the since that I am a pro and get payed to do it or anthing. Just I think im pretty good at it.
its easy for me to get caught up in your words, half truths shortened to truths and even still truth. I have a way of twisting words to mean the worst, completing sentences in my head, with my own doubts, and misconceptions. Its easy for me to be scared, lonely, and find nothing good to say at all. Negative inward, yet strangely optimistic on the outside. sometimes I feel like I might be balding...loosing my hair, a true hypochondriac, yet not because in the end I just smile, gosh I hope I don't have lice. I interpret this foreign language using my own native thoughts and context, forgetting its even foreign. Left here..looking up from squeaky sneakers, hoping to catch a break.
I feel a little victory inside, when a fella walks in to get his mind well. I stand here and look over at him, but from what can I see, he don’t look sick, but he is here to get himself well. The only thing I can tell is that he is old, Just and old man trying to get well. The only thing he can say for himself is that when he was young he fought hard for our country, for those he loved. Young man like that doesn’t even know why he is fighting he just does what he’s told, because he doesn’t know no better, he’ll work out the detail later in his mind you see, in this place. Workin’ through it, standing up there at that counter, eyes blank, just and old man, is all I can see, that don’t know no better, trying to get his mind well, still fighting for his thoughts.
It’s crazy how restrained we are. How we all sort of stand just so, and try to say all the right things at just the right time. It’s like we’ve all got this response to attention, and its negative. Sure, we all break the rules, at some point, or to some extent, but so boring, so stagnate as we all fight to be status-quo, without of course aiming too high, as that may draw eyes as well, even as I write between these lines I am careful to shape each letter just so all drawn up on the page, and each spare mark, considered a mistake asdl;kfj . Take a red pen to mark it out, even a color so vibrant as red, demoted to catch error and point it out. So we are all strong armed with guns held to our heads and told to follow in line, OR ELSE???? Well…not exactly, we’ve been reminded here and there, when we fell off the wagon or, more over, when we choose to follow out heart or mind, or our own individual desires, when we choose to dance or cry, or sing or simply not to follow the concrete, to feel the grass, to draw eyes, we were bred for this, just a long list of suggestions enforced by the honor code, and honestly I find more sanity with the insane, the uninhibited, and we wonder why 90% of our society is or wants to be drunk 90% of the time, just begging to lose the rules, one more time, to step into cold-wet-grass-between-the-toes and find some sort of rest from this demand.
The smoke, like steam, filtered through his beard as he slowly exhaled most of the smoke from the burning addiction, but he left just a little in the bottom of his lungs at all times, in case some of its nutrience would escape. “What’s it like going into restraints?”
“Like hell” His eyes died a little just having to think about it, a cold stare down past the pavement, deep inhale, pairing old smoke with the fresh (if there ever was such a thing). I know I’ve put you there a couple of times, “But you know it’s for your own safety”. (This is what we in the business call a cop-out, and we both knew it).
“Uuuummmhuuuuh” he groaned in a low tone, and continued to stare down through the pavement, as if hell itself was open for his mind’s eye to see, defeated, past the point of hope, I struggle just to give the man a little pride in this …this…hell. Even if it was true, it was certainly not what he wanted or cared to hear. He still let the smoke fold over his body as he breathed down into his stomach as if to let his skin soak up as much of the nicotine as he could. And then came the change in subject “You cold?” I was, but didn’t really care because I knew how much pain I had caused him, and if the man had figured out a way to somehow self medicate with cigarettes then who was I to deny him.
“No I’m fine.” Goosebumps formed around my elbows almost in defiance, sometimes the truth will force its way out.
“Wouldn’t want you to freeze to death” Real compassion, from one of the most unstable person I’ve ever met. “I would give you CPR if you did” REAL compassion from a man that I had strapped down to a bed and watched for 4 hours while he writhed and begged to be let free. Still begging cigarette in hand to be free from this disease this Intermittent Explosive Disorder that will plague you until I believe one day you will be set free, as all the innocent will, forgive him Father for he knows not what he does.
Pg. 85 “Grun-Tu-Molani. Man want to live.” – Mr. Henderson
Pg. 102 “Gradually the light changed as it was bound to do, but at least I had seen it again, like the fringe of the nirvana, and I let it go without a struggle, hoping it would come again before another 50 years had passed.” Mr. Henderson
Some Nondescript Name of a Collection of Quotes Yet to be Named
Pg. 1 “Sometimes I mix with the road and shut my gravel eyes, or roll-up in the clouds as they choke out the sun. I just get so caught up in the process and loose myself somewhere along the page becoming more like the ink, sticky, black, ink; I spread out on the page and fold up in your pocket. And sometimes I feel larger than just this skin-and-bones, I feel we are all mixed up in the same cup all connected, and smeared up on the same canvas as my needs become your needs, and mine and your pain is ours. My palms connect with this steering wheel and the tires with the road and the road hugs tight to the earth as it is being pulled in by the sun, and this old galaxy makes its stand as the universe expands and contracts and all at once we all inhale deep and we all feel our lungs expand between our ribs and just as we are about to explode, we exhale to feed the plants. And we are all connected to our Creator as we always are, but for this moment we can all at once feel it, those of us who care to, like a window being opened to the stiff cool breeze, it invades your comforts, in a good way, in that way we all want to be invaded. But just as quickly as we all connect for these few moments, we unplug and it all seems to disconnect at once, and the lights above our eyes go out. “ – tim foreman
