‘A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME’
It’s just one of those things I suppose. That thing you know is there because you feel it every morning when you wake up and every night when you lie back down in the bed that you’ve made. That thing you can’t quite put your finger on while it lingers within the deepest crevices of your being the way it has ever since you can remember. You can’t even recall a time when it wasn’t there. No doubt you’ve tried to figure it out and solve the riddle of life, your own life but no matter what you do, no matter what you try you just can’t seem wrap your head around it. She’s a mean bitch whatever she is and she is the most elusive bitch of all. You’re pretty sure you’re not alone in it either. You know Poe must have felt it and probably Kerouac and Thompson too, just to name a few of the many. Guys like Poe and Kerouac it killed them slowly, as hard as they fought, the thing still won. They willingly if not gratefully fed the beast hoping it would go away and leave them alone. One had a monkey on his back and the other crawled inside a bottle with the goal of committing suicide slowly. He achieved his goal. Thompson, yeah Hunter always the showman did it quick and immediate the way he lived his everyday, the way he wrote his every word. Nah there was no fucking around for him, he just let it build up and one day simply said “fuck it” BAM, BLAM, SPLAT and that’s that, doing it the way he did most everything in his life, suddenly and unapologetically. I get the feeling that not one of these guys, great literary and political minds of our times and realists, knew exactly what it was or how to stop the inevitable but they all knew it was there hiding in the shadows. They all shared the same thing. That and the written word ruled their world. Maybe that was their problem.
I think we’re all born with it but most shed it naturally, others with the help of those around them and positive reinforcement. Some never lose it. For whatever reason, it doesn’t really matter why, it just never goes away it lingers in your mind, creeps into your heart and eventually infects your soul. The names for her are plenty, her definition perplexing. Some call her loneliness, desolation or solitude. ‘A rose by any other name’ as they say, ‘is still a rose’. Others refer to her as karma; a consequence for a way one chooses to live life. Karma. Karma is only justice without the satisfaction and I don’t believe in justice. Still I know that bitch is out there lurking. I get the feeling too, I always have. I was born with it. Me, I fall into the “some never lose it” category. Not sure where I belong or even if I belong, I never have been sure and am even less so these days. And the restlessness, that feeling that comes with thinking too much, too hard and too fast. Living life so fast that you’re not sure how to slow down and if and when you finally do you’re not able to stop thinking or sit still long enough to enjoy it. Just when you do find it inside you to enjoy the moment, it’s gone. It has passed you by yet again and again you don’t know if there will ever be another moment. Life only lasts a few moments. Stringing those moments together is what makes a lifetime. Good, bad or ugly there’s nothing else. You’re here it’s now.
I’m fairly certain the three aforementioned gentlemen didn’t know how to enjoy life. I mean really enjoy it. In fact I bet at times they straight fucking abhorred the whole deal. I’m right there with them I suppose. You can really live life and never know how to truly enjoy it. I know. Sure there’s a sardonic smile here a coy grin there maybe even a cynical chuckle now and then but there’s no real feeling there. No. That died long ago along with any ability to get excited about life? That was spent on long, lonely nights in dank, dark rooms. A wild youth consumed by wanderlust and felonious activity greatly contributed to and resulted in those long nights in those dank, dark rooms. So I am left with experiences and memories as many not so positive as positive and with more experience than I can shelter in my soul in one lifetime. No my soul is full as is my heart and mind. I like those before me seek to relieve it of some of the weigh it carries, seemingly all in vain.
There are the stories that take me twenty minutes to write that took a lifetime to cultivate and possibly longer to understand. Some of us laugh with you while we cry inside, some cheer as they seethe. While others believe they are all alone out there in the world even when the room is crowded. Maybe we’re not as alone as we seem to believe. It’s a rough fucker out there in the big bad place we call our world, so many humans with so much inhumanity. For every friendly face there’s some prick ready to steal your day right behind him. Sometimes it takes everything we’ve got just to pull our pants on in the morning and walk out the door into it. You never know what you’re gonna get. Maybe we’re not as alone as we think we are. Maybe there are those of us who possess such a keen sense of awareness we can’t help but feel all alone. An acute awareness of reality isn’t always necessarily a good thing. Having a true sense of self-awareness can be even less of one. I’ve learned that playing stupid and not paying attention to the world around you has its benefits. Unfortunately I’m not built that way and not sure I would really want to be.
I’ve seen a lot and have done a lot and I have a good feeling there’s a lot more on my plate. I’m just doing my best to try and stay ahead of the game and not check out of this scene like the fellows above did. Shit, I’m only on my second act of this shit show. Still, I question some things as the voices of subliminal manipulation quietly whispering in my ear grow in frequency. No I’m not crazy though I’ve been called crazy or worse and likely have been such at several points in my life. Medication probably wouldn’t hurt either but it is what it is, I am who I am. I’ve never been one for theatrics at least were my personal life is concerned. In fact I’m pretty private and elusive in that regard. I just know what I know and follow that nudge my subconscious gives me now and then if even it only keeps my head above water for another day. I would say trust me, I’ve been there and done that, I know what I’m talking about. Then again I would never ask you to trust me because that’s the sign of a guilty soul. Only a complete basket case or real screwball would take my advice. Opinions, now I’ve got plenty of those for you so be careful what you ask for. I may be detached and all kinds of fucked up at times but one thing I don’t have is a guilty soul because I have no regrets. Regrets are for pussies.
A Gypsy Road 
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