Where you going?

Experimentation with diaologue. Brief scene setting precedes it. Essentially a monoluge which is hopefully interesting and gives a sense of character.

Andy’s cafe. A green fronted place with reasonably priced grub. Mick Wolowitz sits at a table in the corner of the room across from his friend Paul. Paul seems disengaged, Mick doesn’t care they’ve hardly made eye contact since they sat down. Eyes dart; food to paper to window to tea to food to paper to window to tea. Mick talks as if no one’s listening.

“It’s like everyone’s got somewhere to be. All these people gotta place to go and they ain’t gonna let shit get in their way. I doubt they’ve ever left the house without a destination. And it may sound foolish, walking round with nowhere to go, but how will you ever get to know this town, ever get to know the people if you don’t lift your head amongst them. I mean when was the last time you took a walk and made eye contact with someone, intentionally, and smiled or nodded or, god forbid, said hello. We’re so fucking afraid of each other; it just doesn’t happen. Everyone needs purpose in their life to feel safe ergo everyone has a destination. I bet the closest you come to a brief human connection in your daily movement is when you pretend to be looking at the road behind you so you can stare at that girl’s ass. It’s fucking pathetic and I’m no better, I’m just as much a zombie as the rest of us; I only ever smile back never to y’know? Unless I really think about it, unless I’m in “just got laid” kinda mood, it don’t happen. You know why it don’t happen? Cause I know people won’t understand, I know they’ll look away, kick at their heels, spit venom at me through their pupils and get the hell away. Ironic that I walk around pissed off most the time refusing to make contact with people because they walk around doing the same.

There are only two instances in which you open up to a stranger, that’s when a situation requires it...

You’re at work, you need to get the new Ralph Lauren sweaters in the window for winter, but Janine has already filled the men’s wear window with the new Hugo Boss selection. So you gotta go talk to this girl Janine and find out what you’re gonna do about the window before your bitter, fifty year old, I’m still young “Just call me Al” boss; Alan, gets wind of the problem and sticks it up both of ya. So you talk to Janine, you try to connect with her and you solve the problem for your mutual benefit. But even then it’s not a real connection. It’s just an awkward social contract; where every word you speak might as well be a turd coming out of your mouth. And although you’re smiling and pretending to listen you’re thinking only two things “why the fuck do all lines of men’s clothing have some douche bags name on them?” and “this bitch’s face really isn’t all that, but if she pulled me aside and tried it on I wouldn’t say no.” One thought of bored curiosity and one of base sexual desire. The tragedy of this little altercation is that this is the closest thing you’ve had to a human connection all day long.

...or when the social conditions expect it.

You’re at this club that sits between the burned down amusement arcade and the alley where that girl got raped. Every five minutes you’re dashing outside for a fag cause this place is a real shit hole. You look at your watch and back inside at your buddy Paul. The sad lonely expression on his face draws you back inside hook, line and sinker. The cigarette breaks become less and less, the pints consumed become more and more. Before you know it you’re talking to this girl who you met when you accidently went into the wrong bathroom. You’re trying to pick your words carefully cause this chick’s getting hotter by the drink. But really there’s only two thoughts in your head; “What do I say to get this girl to fuck me?” and “what douche bags name do I have on my underwear?”. This closest you come to a human connection aside from Janine is Chelsea. The girl who let you stick it in it on the lime scale tiled floor of the club bathroom. Where you pulled so hard against the floor to get yourself off you had tile grout stuck under your finger nails for a week. Dirty finger nails and a lump on your head from where you head butted the toilet seat; the closest you’ve come to a human encounter in months.

Yeah ... no one just stops anymore, tries to take it in, tries to strike up a conversation on the bus, it just doesn’t happen. You wanna here the most hilarious part? I don’t even know if that human connection bullshit I’ve been banging on about is even real. I’ve never felt it and I can blame society, I can blame people all I want. But truly I have no clue what it is, if it even is at all. Just an idea I liked I guess. Came up with it one morning a year ago after I got fired at work, I walked out, nowhere to go and jack all tod o. So I just sat down and looked around for a while.

But don’t get me wrong, I ain’t complaining, I’m just telling it how I see it. I’m sixty two. I have the same conversation with my wife Janine every day. “Good Morning...No thanks I’m trying to quit...coffee for me please...probably seeing Paul later...no don’t change the fucking channel I’m watching this...” Same conversation every morning, same lazy wank mid –afternoon, in between just scratching the lump on my head and watching TV. Most days are the same. Well what do you expect? I ain’t got anywhere to be have I?”

There's no point in reading this.

I don’t know if it’s just me or if this is a general thing. But there seems to be a growing air of anticipation that something is going to happen. My thinking about this issue has certainly been kicked off by these “UFO” sightings in a few cities across the globe as well as the story of a disappearing village in China. But I won’t go into that here don’t worry, firstly it’s an issue I’m near clueless on and secondly my mind has become pre – occupied with a much older thought, idea, belief whatever you wanna call it. Which has stayed with me for a long time and I sometimes forget. Let me try and articulate this idea for you so you can see what you think.

Certain ideas, words and general concepts I find to be very narrowing and stunting. By this I don’t mean that a word’s definition is narrowing. I mean the very fact that these concepts exist is harrowing to what I would deem as a wider and more open minded perception of life. Concepts such as meaning and purpose detract from the very essence of being and the experiences we have by creating an automatic emotional detachment from them, in favour of an intelligent consideration of their effects and possible meaning.

If we look at the idea of purpose as impossible and reject the notion of it completely we are left with being on its own. The way we act and behave is usually determined by a goal, by a purpose. We work, to obtain money, to buy shit, to make us happy. In the small realm of the self and the ego purpose certainly has a place, as we can see above. Yet in the grand scheme of things we live for what is ultimately a ludicrously short period of time and then we die. If we die at the end of it all, which we do, then in the end our life is reduced to nothing but a series of experiences.

By chasing purpose we kill the potential for experience, for being, for living in all forms, ways and manners. We kill the potential for experimentation and stupid juvenile shit that makes you laugh and trying to feel the world at your feet and the universe around you. The reason we find it hard to be at one with the universe and content with our place within it is because we’re too busy chasing a grander, higher perception of things that we will ultimately never find in this life.

I suppose true oneness, true peace, the true and free experience of just being, just existing; whatever that is, comes from the realisation that there is no point. There is no purpose to whatever you call this mess of consciousness we try to navigate. We’re simply a tiny cosmic reaction in an infinite space of other different reactions.

So what does this mean for me? It means you shouldn’t worry. It means that nothing really matters and that anything is possible. It means we should love fearlessly and often. It means we should keep our minds open to any and every possibility and perception as no purpose means no right or wrong answer. It means we should talk to the crazy people on the side of the street who shout “THE END IS NIGH”. But really it means nothing just like this post, just like everything else.

“It’s hard to stay mad when there’s so much beauty in the world, sometimes I feel like I’m seeing it all at once and it’s too much; my heart fills up like a balloon that’s about to burst. And then I remember to relax and stop trying to hold onto it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can’t feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life.”

The apology we aren't owed.

Everything is ok

The life choked out of him
And the glum smile scratched his face
“sorry we fucked it up so bad”
A legacy left without a trace
Apologies were all he had left in him
This man, this soul, the embodiment of his generation

I’m sorry the art of conversation died
I’m sorry it got replaced with TV’s prime time
I’m sorry for the Disney channel
I’m sorry for the unfunny comedy
I’m sorry entertainment becoming stupification
And I’m sorry for the fake economy

I’m sorry music fell to the money launders
I’m sorry the kids stopped listening started buying
I’m sorry Kurt Cobain died
I’m sorry the angry counter culture went with him
I’m sorry the pissed off youth went underground
And I’m sorry they’re lost never to be found

I’m sorry the teachers forgot all the good they could do
I’m sorry they did what they were told, didn’t listen to you
I’m sorry the schools babysit instead of teach
I’m sorry it’s a gospel of hate that they preach
I’m sorry they teach you all to be so afraid
And I’m sorry they doused the fire, put out the flame

I’m sorry we believed every word they said
I’m sorry we believed the lies we read
I’m sorry we left our brains to rot
I’m sorry alcohol’s legal and weed’s not
I’m sorry we killed our anger with Prozac
And I’m sorry that its gone but it’s not coming back

I’m sorry for the nuclear weapons
I’m sorry for the murder
I’m sorry to all those that died
I’m sorry we didn’t care further
I’m sorry we forget what the past taught
And I’m sorry we remembered how to wage war

I’m sorry for the plague of mediocrity
I’m sorry for the acceptance of inequality
I’m sorry we abandoned peace and love
I’m sorry we took god from our hearts and put it above
I’m sorry for this world I’m leaving you in
And I’m so so sorry I can’t go back and start again
And I spoke to the dying generation
And I spoke to the dying man
And I spoke to my Father
And I took his hand
And I said:

We forgive you
I forgive you
I will change it
We will change it

Everything is really ... okay