Love's Naloxone Or Taking the Anti-love pill. Part Nine – Blue: Act 4 Part one

When I started this I've started to think that this can go one of two ways: A positive spin or one that paints others in a bad light. It wasn't until I sat down and I've come to realize that I have more options to start this out than I can count. Often times with conventional thinking one simply accept the outcomes that have been given to them and they place them in the two categories because they are conditioned by society that there can never be more than two, perhaps three if they stretch their imagination far enough to make them uncomfortable. So I'm not going to do so. Especially since doing so is only going to make things seem what they are not rather than what they are and what they are still baffle me to the point that I continue to question them with every revolution around.

I know. Those of you who know me well enough know that I'm stalling. You know that I'm stalling to either plead a case or to simply circle around the point of entry wondering how to begin something that I feel is not only bigger than me, but carrying a fear that there might just be a chance that words may fail me. I do have to admit that there have been moments of my life where my words have saved my hide in more ways than one and that the lost of a meaning would have meant that I would not have been here to regale you with what madness my mind holds.

Words have long held a special weight as some individuals may favor the heft of a weapon or a show of wealth in differentiating themselves from others. Words are not only my choice of arms, but they are defense against a cold world. They are my vassals in a time where innuendo is overlooked for anagrammed nonsense and compressed meaning that hold as much nuance as time prepared nourishment tossed into one bowl to lose their characteristic and meaning as so much manufactured gruel. They aid me to woo the hearts of others, incite outrage, love and compassion. They are my island to mask my intent and feeling as well as the manner of magnification. To ignore my message is heartbreaking, but understandable. To deny me of my ability to communicate is deadly as much as it is foolish, for once I am denied the means of conveying my intent, my soul revert from one who struggles to reach out, in hopes of being pulling back into the warmth of a humanity denied to someone who as nothing less to gamble and who will resort to physical means to attain that retaken right by any means necessary. It is the only proof I can offer the world that I am not calloused within and that it has not taken what small shreds of hope I still desperately cling to. It is my only means of bearing you my heart at risk of you striking it as many have already my scarred exterior.

In truth, it is the only thing I still hold on to in moments such as now. I have always been a pupil on the concept that with great knowledge come great sacrifice and pain. It is often a price that separates the masses from on another and a filter I use to seek out others who may have some chance to understand the challenges taken. Although there are individuals that can circumvent the price with the cost of another, many do not realize the price of such an act nor realize that it is in many ways a rite of passages into humanism the same way a moment of hunger usually aligns many against it rather than to blame these who suffer from it. It not only broadens the narrow minded belief that those who are able are somehow blessed from some sort of please outer power to a unifying understanding how we are all alike regardless of how some are portrayed and even masked. People somehow have an affinity towards fear and group sanctioned cruelty as long as it does not include them into that factor rather than dropping all that one would consider differences and labels for the concept that many moments are universally felt. In many ways a smile is a vessel to convey joy although the definition of joy may be perverse in some situations at foster division and hatred.

I know, I am dancing around my point. Just humor me a bit more, even if your opinion of me is that of a fool in motley. After all, only fools had the ability to speak frankly to those who would never accept the truth otherwise.

I think it was Eddie Izzard who mused that only after so much suffering and inhumanity that former African slaves could sing songs of rejoice and glory in the house of worship of their captors while they sing from a lofty nature and dry assumption that yields no happiness. And it is much a Stockholm case as generations of persecution and degradation can yield music filled with not only so much over jubilation, but can also so much woe and anguish. While many who I can understand would be attracted to the showmanship of gospel, I gravitate towards the blues in a way that contributes to my pain being one that lacks talent in song or even instrument. Listening to blues men and women of old I can connect my suffering to their, not in a childish of measuring whose owie is bigger, but a collective exhalation of ache and heaviness that can only be felt with the slide of a guitar and a voice that is so saturated with sorrow that anyone with the ability to empathize will be made to fall to knees in impromptu prayer of sadness rather than praise. It is these individuals who I call kin to, who understand that they are a bite away from hunger, a penny away from the chill of the night, and a drink in need for their woes.

Things have turned a deeper shade of blue
And images that might be real

As much as I would laugh at my Po' joke, not being able to afford the remaining "or" attachment, I understand as King once remarked that humor is just anger is disguised. I have laughed my share of hurt through out my life that I am often question why I begin to chuckle at moment where laughter is not only cruel but insensitive. I always retort with I've gotten tired of crying, especially when I ran out of tears and laughter has always given me the edge I've needed to mockingly state my rage instead of acting on it.

I guess we're going in this direction. *sad smile*

Yeah, I can feel it reaching out
And moving closer

To cut to the bone, what are you willing to sacrifice to get to the other side? What are you willing to give up to make ends meet? What are you going to let go of to ensure you do not drop everything? Most of us carried a form of arrogance and immortality that seem to be a attributed to our youth and ignorance. We claim to be from the Gods themselves as we look upon all creation as our birthright and hold up our banner of entitlement affirming our right of ascension with the menial task of cellular respiration. And yet without trust funds and the correct amount of ring flash many of us come to realize this is what had killed our parents, understanding their comments of keeping your head down and nose to the grindstone is simply a prayer of cruel mercy rather than small minded ignorance. All birds fly towards the sky. It is only the caged ones that have given up the fight.

And yet, when released they will run.

Don't wake me from the dream
It's really everything it seemed
I'm so free

One day, I got up and I come to realize that I could not get up anymore. That instead of getting up, getting ready for work then class in the afternoon that I could not get up and start my day. The driving force that had helped me along, driven me forward, shoved me into pace, that dragged me up and out was gone. I laid there wondering why I was unable to move as it slowly began to peal apart. I've come to realize that I could not say those words anymore. That something had taken something away from me that made me go. And there I remained as I stared off into the ticking clock slowly ticking away the moments that I once looked forward to and I've finally discovered that I had given up. I've given up the ghost. The need to move. The desire to make the day my own. I laid there watching the time slowly tick away, watching the time change from being early to being rushed and then to being late. I watch the change as one would stare into an open wound, all the while pondering what we were truly made of and what made us not. And with that I've began to realize I have lost that ability that I've always thought I've have: Faith. I seem to believe that day would follow night and day again. Water was wet and stone was hard as others were harder. I remained in on place and realized that I had to desire to move from this place and that I'd better resolve this before I approached that slippery slope where you begin to question purpose and then end up with asking if the world would miss you tomorrow as it may or may not miss you today.

Asked myself what it's all for
You know the funny thing about it
I couldn't answer

It had come to my conscious that every morning was spent in the same manner. I would wake up and regret it. I would awaken and stare upon the sky and with shamed eyes shut I would offer a pray. A prayer in the theme of begging for forgiveness and resolve. The act of attempting to prove that I was somehow forgotten (ignored) and that if I was given just a bit of assistance I would prove my worth. It was a desperate prayer: A prayer that asked for the absolutions of those around me due to my lack of ability and a promise to do better. I was not giving thanks nor asking for protection, but I was in a way asking for either shelter or permission to end my struggle. And as Pachino remarked, that God does not work in that way. You must commit the sin then ask for forgiveness rather than have the Calvary come in. Laying there I realized that all those years I've said that I will never give up that time had betrayed me for who I was, simply one man against so much stacked against him. I did not know what trespasses I've committed, but it did not seem that I would be given forgiveness. After all, successful people have the almighty's backing or at least that is what they said.

The rage that sufficed had bled away to determination which had worn off to hope. And hope slowly breeds despair and realization that something is quite wrong. There would be no musical number with big names. There would not be the Calvary call, Superman landing to help or Indiana Jones swinging in. Only the feeling in the pit of your stomach that something was very wrong and you were not going to win this fight. These moments of self realization from fight to defense your last stand with contemplation of how you want to go down and what your last meal should consist of. It is the end of the tale where the eager listeners hear of your fall and then sigh in remorse how real heroes fall not from dragons, but from losing the desire, the need to take one more step forward against the pressure the world has and still is mounting on you. You days are numbered and your moments few. Now you can only think of your exist and attempt how much damage you can limit for those asking the hard questions of why.

I think this is the moment when you realize that there is only so much one can sacrifice without realizing that gave it all up. You have lost so much of yourself and of your humanity that you did not notice that you are numbed to the audacities of the world while muttering the mantra of "one more day". Even those who marched constantly forward, ever reaching an idea out of grasp must endure the lamentation of Boxer on his way to the glue factory. Four legs are good, but two are far more superior. This is the moment you either question your situation or continue on, embracing oblivion. Looking up, I've realize that I have given up too much. I was at least 50 lbs heavier, injured and limited in motion, sleeping 4 hours a night is any and eating worse then ever. I did not want to look back at my time with nostalgia. I didn't like who I was and what I have become.

    And so, I've questioned. That was 5 years ago. But that's another story.

    Hmmm…..tired. I'm gong to end this here.

Life is just a dream, you know
That's never ending