Half Awake

Procrastination, when you think of it is the easiest form of rebelling. I believe that everyone does it to some degree. From the employee putting off reports for his boss to the student delaying studying for a test. Why do we do it? For one, it gives us a sense of power. Even if it may not be to our benefit, putting things off can have an immediate gratification. Just knowing that you did it when you wanted to not when they wanted to. Procrastination can be justified for a more simple reason though, the future can be scary. The future, however is not something that one can fight. Resist it and you will become a relic. A shadow. An outdated piece of technology. I know this is not exactly the most up piece I can offer, and it seems ironic that I am going on and on about procrastination as I am currently lying motionless on the floor. I've been here so long that I think the carpet is starting to make a pattern on my face. My body feels like it melted. I should get up probably. I decided I'm going to keep on being SparkyBoy. I don't expect anyone to understand, but it felt right to me. Just like being half awake on floor feels right at this moment. I should get up though. Ok, on the count of 3 I'll get up. I'll get up and then I'll do... something. I don't know what yet but I'll do something. One....Two... Three.... Well here I am world.

Tattoo Messages

Like most people , I seem to have an inner conflict. It's two different voices bickering back and forth. One voice is the one who speaks to the the me that I want to be. The other voice speaks to the me that I think I should be. They both seem to make compelling arguments. The one voice tells me to throw away the red hood and cape for good and to give up this fantasy lifestyle. The other voice chimes in. It tells me that I can not do that. That I'ts "blasphemy." That that is me whether I like it or not. The two of them go back and forth like this for hours. Neither one of them backs down, and the end result is a colossal headache for me. I end up reaching for an aspirin. It helps for a few hours, but then they end up fighting again. I try not to get involved in their fights. It only drags it out and makes it worse. So I zone out as best as I can. I notice that whenever I do this, the voice who wants me to keep the red hood and cape sends me messages. The first message he sent me was a tattoo of me with the red hood and cape on my back. It was very grand and larger than life. Granted I am not a fan of back tattoos, but it was impressive none the less. Luckily, it was not permanent. It washed off. That message prompted the other voice to send his own message for me. I saw on my right arm one morning a more cartoonish version of me with the red hood and cape. This one depicted me with devil horns and holding some sort of machine gun that shot spears. I didn't get it. Was it trying to tell me that I am a bad person and should feel bad about who I am? A moment later the first voice counters with a more positive tattoo. This one showed me with a red hood and cape working out. Exercise the demons perhaps? It seemed to make sense at the time. So I went for a long, long walk by myself. By the time I came back, they were at each other's throats again. This time , it was really heated. Blue squiggle marks were magically appearing on my arm only to be erased seconds later. Back and forth this went. Both of them trying to send me a message. One would try and draw while the other was erasing at the same time. In the end, there was a brief silence followed by a blue squiggle that turned into me with the red hood and cape. But this one had angel wings. I guess you could say good triumphed. I'm looking at the pen mark now. Maybe this is me after all.

Plane Ride

I'm on a plane, high above the world. Watching everything becoming smaller and smaller. What am I doing on a plane? Going on vacation of course. some may say that I have not done anything to deserve this trip, and they could be right. In the eyes of many I am a professional slacker.It is possible that this is just my own insecurities coming to surface, but I think there is some truth to that thought. Well, whether I deserve it or not, here I am. I gaze out my window, and try and get lost in the beauty as the wing cuts through clouds. I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around to see a bigger man wearing a nice business suite with bolo tie. "Excuse me." He says in a polite Texas accent. "May I borrow you pillow?" I hand it over to him without saying a word. He places the pillow behind his neck. " I didn't intend to nap, I just need better support." He continues. I nod my head as if I am interested. I must look like such an anti - social jerk right now, but I'm really not in the mood to talk to anybody. "The name is Russ." I shake his hand. He has a firm, almost death grip. "You don't say to much do you.?" He asks me, trying to engage in some sort of conversation. "I guess I don't have much to say." Russ laughs. "Non sense, everyone has something to say." "Maybe." Russ searches for a different angle. He notices my shoe box safely buckled in on the seat between the two of us. "What's that?" He asks me. "Just a few of my belongings." "Don't you want to put it in the overhead storage?" "No, it's too important. That's why I paid for another seat." Russ opens his eyes wide. "You paid for another seat for a shoe box?" "Yep." "It must be important." "You have no idea." "No, I don't." He says casually. The is a brief silence. "I'm important." I tell him. "Really?" I sink back into my seat. "Well, I want to be." Russ gives me a sympathetic look, almost as if he knew exactly who I was. "Who is to say you are not?" I shrug. "You would like to fit in?" He asks me. "Are you implying that I don't?" Russ shakes his head no. " No, but I think you are." I hang my head. "It's funny when you are a kid, you don't care about that stuff. But then you get older, it suddenly matters. You want to be understood. You want to know that you are accepted." "You don't feel accepted or understood?" I change the subject. "Who are you? Why am I opening up to you?" " I am just a friendly passenger making conversation." "No offense, but I don't want to open up to someone I don't know." "And you don't have to, but let me ask you this, what is in the box?" I unbuckle the shoe box and place it on my lap. "It's me." "The real you?" "An aspect of me. A very important part." "Then keep it with you always."

At the Movies

I took off my cape and hood. I am now just a regular citizen. I think it's better this way. I needed to come back down to Earth. At least for a while. Ok, I'm not completely retired. I did not bury it in the shack that I found almost a year ago. No, it's in a shoe box that I carry around with me. So the moment that anything weird happens, I'll be ready. I know, carrying around a hood and cape is virtually the same thing as wearing it. But it is a step. Right? All I know is that I am trying to do the "normal" thing at this very moment. That so happens to be going to the movies by myself. Normal people do that? Who cares if they don't. I'm here anyways. Escaping, getting away, getting my feet stuck to the floor. Seriously what the hell spilled here? This is disgusting. The auditorium lights switch on. Apparently the movie is over. I'm not sure what I just watched. I remember the title had the words "the last" in it. And no, it did not end with "Air bender", "Crusade" , "Mohican", "Samurai" or "House on the Left". Let's see, what do I recall of the plot? Well, parts of it were animated and there was a crystal of some sort. Clearly the movie was very interesting. Paying attention and blending in is harder than I thought it would be. I don't know how people do this on a constant basis. Oh, here comes the usher. I think he wants me to leave. Now, does the regular citizen comply with this kid? Or does he refuse to leave just because the movie has ended? There I go. I think I have answered my own question. I am thinking way too much. So, with that I take my shoe box and I comply. I quietly walk out of the theatre. Any grievances I have, I keep to myself.

Letter to Me

Up and and down, and side to side. My nausia is at an all time high. Apparantly I do not fair well on boats. Or at least not long boats. Yes, I am on a long boat. Very similiar to the Mayflower that one reads about in elementary school. This is a rough and rocky journey, but it had to happen. I'm in the long cabin right now. I dare not travel to the deck. I fear not being swallowed by the sea, but rather the contents of my stomach coming to surface. I let out a deep sigh. There is only one thing to do at this moment. I take out an old fashioned pen with the feather on the end. I search for a sheet of paper. The only thing I can seem to find is a yellowish, somewhat decayed piece of paper. "That'll do." I think to myself. Now to begin my catharsis. Dear Self, You have a long way to go. You know this. But don't worry, walk tall. You have come a long way. Recognize this. Feel the cool breeze on your back and know that you are not alone. Keep walking, don't stop. Don't let your legs give out. Today it is raining, but tomorrow it could be sunny again.... I scratch my head with end of the pen. It's funny, I had all the words in my head, but now... I don't know where they went. Perhaps I am trying to hard. I look over the letter to myself. "Yes, this shall do." I roll up the letter and place it in a glass bottle. I push myself off the cot and stumble to a tiny window in my room. I nearly fall over. Walking on a rocky boat is more difficult than would think. But I make it to the window with minimal strain. I open the window and toss the bottle out to sea. I wave "goodbye" as it floats away. A destination unknown, but I will be reunited with it at just the right time.

A Starry Kitchen

The ceiling opened up into a beautiful starry sky. I sat and piered at the sky for a while. Pondering my existence. To say the cliche, you really do feel small when looking at all the stars. I used to think that was a depressing statement. It's true though, you do feel small, and your goals, hopes, and aspirations do seem insignificant. But that is not necessarily a sad thing. Nothing is fixed. Everything changes constantly. Holding on too tightly to anything will cause strife. As hard as it may be, you gotta let go. Trust that your next big adventure is just around the corner. I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I look up. It's the Dean. "Well done." He says to me with a satisfactory smile. "Is that the end of the tests?" I ask him. "For now." "What about the overlapping realities? We must fix that." " We will do nothing of the sort." He says to me sternly. "And why not?" "Only a select few people can feel the overlapping realities, you included. This will be your curse and blessing." "What about the Ukrainian men with shotguns?" "What about them?" "Aren't they terrorists?" "Just because they were foreign and had guns does not mean that they are terrorists." "Then what were they?" The Dean shrugs. "Beats me.Obviously some people didn't like what you did" "That's it?" The Dean nods. "That's it, there will always be people like that." I sigh and glance at a shooting star. "So what now?" I ask him. "Whatever you want." "What now?" I think to myself.

To be 17

I walk through a series of rooms. Each one slightly more symbolic than the last. I try not to assume that the tour of the rooms is almost over. But it is hard to be patient. In fact it is infuriating. It is fucking, blood boiling infuriating because there is always a test. There is always some sort of test. Why you say? Just the way it is. At one point however, I think it was when we were existing the circus room with blue flamingos (don't ask.) that I let my guard down. I unclench my fists and walked a little lighter. I arrived at this place that I had never seen before, and yet felt so very familiar. It felt like my childhood home, but not at the same time. It was as if I were in a dream that that felt beyond real, but knew at the same time that I was sleeping. As soon as I got over this intriguing sensation, I had this incredible pain in my chest. It was like someone was squeezing my heart. When my heart grew tense my mind decided to think it was 17. My body, however, knew the truth. It knew that it was 29. So it fought my mind for dominance. I nearly went into convulsions in the process. In the end, my mind won. This temporary "escape" into adolescence probably didn't take long, but it felt like years. It was horrible. This seventeen year old me was angry at the world even though I had no clue what the world was. I rejected everything and everyone. Ideas, cultural norms, the stereotypical notion of what it meant to be a rebel. You name it. It was dizzying and exhausting being in this place. I wanted to get out. I searched frantically for a door. There was nothing in sight. Just an empty kitchen with a bunch of dark shadows. Out of no where, a middle aged woman popped up. She reminded me of a sleep deprived Liza Minnelli. Wild black hair going in every direction imaginable and dark circles around her eyes. " He's here." She said to me in a zombie - like tone. "Who is here?" I asked her. "The rat." "A snitch?" "No, the rat." As soon as she finished speaking, I did hear a rat skimper around in the other room. "What do you want me to do about it?" I asked her. "You must kill it." "What?" "Kill it and you will feel better." She pulls a broad sword out of her nightgown from an invisible pocket and hands it to me. "Beyond the door lies your fear, you must destroy it." I take the sword as if I am a knight going off to battle. Sent by a deranged, sleep deprived queen. "The door is open now." She says to me. Right as I placed my hand on the door, I involuntarily shifted out of my body. I did not see myself on the other side of the door, but I could hear the violence from the other room. The squeels from the rat as the sword was thrashed into the rodent. I saw myself exit the room and immediately return to my body. The moment I did I felt my heart open up slightly and mind a little lighter. I was now back to my age of 29. The Liza Minnelli look alike gave me a knowing look of approval. She exited back into her shadows, leaving me alone in the kitchen. I knew the exit was around there somewhere, but I decided to stay in the kitchen for a few minutes and try to take in fully what just happened.