In the quiet night I find no peace in my thoughts just rhetoric that dances in my mind of what I was taught and what I was trained to do, be a capitalist. I have always been on the chase for dreams that have not quite come yet or answered me so far in the quest for riches in my life as a man. Am I man or am a number waiting for my ticket waiting to be cashed in by greater men than I. these men that see potential or a spark that shines brightly to them but what currency am I really. 

I have learned at least a couple of valuable things in this quest and these are; speak only when it’s of absolute importance and have resolve in action that is carried out. Ah but the quiet one I am not the dance of silence is not one I have learned quite yet in my life and enduring the task to do so is killing me on the inside. I can’t breathe any longer for any other person in this short existence that I have in this world it’s too short and too meek to count. 

At the green age of nine I can count myself as a man and can look other men in the eye and say I am a man. In a world of appearances however I have fallen very short which racks my mind to utter ridiculousness. Casting stones is not the same as making them skip in the great lakes Ontario to be specific where I have lived my sheltered sad existence where no breathing is allowed and dreams can only be a whisper among others to be counted among the normal people I wish I was but I am not.

If a large man is a tool I am the biggest one of all, to be utilized and put to the test but with a man who desires more than to be just a tool this were I find my dilemma. Just because I can doesn’t mean I should and just because I’m strong doesn’t mean I should do more. We as human forget we have a design and plan that is far superior to numbers however make ourselves numbers ones to be counted as one.  

So here is the big question I implore then; when are we machines and when are we just animals and hell when are we human?  Have we ever asked ourselves that really? In my life however I refused to move much with much restraint I have for it’s the fear of moving exists in my mind because of the fear of losing my spirit that breathes and is at a lifeline right now.  Tracks and trails hmm I like trails and prefer them because at least I can at least be a little surprised where I’m going. what my plans are not always so profound and concrete to me because rails of a track that move us forward are really bars and restraints that we place on ourselves to get to the inevitable conclusion of success. Tracks can be a prison you can never escape in the altruistic capitalist that exists in all of us.  It’s funny though in the end it’s all for a pad on the back when you really think about.  

I’ve always been a rebel however because I refuse to make a want a necessity and to connect to people that are not connected at all refuse to be only mere acquaintances to does that make me an anomaly or just a disconnected person to already disconnected people. so many rules even in a casual conversation and conventions to follow in procedural friendships could make a man go completely insane and want to vomit at the idea of performing.  I’ve always been a performer too because I need that social no matter how dull and lifeless it really is in a world of chasers and believers you have or be casted out and stoned to death, hmm socially anyway. 

I guess I’m talking to the individuals out there that are confused really I’ve been for most of my existence. Don’t get me wrong I have a great life to normal standards but standards are just an illusion to keep us distracted from a reality that really exists in our minds and that is whatever we want it to be.  I don’t apologize and I’m not sorry and if I am rambling then fuck off, I’m just me and the world just going to have to get used to it. 



Filed under J.L.Wanderer, Uncategorized

2 responses to “I’M JUST ME

  1. It is not rambling if your expression portrays you as a real human being and in this you are that, trully. Do you ever feel, as I do all the time, as if we are fish in a fishbowl, swimming around and around in an environment that lends to nothing more than suffocation. In writing, at least we are free.st

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