yobech505

         I have no inkling, miniscule or expansive, as to where my next shade of emotion might flourish.  It’s been sliding around the over greased pan for the last years or so, and at the same time remaining as uncooked as it was the moment I let it slide off the can lid and into the hot buttered skating rink.

         I’ve certainly not been in a quest for something solid and meaningful.  Not even the single cells that make up the ‘wants list’ inside my slightly protected skull seem receptive to ‘getting together’ with another, even each other, in the billion cell cavities of hidden left brain, right brain corners.

         Forty five years is a long time. 

         Every tiny action in a life, from adventurous to boredomness, impacts the memory chips and leaves fractions of marks too small for even microscopes to see.  All of them leave at least a scratch, and the scratch becomes an impact.  Some are large, but most are not visible, detectable or even allow us to be aware that they exist.  So why do they make us the irascible characters that we knowingly can be?  The changes over the different phases of our lives assemble us into who we are and we don’t even know how the hell it came to the intersection we just tried to sneak through undetected.

         So, there she was.  Not to be confused with the incredible views of San Francisco, but just a part of it, tiny, even miniscule, a fleck of sand in the playground box,  something that flew in because of a calling, predestined perhaps, needing to find an answer, solution, or a chance connection to something that was lost, or just missing. 

         And, after all, what was I there for in the first place?  No reason.  Ho hum.

         Click ding.  Where is this going?  Better yet, where did it come from? And why are you asking me that?  Do you think I really know?  Do you think I had even a clue?

         Malleable, and logistically awkward are indications.  So, here,  they show warning lights blinking at accelerating rates and setting off silent alarms in places where they blasted their annoying signals before, and saying, ‘are you serious’?

         Then there’s me, sitting on the edge of the bed wondering how to explain this to my psyche, and overcome warning tags that beat me on the tips of my memory blogs.  Do I jump off the low bridge, knowing I can survive the fall but aware in kind that the cold water will put my skin into extreme goose bump mode?   I might have the mega shivers when I have to get out of the river on this one. 

         Now, get out of the way, hold on to my shoes, and let me climb the railing.  Damn, that water looks coldly wet.   Can’t I just dip a toe first?  No?  Too high up.  Oh well.  Here goes.   Oh shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii   (Splash sound effect here.)

            My Karma is my make believe, dragging along the floor, undetected and unable to find any balance, not even with a micro mini chip of harmony and less any sense of worth, a lesson that it won’t let me learn and if I did, wouldn’t let me keep it anyway. 

            There is reality, I experience the flow of it every day from the new degrees and old degrees of a circle as it engulfs sanity whenever I let that rational part of me float up through the melted whipped cream on the top of a cold cup of hot chocolate. 

            Things break.  They don’t work the way we’ve been promised they would.  People break.  They don’t see their own stupid actions, blinded to anything resembling a true human being as they let their religion slip out the leaks of their old and crusty radiators.

            And I curse my own inability to think when it is most important that I do so. 

            My gearing, the motors provided by the long history of genes that created me, has, as it has been doing for 63 years, chosen to take the proverbial dump on what thought processes I try to congeal, making all that I am inside nothing but a huge pot of rotten mush, left to dry and harden into some inedible state that doesn’t resemble digestible stuff at all.

            I don’t belong.  I can’t believe that I am included amongst the homo sapien.  I can’t understand them and I don’t want to be around most of them.  They’re too blind, too selfish, too idiotic to see their own image etched in the chrome bumper they stare into.  They deserve their own place where they can be human.  But not here.  Not around me.  They don’t deserve any of it.  None.  Not even a tiny piece.  They need to be in another world, another dimension where having the very basics of smarts isn’t desirable.  

            God needs to take them in the rapture and get them the hell out of here.  I wish them well but they need to go.  I want them to have their heart ‘s desires, but I want to live free of them.  I want them to be happy with their closed minded ignorance, somewhere on the multitude of planets circling other stars in the expanse of the universe. 

            Just not here.

            I am sure I am not human being.  I’m beyond that.  Not superior to the closed minded and non seeing.  Different.  Able to see the rare aspects of common sense, the logic of life ‘s actions, the whys and why nots of just existing. 

            I want so much to call them stupid.  Their actions prove that most of them are, but that would be arrogance which would put me at a similar level to them.  I should never do that.  

            To the like minded, I am sure we are part of the separate entity, the homo senses common, the new phyla, a step from the sapiens, and two or three from the erectus.  We suffer at their hands and err when we don’t know the proper way to handle their lack of anything capable of understanding what we are. 

            I don’t hate them, although doing so would be pretty easy.  I just wish they would go away.

            They won’t.  We’re stuck with them.  So we have to adapt.  The problem is, it puts all of this incredibly huge  burden on us.  An unfair task in an unfair world by supreme being who really just doesn’t care about it.