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Scenes from my Real Life:
Jan. 18th, 2014 04:43 am"So damn, reading your Facebook, I can only imagine you're this big shot author who's got his fill of country fried 'Suicide Girls' flocking around him and each of them eager to be the next Mrs. Babalon, right?" My old shipmate asks and its all I can do to keep from bursting into laughter.
"But you know the guy who's on 'Justified' and you DJed nightclubs with nothing but guts and you've bloodied your fists on foreign shores and you've written a few plays and you have your own book published, how are you not living the dream?"
And the man who asks me this has a wife at home who loves him for who he is not who she wants him to be, along with two beautiful children and a steady career that's led him to a house of his own. He doesn't know he has all I've ever wanted. He doesn't know I'm considered to be lacking confidence from those with half my strength and a fraction of my talent. He doesn't know I'm considered 2nd rate amongst a bunch of self-congratulatory assholes who's big claim to fame is they're on a first name basis with 'rock stars' no one's ever heard of outside the 404. He doesn't know the silence I wear with pain so that those I love can wear their pride uninhibited.
All he remembers is this cat he met in the Navy who performed acts of ritual magick on a battleship, quoted Baudelaire drunk in foreign lands, said 'fuck you' to command's authority (literally) and laughed in the face of the desperate conformists who failed to make him live to their expectations.
"What happened to that man?" He wants to ask but is too polite to stammer, "Is he dead? Did he vanish with the baby the woman you loved aborted? Did you bury him with your father or when your best friend stabbed you in the back? Where is his grave so I may leave withered roses? Where is his tombstone so I can read the poems he scribbled in the dark? Where is my friend who declared war on the medocrity of the human race and vowed to be nothing less than genius?"
I have no answer for him , only a long walk home in the cold and a shadow I wear around those who mistake luck for endurance.
But that man's closer than you think, buried under the fat that was once muscle and the humility that was once pride.
So thank you, my brother in arms and companion in adventures past, for seeing a man that even I've turned a blind eye to.
I will strive to be once again the person who was your friend.
"But you know the guy who's on 'Justified' and you DJed nightclubs with nothing but guts and you've bloodied your fists on foreign shores and you've written a few plays and you have your own book published, how are you not living the dream?"
And the man who asks me this has a wife at home who loves him for who he is not who she wants him to be, along with two beautiful children and a steady career that's led him to a house of his own. He doesn't know he has all I've ever wanted. He doesn't know I'm considered to be lacking confidence from those with half my strength and a fraction of my talent. He doesn't know I'm considered 2nd rate amongst a bunch of self-congratulatory assholes who's big claim to fame is they're on a first name basis with 'rock stars' no one's ever heard of outside the 404. He doesn't know the silence I wear with pain so that those I love can wear their pride uninhibited.
All he remembers is this cat he met in the Navy who performed acts of ritual magick on a battleship, quoted Baudelaire drunk in foreign lands, said 'fuck you' to command's authority (literally) and laughed in the face of the desperate conformists who failed to make him live to their expectations.
"What happened to that man?" He wants to ask but is too polite to stammer, "Is he dead? Did he vanish with the baby the woman you loved aborted? Did you bury him with your father or when your best friend stabbed you in the back? Where is his grave so I may leave withered roses? Where is his tombstone so I can read the poems he scribbled in the dark? Where is my friend who declared war on the medocrity of the human race and vowed to be nothing less than genius?"
I have no answer for him , only a long walk home in the cold and a shadow I wear around those who mistake luck for endurance.
But that man's closer than you think, buried under the fat that was once muscle and the humility that was once pride.
So thank you, my brother in arms and companion in adventures past, for seeing a man that even I've turned a blind eye to.
I will strive to be once again the person who was your friend.