Asking For A Friend

Do you ever have those days

where you sit inside and stare at the popcorn ceilings

even though

it’s a warm Tuesday morning?

Moondog comes on the radio,

and just maybe you’re rendered catatonic

thinking about how someone

who was blind, homeless, and definitely crazy,

or maybe he really was a Viking,

I guess God only knows,

stored such an infinite beauty

in his extraordinary mind.

 

Do you ever wonder

if you have all that genius inside,

or rage, or beauty, or whatever,

except that it’s buried

deep in your heart

at the bottom of your soul

or locked at the tip

of your tongue?

 

Is it possible

that there’s nothing special at all

about you

and the connections you try to make

with words, art, activities,

just keep slamming you

into the conclusion

that everyone is better and worthy,

and you’ll die, forgotten,

after having lived, forgettably?

 

Or do the voices in your head

keep urging you to succumb

to the crazy parts,

the Viking parts,

the parts that might not be polite

or comfortable for general population

but ooze art and madness,

spirit and soul,

the bare. naked. honest. you?

 

Is a pension and a mortgage

really worth the cost

of a life not fully,

vigorously,

painfully,

joyfully,

soul-baringly

lived?

 

I have a friend who was curious about these things.

 

 

 

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6 thoughts on “Asking For A Friend

  1. Do you weirdly recall, with stark clarity, those random forgettably-lived moments? While moments that are meant to be momentous come and go in a daze, and can only be remembered in a haze? Also asking for a friend…

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  2. I wonder constantly about all things that others think to be weird, but then I guess that’s what set me apart from them, my random conscious thoughts on being and living. At times I believe I am here for bigger things, other times I see myself as that speck in the cosmic universe, insignificant yet noisy.

    Like

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