The rage built up inside him. Nothing was safe from it or him. The sun wasn't shining enough. It was shining too much. Music was too odd or too predictable. People? Don't even get him started about people. A billion wastes of space and time and energy. Not to be trusted. Not to be engaged.
.JPG)
Nothing seemed to satisfy. A Snickers ® bar the size of Toledo wouldn't satisfy. Money, love, prestige wouldn't fill the gap or quench the thirst. It continued to boil. The mental whistle of the kettle of anger could be heard by him and anyone too close would be burned by the steam. Fortunately for most, the rage kept him locked up and locked away. In the dark and out of the light.
He grit his teeth and seethed with the bitterness that dwelt within. Sure there were days and minutes and hours when there was perceived happiness and joy, but in the overall picture, if you were to stand back and decipher this life, as a patron deciphers a painting in a museum, you would see black paint, gray lines and shadows covering that joy.
The man got up and walked to the window. The warm sun lit up the room but offered no warmth to his soul. He didn't even believe he had a soul. Just a complex organism, capable of thought, that was all he was. He looked and saw the cars lined up, shining in the afternoon light. He heard the plane, that plane that always seems to be flying overhead when the house is quiet and he is all alone.
Suddenly he realized that this was it. This was all it ever was and if there wasn't a change today, at this moment, in this life, there would never be a change. EVER. This is all there is. Right now. This moment. You can dream and philosophize and wish for and hope for more, but in the available evidence, there is nothing to show that there is anything more than the present.
It is what it is. Good bad or indifferent. This is it. Make no mistake where you are. This is it. Christ who wrote that awful song rattling around in his head? Was that Lionel Ritchie? Billy Joel? A quick online search showed it was Kenny Loggins. As much as he disdained that song, there were good memories and good feelings attached to it, just as there was the strong urge to rip the mental CD from his head and toss it like a Frisbee.
Rubbing his eyes he sat down and let out a heavy sigh. He put his hand under his chin and clicked his fingernail against his bottom teeth. Resting his head on his hand, he sighed again. The heaviness seemed to be released with each deep breath he released. But as surely as it was released upon exhaling, it was drawn back in on the next breath. The foul stench of rotting dreams and decaying desire filled his nostrils. He shook his head and closed his eyes.
.JPG)
There was a time when he would have prayed for an answer. There was a time when he would have asked for divine help in figuring out what was wrong and how it could be fixed. There was a time when he had faith and belief and courage.
His attention turned to the sound outside his window. Lowering his hands from his face he saw his elderly neighbor walk past, slowly. Careful and shaky, he held the days mail in one hand and the leash to his dog in the other. Sooner than he cared to imagine, he realized that he too would one day be that shaky and that careful in movement. He would one day make a final trip to get the mail, to walk the dog, to slowly and cautiously, grab the railing and walk inside for what might be the last time.
He closed his eyes again and sighed once more. A sadness came over him as he let the darkness behind his hands and closed eyes wash over him. He tried to be quiet and just release the anger and bitterness.
Minutes were ticking by when the gardener, walked past with his leaf blower. Back to reality.
The afternoon was slipping by. It was getting late. Too late? But the anger still remainder. Tinged with sadness and regret. He decided to lay down on the couch and sleep.
Turning on the television he positioned the pillow under his head. His tired legs he stretched out before him as he did the remote routine. Channel to channel and back again he tried to find something to watch, finally settling on a documentary about military weapons. As he listened to the program his eyes grew heavy and he slept.
He heard the phone ring. Is that her? What time is it? Maybe it is just a telemarketer and he can let the machine answer it. He heard her voice and glanced quickly at the clock to see that he had slept for over an hour. Her voice asked, "Are you there?". He ran to the phone and answered. She was calling to say she would be home earlier. He was glad. He seemed happier. Maybe the sleep was all he needed.
Walking into the kitchen he ran the cold water and rinsed the final coffee from this morning out of the glass pot. He poured water in the machine and added coffee. He waited. As the aroma filled the air he took out the mugs and sugar and creamer. He listened as the machine gurgled and spat fourth the brown hot fluid, whose very aroma is a thing of beauty. It hissed and shot forth billows of molten steam. As the beeper started he pull the pot from the base and
poured a cup and sat down thinking that perhaps things would be ok.
A nap had helped relax his mind and hopefully make him feel better about himself, today and the future.
He smiled.
.JPG)
He grit his teeth and seethed with the bitterness that dwelt within. Sure there were days and minutes and hours when there was perceived happiness and joy, but in the overall picture, if you were to stand back and decipher this life, as a patron deciphers a painting in a museum, you would see black paint, gray lines and shadows covering that joy.
The man got up and walked to the window. The warm sun lit up the room but offered no warmth to his soul. He didn't even believe he had a soul. Just a complex organism, capable of thought, that was all he was. He looked and saw the cars lined up, shining in the afternoon light. He heard the plane, that plane that always seems to be flying overhead when the house is quiet and he is all alone.
Suddenly he realized that this was it. This was all it ever was and if there wasn't a change today, at this moment, in this life, there would never be a change. EVER. This is all there is. Right now. This moment. You can dream and philosophize and wish for and hope for more, but in the available evidence, there is nothing to show that there is anything more than the present.
It is what it is. Good bad or indifferent. This is it. Make no mistake where you are. This is it. Christ who wrote that awful song rattling around in his head? Was that Lionel Ritchie? Billy Joel? A quick online search showed it was Kenny Loggins. As much as he disdained that song, there were good memories and good feelings attached to it, just as there was the strong urge to rip the mental CD from his head and toss it like a Frisbee.
Rubbing his eyes he sat down and let out a heavy sigh. He put his hand under his chin and clicked his fingernail against his bottom teeth. Resting his head on his hand, he sighed again. The heaviness seemed to be released with each deep breath he released. But as surely as it was released upon exhaling, it was drawn back in on the next breath. The foul stench of rotting dreams and decaying desire filled his nostrils. He shook his head and closed his eyes.
.JPG)
His attention turned to the sound outside his window. Lowering his hands from his face he saw his elderly neighbor walk past, slowly. Careful and shaky, he held the days mail in one hand and the leash to his dog in the other. Sooner than he cared to imagine, he realized that he too would one day be that shaky and that careful in movement. He would one day make a final trip to get the mail, to walk the dog, to slowly and cautiously, grab the railing and walk inside for what might be the last time.
He closed his eyes again and sighed once more. A sadness came over him as he let the darkness behind his hands and closed eyes wash over him. He tried to be quiet and just release the anger and bitterness.
Minutes were ticking by when the gardener, walked past with his leaf blower. Back to reality.
The afternoon was slipping by. It was getting late. Too late? But the anger still remainder. Tinged with sadness and regret. He decided to lay down on the couch and sleep.
Turning on the television he positioned the pillow under his head. His tired legs he stretched out before him as he did the remote routine. Channel to channel and back again he tried to find something to watch, finally settling on a documentary about military weapons. As he listened to the program his eyes grew heavy and he slept.
He heard the phone ring. Is that her? What time is it? Maybe it is just a telemarketer and he can let the machine answer it. He heard her voice and glanced quickly at the clock to see that he had slept for over an hour. Her voice asked, "Are you there?". He ran to the phone and answered. She was calling to say she would be home earlier. He was glad. He seemed happier. Maybe the sleep was all he needed.
Walking into the kitchen he ran the cold water and rinsed the final coffee from this morning out of the glass pot. He poured water in the machine and added coffee. He waited. As the aroma filled the air he took out the mugs and sugar and creamer. He listened as the machine gurgled and spat fourth the brown hot fluid, whose very aroma is a thing of beauty. It hissed and shot forth billows of molten steam. 
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