The city was large and hungry. And poor and homeless. “Will work for food. Or money, or shelter.”
It was a statement. “Post no bills.” With three words the walls stayed empty. Naked.
There were tall buildings and long buildings; small buildings and wrong buildings. There were bridges and trees; syringes and disease. There were tourists and residents; florists and presidents. It was beautiful and I never gave a shit about it until now.
Believe it or not, the city was not always this large and I was not always in it. It is so easy to get lost there. Not me. It is impossible to get lost when you don’t want to be found. I just walked through the walls with the other ghosts. If only these walls could speak.
Inside the walls are the stories and the memories. They harbor the actions and I am just the conduit. They are screaming and we are all silent. We are able and unwilling. It is such a shame how little we use our bodies. We are only animals. We are born, we fuck, we reproduce, we foster our children, and then we die. It is an instinct birthed into every single one of us. But we are not only animals. We have evolved and now we have an inherent need for emotional contact. The walls are still walls that see everything. We are still just agents of procreation. I don’t consider myself a sucker for believing that there is more than that. We are just the conduits. The silent majority. Glorified apes. Universal Product Code.
Remember: for every rhyme there is a reason.
Rhyme:
There once was a boy who played in the park
From the time it was light until the time it was dark.
For hours and hours the boy ran around
Not causing a scene, not making a sound.
Behind the boy was the sketch of a city
Where the trees and the flowers were always so pretty.
Onlookers laughed at the boy in his joy
The boy with no pet and no friend and no toy.
People came and went with each passing day
Not one of them stopping with the boy to play.
The boy became sad that no one seemed to care
And quickly decided that the world was not fair.
He never grew to know his father or mother
And was certain he had no sister or brother.
No hot dinners to share with a caring family
No presents on Christmas, no decorated tree.
No comfort of home where everything is pretty
The boy felt abandoned, just like the city.
[Pause]
There once was a boy who played in the park
From the time it was light until the time it was dark,
For hours and hours the boy ran around
Not causing a scene, not making a sound.
Behind the boy was the sketch of a city
Where the trees and the flowers were always so pretty.
Onlookers laughed at the boy in his joy
The boy with his pet and his friend and his toy.
People came and went with each passing day
Most of them stopping with the boy to play.
The boy was so happy to see people care
And quickly decided that the world was not fair.
He grew up with a loving father and mother
And always made time for his sister and brother.
Hot dinners he shared with his gorgeous family
Great presents on Christmas underneath the tree.
The comfort of home, where everything was pretty
The boy felt wanted, unlike the city.
Reason:
On one fateful day these two boys convened
And everything was exactly as strange as it seemed.
The two boys grew close and managed to survived
And somehow became friends for the rest of their lives.
One boy felt wanted, the other was glad
That he made such a great friend who no longer was sad.
This is worship and this is tribute. This is no pain, no feeling. This is nothing. Just swallow everything. That being said, I’m changing it up. This time the feeling will be “to be continued…” instead of “good riddance.” I’m hoping that we can just leave it at “see you soon…” We are so small.
Everybody knows, everybody believes
Everybody goes, everybody leaves.
Nobody cared, nobody cried
I am not there, I did not die.
We are just the conduits and, somehow, no one is talking and the walls are still screaming. We are the ones that should be bridging the gap but instead we are destroying everything. I get it, we’re all angry. But do you even know what you’re angry about? I’ve abandoned it just like it abandoned me. Fuck it, it’s yours now. You can have it.
I’ve already adjusted. What the fuck makes you think I want to re-adjust? And I refuse to ever re-adjust. I am not calling the kettle black. I just can’t wait to see you.
William "ButtHead" Wallace
Fuck.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Fear Of Failure Part 3
For the record: This was written in cold blood. Straight from the muscle.
This is dedicated to myself for always being me.
I keep trying to convince myself that it wasn’t the oceans fault. It’s just water. It’s just nature. The water is not conscience. I’ve done a pretty horrible job.
The clouds approached quicker than usual. I was just walking on the beach right at the edge of the ocean. A gorgeous day was shaping up to be an equally gorgeous night. Happy families and beautiful girls were enjoying the picture perfect summer day at the beach. Waves were crashing left and right. You could smell the salt of the ocean. It actually felt good to just be completely alone at this moment.
I’ve always been the type of person to want everything or nothing. It’s all or nothing. When I was an infant I never crawled. One day I just stood up and started walking. I will never change that about myself.
In the distance I could see the clouds. They were very ominous. It was obvious a storm was approaching. I realized that no one was making any moves that would suggest leaving the beach. It started raining lightly and everyone stayed put and stayed happy. I kept walking south until I reached an area of the beach that was completely vacant. The rain started to pick up so I sat down on a rock and looked behind to see everyone scrambling to get into the hotel. After the rain got heavy, the thunder and lightning followed. Despite the small amount of danger, I felt no reason to leave the beach. The lightning streaked the iridescent sky.
The solitude of it all brought me back to a dinner conversation I’d had with a pretty young woman. Actually, it wasn’t the solitude that reminded me of her. It was the lightning. I remember discussing religion and a little bit of her past. My perspective on things have changed a lot since that night and I’d like to say that she had something to do with it. I’ve never really been an emotional person so I’ve kept a lot of things I’ve wanted to say to you to myself. It’s just easier that way and writing this part was hard enough. I’m not sure if you’ll understand this, but there are things I can’t explain or choose not to explain. I hope you mean what you say because I do. One day you will find the answers to your questions and that is a promise. There’s so much I don’t understand. I know this wasn’t what you expected but it’s just easier this way.
The storm got worse. I started walking into the water. As strong as the current was, it didn’t affect me. I just kept walking and walking. I reached a point in the ocean where the water got very deep. I started swimming. About 50 yards ahead of me I saw someone floating on a piece of driftwood. I remained calm. I felt completely in control of every muscle I moved. The situation was anything but calm, and I was everything but in control. I swam up to the piece of driftwood and saw an old man holding on for his life. The first words out of his mouth were, “You’re a gift from God.”
Sitting here now, I wish I could burn all the pages. I wish I could take every idea that I’ve ever had and set it on fire. I wish I could find every physical trace of this and burn it. There aren’t any papers. I never wrote any of it down. It’s better off that way.
I was just treading water in the Ocean. It was sort of a weird time to think about home, but I did. Trying to think of what to say here isn’t easy. I have one brother by blood. One of the few people that has known me for as long as I can remember and it’s going to be hard to leave that. Then there is my other brother. We ran around this place together for 17 years and I’m not willing to just let that type of friendship go. You will both always be my brothers forever.
I told the man that I wasn’t God, or Jesus, or a disciple, or a prophet, or a gift, or anything close to any of that. I was just some stupid kid swimming during a storm. He refused to believe me and I didn’t have time to argue. I told him everything was going to be okay and then asked him what happened. He told me he was on a large boat that was giving a tour of the local oceanic wildlife. He estimated that there were about 200 passengers and 25 employees floating in the Atlantic. I guess around halfway through the tour a storm capsized the boat. He described 75 foot waves pounding the starboard. The cabin collapsed, the keel snapped in half, and the hull eventually failed. He had no idea how he got to where he was or where any of the other passengers or crew were currently positioned.
It was never the events that I specifically remembered. I’ve always remembered the car rides when all of us were together. The four of us just riding around. It was always more fun when we didn’t have a destination. It was always more fun when we were jumping off of something, hoping there were no rocks. Those are things that I’m going to take with me. Even though we had no idea what was at the bottom, we all jumped. It would’ve been so much safer to let that moment pass us by, but we did that shit together. That’s all I have to say here.
As soon as I realized the severity of the situation I decided that floating on this piece of driftwood was not the best decision. I told the man to swim behind me and everything would be okay. He said he didn’t know how to swim, and I told him to trust me. Sure enough, he swam right behind me like he had been swimming his whole life. He didn’t know where the boat had capsized, but it was only common sense to follow the trail of debris. Along the way we found larger chunks of the boat floating in this storm. The closer we got, the more intense the storm became. The waves were massive and punishing. We swam harder. As we rose to the top of one of the enormous waves I could see in the distance a large mass of what used to be a boat. I stopped swimming and so did the old man. I asked him what the name of the boat was. He said, “como un león.” I didn’t know what that meant.
Fish sleep and swim at the same time. Imagine that.
We began to approach the incredible mass of wreckage. I realized that sprinkled throughout the chaos were the passengers and crew members of the ship. They were all holding on to random pieces that had once been part of a beautiful puzzle. It’s such a shame that things turned out this way. The shore was no longer in view, but for some reason I had a complete understanding of my positioning. I took no awkward steps and I did not falter in any of my movements. My thoughts were clear and far from cluttered. As the old man and I got close enough to communicate with the stranded strangers, I yelled for everyone to swim towards me. Suddenly, the water immediately surrounding the destroyed ship settled to an eerie calm. The storm raged on all around us, but we were safe.
Until you find yourself it is impossible to lose you. I’m sorry to anyone that thinks they know me, but I still don’t know myself. But there has been one thing I’ve learned. I used to stay awake at night and wonder why things turned out the way they did. I would spend hours just wondering when I was going to get what I deserve. When am I going to get what I deserve? When am I going to get what I want? I realize now how selfish those questions are. I’ve grown out of that shell. Those types of questions are for average people. The only question I have now is this: has anything I’ve done in my life made somebody else’s better? I don’t know.
Like I said, I tried to convince myself that it was just water. The moon and the tides are somehow aligned and maybe that caused it. I just want to believe that nothing spiritual happened. It was just water.
The people gathered around and started firing questions at me. I answered none of them. The old man told them that I was a gift from God. I told them that I was not. I explained to them that if they just swam with me that they would be safe. I could take them to the shore. I would not let them drown. Everything is going to be fine. Once they all agreed to follow me, we started swimming towards the shore. I knew which way to go. There were exactly 226 of us swimming together. After about 20 minutes of swimming, the shore became visible. Once we all made it onto the beach the sun came out and the storm disappeared. Everyone was safe. The grateful people started offering their appreciation for my act. Onlookers rushed over to offer their praise. Some of them were on their cell phones with emergency units, who were obviously on their way. Some people started to ask questions and others tried to take pictures. But I fielded no questions and politely declined all picture requests. I told them that I am nothing special, just some stupid kid in the right place at the right time.
I could have been a hero, but I just walked away. Just walk away. Just walk away.
Just walk away.
Hold the applause.
WW.
Goodbye.
This is dedicated to myself for always being me.
I keep trying to convince myself that it wasn’t the oceans fault. It’s just water. It’s just nature. The water is not conscience. I’ve done a pretty horrible job.
The clouds approached quicker than usual. I was just walking on the beach right at the edge of the ocean. A gorgeous day was shaping up to be an equally gorgeous night. Happy families and beautiful girls were enjoying the picture perfect summer day at the beach. Waves were crashing left and right. You could smell the salt of the ocean. It actually felt good to just be completely alone at this moment.
I’ve always been the type of person to want everything or nothing. It’s all or nothing. When I was an infant I never crawled. One day I just stood up and started walking. I will never change that about myself.
In the distance I could see the clouds. They were very ominous. It was obvious a storm was approaching. I realized that no one was making any moves that would suggest leaving the beach. It started raining lightly and everyone stayed put and stayed happy. I kept walking south until I reached an area of the beach that was completely vacant. The rain started to pick up so I sat down on a rock and looked behind to see everyone scrambling to get into the hotel. After the rain got heavy, the thunder and lightning followed. Despite the small amount of danger, I felt no reason to leave the beach. The lightning streaked the iridescent sky.
The solitude of it all brought me back to a dinner conversation I’d had with a pretty young woman. Actually, it wasn’t the solitude that reminded me of her. It was the lightning. I remember discussing religion and a little bit of her past. My perspective on things have changed a lot since that night and I’d like to say that she had something to do with it. I’ve never really been an emotional person so I’ve kept a lot of things I’ve wanted to say to you to myself. It’s just easier that way and writing this part was hard enough. I’m not sure if you’ll understand this, but there are things I can’t explain or choose not to explain. I hope you mean what you say because I do. One day you will find the answers to your questions and that is a promise. There’s so much I don’t understand. I know this wasn’t what you expected but it’s just easier this way.
The storm got worse. I started walking into the water. As strong as the current was, it didn’t affect me. I just kept walking and walking. I reached a point in the ocean where the water got very deep. I started swimming. About 50 yards ahead of me I saw someone floating on a piece of driftwood. I remained calm. I felt completely in control of every muscle I moved. The situation was anything but calm, and I was everything but in control. I swam up to the piece of driftwood and saw an old man holding on for his life. The first words out of his mouth were, “You’re a gift from God.”
Sitting here now, I wish I could burn all the pages. I wish I could take every idea that I’ve ever had and set it on fire. I wish I could find every physical trace of this and burn it. There aren’t any papers. I never wrote any of it down. It’s better off that way.
I was just treading water in the Ocean. It was sort of a weird time to think about home, but I did. Trying to think of what to say here isn’t easy. I have one brother by blood. One of the few people that has known me for as long as I can remember and it’s going to be hard to leave that. Then there is my other brother. We ran around this place together for 17 years and I’m not willing to just let that type of friendship go. You will both always be my brothers forever.
I told the man that I wasn’t God, or Jesus, or a disciple, or a prophet, or a gift, or anything close to any of that. I was just some stupid kid swimming during a storm. He refused to believe me and I didn’t have time to argue. I told him everything was going to be okay and then asked him what happened. He told me he was on a large boat that was giving a tour of the local oceanic wildlife. He estimated that there were about 200 passengers and 25 employees floating in the Atlantic. I guess around halfway through the tour a storm capsized the boat. He described 75 foot waves pounding the starboard. The cabin collapsed, the keel snapped in half, and the hull eventually failed. He had no idea how he got to where he was or where any of the other passengers or crew were currently positioned.
It was never the events that I specifically remembered. I’ve always remembered the car rides when all of us were together. The four of us just riding around. It was always more fun when we didn’t have a destination. It was always more fun when we were jumping off of something, hoping there were no rocks. Those are things that I’m going to take with me. Even though we had no idea what was at the bottom, we all jumped. It would’ve been so much safer to let that moment pass us by, but we did that shit together. That’s all I have to say here.
As soon as I realized the severity of the situation I decided that floating on this piece of driftwood was not the best decision. I told the man to swim behind me and everything would be okay. He said he didn’t know how to swim, and I told him to trust me. Sure enough, he swam right behind me like he had been swimming his whole life. He didn’t know where the boat had capsized, but it was only common sense to follow the trail of debris. Along the way we found larger chunks of the boat floating in this storm. The closer we got, the more intense the storm became. The waves were massive and punishing. We swam harder. As we rose to the top of one of the enormous waves I could see in the distance a large mass of what used to be a boat. I stopped swimming and so did the old man. I asked him what the name of the boat was. He said, “como un león.” I didn’t know what that meant.
Fish sleep and swim at the same time. Imagine that.
We began to approach the incredible mass of wreckage. I realized that sprinkled throughout the chaos were the passengers and crew members of the ship. They were all holding on to random pieces that had once been part of a beautiful puzzle. It’s such a shame that things turned out this way. The shore was no longer in view, but for some reason I had a complete understanding of my positioning. I took no awkward steps and I did not falter in any of my movements. My thoughts were clear and far from cluttered. As the old man and I got close enough to communicate with the stranded strangers, I yelled for everyone to swim towards me. Suddenly, the water immediately surrounding the destroyed ship settled to an eerie calm. The storm raged on all around us, but we were safe.
Until you find yourself it is impossible to lose you. I’m sorry to anyone that thinks they know me, but I still don’t know myself. But there has been one thing I’ve learned. I used to stay awake at night and wonder why things turned out the way they did. I would spend hours just wondering when I was going to get what I deserve. When am I going to get what I deserve? When am I going to get what I want? I realize now how selfish those questions are. I’ve grown out of that shell. Those types of questions are for average people. The only question I have now is this: has anything I’ve done in my life made somebody else’s better? I don’t know.
Like I said, I tried to convince myself that it was just water. The moon and the tides are somehow aligned and maybe that caused it. I just want to believe that nothing spiritual happened. It was just water.
The people gathered around and started firing questions at me. I answered none of them. The old man told them that I was a gift from God. I told them that I was not. I explained to them that if they just swam with me that they would be safe. I could take them to the shore. I would not let them drown. Everything is going to be fine. Once they all agreed to follow me, we started swimming towards the shore. I knew which way to go. There were exactly 226 of us swimming together. After about 20 minutes of swimming, the shore became visible. Once we all made it onto the beach the sun came out and the storm disappeared. Everyone was safe. The grateful people started offering their appreciation for my act. Onlookers rushed over to offer their praise. Some of them were on their cell phones with emergency units, who were obviously on their way. Some people started to ask questions and others tried to take pictures. But I fielded no questions and politely declined all picture requests. I told them that I am nothing special, just some stupid kid in the right place at the right time.
I could have been a hero, but I just walked away. Just walk away. Just walk away.
Just walk away.
Hold the applause.
WW.
Goodbye.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Happy Birthdays
This is going to be late for some and early for others, but I post at my leisure so I don't really care.
First of all Happy Birthday to my Mom and my Grandmother.
Happy Birthday to Bill. Real family.
Happy Birthday to my partners in crime Adrian and Dustin. Gold Medal for life. Lets do this.
Happy Birthday to James and Soap, and even though neither of you will ever read this, you are the closest thing I've ever had to older brothers. Thank you for everything both of you have done for me.
Happy Birthday to Eli. There's a lot that I could say about you, but this is not the time and certainly not the place. One day you'll find whatever it is you are looking for. Trust me.
Aside from that, I'll have something new up soon. And no, if you feel left out I didn't forget you, you just don't have a birthday anywhere near this month.
-
William Wallace
First of all Happy Birthday to my Mom and my Grandmother.
Happy Birthday to Bill. Real family.
Happy Birthday to my partners in crime Adrian and Dustin. Gold Medal for life. Lets do this.
Happy Birthday to James and Soap, and even though neither of you will ever read this, you are the closest thing I've ever had to older brothers. Thank you for everything both of you have done for me.
Happy Birthday to Eli. There's a lot that I could say about you, but this is not the time and certainly not the place. One day you'll find whatever it is you are looking for. Trust me.
Aside from that, I'll have something new up soon. And no, if you feel left out I didn't forget you, you just don't have a birthday anywhere near this month.
-
William Wallace
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Hindsight 20/20
This is for 8 people and 8 people only. If you are wondering if you are one of those 8, then you are not one of the 8. You know who are.
I was just laying there. Completely motionless. Thinking back, I don’t remember if I felt dead. I wish I could remember what dying feels like. I only remember being numb. There was a certain strange urgency to it though. It was like my body was in a hurry to leave itself. I remember not feeling very good about that. Not good at all.
Looking down on your dead body isn’t exactly a common experience anyway. I must have took a pretty good hit to the head at some point, because I also don’t remember how long I was laying there before I was helped. Maybe “helped” isn’t the right word. Maybe I should say that when they put me on that stretcher and ripped me away from my world, that the last thing that they were doing was helping. But who am I to say who helped and who didn’t? They had the medical equipment and the ambulance. At that point I was just dead weight. A tombstone and an inconvenience.
The room was so white. It was bright. My eyes took some time to adjust to the striking whiteness of everything. There was nothing in this room except for a white rose in a white vase. The only discolorations of the room was the green stem of the flower and the dirt that it sat in. In some very foreign way, I could feel some sort of pull from the flower. Not a physical pull. It was a mental pull. I just stood there looking at it. I remember feeling really troubled about this situation. Just as I started to feel comfortable something fell from the ceiling and hit one of the roses petals. It surprised me just as much as it surprised the flower and we flinched in unison. I was terrified to look up and avoided it for as long as I could. Eventually I did look up and nothing was there.
Was I confused? I was way beyond being confused. I crept up to the flower very slowly and saw what had hit the unfortunate petal. A small drop of blood stood as the only blemish on this otherwise beautiful plant. I had so many questions but there was no one there to answer them and that upset me. It upset me because for so long I’d been the one with the answers. I didn’t know what to do. There was no exit to the room. There were no windows. At this point I was surprisingly optimistic. Then the flower wilted and died. I can’t really explain that. There was nothing on the ceiling.
The headlights seemed a lot more distant than they actually were. I guess now it goes without saying. It’s funny how things work themselves out.
Right before it all happened I remember being extremely tired. I didn’t fall asleep though because I wasn’t physically tired, just emotionally exhausted. I was ready to get out. I was so tired of people trying to make me feel like I was leaving when all I ever did was try to love them. I was only trying to help. I wasn’t the one that left. I still haven’t left. Maybe I just didn’t try hard enough. Or maybe they weren’t trying either. Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore. Well, it still matters to me. I still want them to know. But you know what they say, when it rains it pours.
It was so bright. I was terribly uncomfortable in this room. There was no plant there that I could depend on anymore. Just me. I don’t know if I was still alive when I was in this room. I felt alive, but then again I felt nothing so I can’t really say if I was alive or not. The whole incident is still a blur. Exhausted as I was at the time, I was still pretty happy. Actually, I felt great. It was really bad timing to feel great. I’m not even sure if I remember feeling great. A lot of really strange things were happening in my life that could have easily affected my own judgment of how I felt about me. Just when I was thinking about myself for the first time in a long time, a man entered the room from a door that I hadn’t seen and asked me to follow him.
There were hundreds of newspaper articles written about what happened to me, but I’ve only ever read one. It was the first one I saw the day after it happened. The date caught my attention. September 28th, 2009. The headline on the front page read: “YOUNG MAN DIES IN AUTO ACCIDENT.” I laughed at first. There was something about “Young Man” that made me laugh. I don’t know why. I started reading the article and it went something like this: “At approximately 1:30 A.M this morning, Andrew James *******, 20, was killed in an automobile accident. His vehicle was struck by a sixteen year old boy, who was not identified at press time, that ran the red light at the intersection of Hercules Road and Newport Gap Pike in Wilmington, Delaware. Alcohol has been mentioned as a possible factor in the accident. Andrew was pronounced dead at the scene, and it is highly possible that he was killed before the paramedics arrived. The other boy is being treated for minor injuries at the Christiana Hospital and is listed in stable condition. Andrew’s family was not available for comment at the time, however the police have hinted that charges may be pressed.”
There was more than that, but that’s all I can remember. I wish I could tell you what it was like, but my memory has faded since that night and now the only memory I have is supplied by that newspaper article. I remember hearing that the coroner said I died of massive head trauma. I guess that’s true. The young boy was drunk when he ran that red light. For a long time I was very angry. I was angry that some stupid kid made a mistake and took my life and he was fine, but I’m not any more. I’m no longer angry. I’ve forgiven him because he meant no harm. He’s currently spending time in the state penitentiary and I wish him the best when he finishes serving his sentence.
I’ve heard about the general reaction from other people. Most of the people that read the articles just turned the page. Some other people used it as an example for their kids. The “Moms Against Drunk Driving” organizations ate it up. They tried to vilify that poor kid and make me some sort of martyr. I’m not a hero, I just had bad timing. A few people that read it talked about it for a couple of weeks. A couple people cried and even less people smiled. The funny thing is out of all of the reactions there were to my death, not one of them satisfied me. I wish the people that turned the page read the article twice. I wish the people that used me as an example turned the page. I wish the people that talked about it for a couple of weeks cried. I wish the people that cried smiled and I wish the people that smiled knew that I was smiling too.
Like I said, I was ripped away from my world. I didn’t think I was ready to let go, but there was an interim period of ten seconds after the accident where I was just kind of staring at my body. Not at all alive, but not quite dead. I was just hovering above myself. I remember feeling weird watching myself lay there. Ultimately, I made the decision not to return to myself. I let go. It was my decision as much as was anyone else’s.
It’s been 10 days since the accident, although I wouldn’t really call it an accident. An accident implies that it wasn’t supposed to happen; that it was a mistake. I’m done believing that it was an accident. There was a reason for what happened to me, I just don’t know what it is yet. When I was alive I was never a highly religious or spiritual person. I was never too concerned on whether there was a God or not, or if we got sent to Heaven or Hell based on our deeds as humans. I’ve read before that “every man is guilty of all the good he did not do.” I always sort of figured that if there was a Heaven or Hell that I would be sent to Hell. That’s not to say I was a bad kid, because I wasn’t. I had always cheated myself out of so much that I assumed I would be denied access to Heaven. Looking back, I disregarded a lot of signs because I refused to ever believe in anything other than myself. I’d let things slip away from me because of my unwillingness to believe in something more. Even now I still only believe in myself.
The man took me from that room to a very large open area that stretched on for miles and miles. There was a long line of people of all shapes, sizes, colors, and backgrounds. People from all walks of life. I couldn’t even see the beginning of the line from where I was standing. I was handed a packet of papers that was to be filled out by the time I reached the front of the line. At the top of the paper was a date: October 21st, 2009. I could only assume that that would be my judgment day. I started looking through the packet of papers to see what kind of information was requested. Instead of filling out the required fields I started writing this very story on the hallowed sheets. Now I’m next in line and I don’t know what to think. My whole life has been all or nothing.
For so long people have gathered and prayed and cried and fought and lived and died over an idea. Over speculation. Over a story. I can’t say that I believe in this anymore than I did when I was alive. I’m not going to use death as a reason to believe. All that I can hope for is that the world remembers me. I hope one day one of you finds these hallowed sheets that were written by a hallowed pen held by a hallowed hand maneuvered by my hallowed mind guided by my hallowed heart. I hope after I’m gone the only memory you have of me are these words. I hope they provide balance and stability. I hope they provide strength. I hope one day you realize that I never made an excuse. I never betrayed a friend. I never turned my back. I never gave in to temptations. I never sat on idle hands. I hope one day you realize I never turned my back.
I hope one day you realize I never turned my back.
I hope one day you realize I never turned my back.
I hope one day you realize I never turned my back.
I hope you realize I never turned my back.
I never turned my back.
And I will be back for you.
And this is where the story ends.
And this is where you fall apart.
And this is where the story ends.
William Wallace
Forever GMK.
I was just laying there. Completely motionless. Thinking back, I don’t remember if I felt dead. I wish I could remember what dying feels like. I only remember being numb. There was a certain strange urgency to it though. It was like my body was in a hurry to leave itself. I remember not feeling very good about that. Not good at all.
Looking down on your dead body isn’t exactly a common experience anyway. I must have took a pretty good hit to the head at some point, because I also don’t remember how long I was laying there before I was helped. Maybe “helped” isn’t the right word. Maybe I should say that when they put me on that stretcher and ripped me away from my world, that the last thing that they were doing was helping. But who am I to say who helped and who didn’t? They had the medical equipment and the ambulance. At that point I was just dead weight. A tombstone and an inconvenience.
The room was so white. It was bright. My eyes took some time to adjust to the striking whiteness of everything. There was nothing in this room except for a white rose in a white vase. The only discolorations of the room was the green stem of the flower and the dirt that it sat in. In some very foreign way, I could feel some sort of pull from the flower. Not a physical pull. It was a mental pull. I just stood there looking at it. I remember feeling really troubled about this situation. Just as I started to feel comfortable something fell from the ceiling and hit one of the roses petals. It surprised me just as much as it surprised the flower and we flinched in unison. I was terrified to look up and avoided it for as long as I could. Eventually I did look up and nothing was there.
Was I confused? I was way beyond being confused. I crept up to the flower very slowly and saw what had hit the unfortunate petal. A small drop of blood stood as the only blemish on this otherwise beautiful plant. I had so many questions but there was no one there to answer them and that upset me. It upset me because for so long I’d been the one with the answers. I didn’t know what to do. There was no exit to the room. There were no windows. At this point I was surprisingly optimistic. Then the flower wilted and died. I can’t really explain that. There was nothing on the ceiling.
The headlights seemed a lot more distant than they actually were. I guess now it goes without saying. It’s funny how things work themselves out.
Right before it all happened I remember being extremely tired. I didn’t fall asleep though because I wasn’t physically tired, just emotionally exhausted. I was ready to get out. I was so tired of people trying to make me feel like I was leaving when all I ever did was try to love them. I was only trying to help. I wasn’t the one that left. I still haven’t left. Maybe I just didn’t try hard enough. Or maybe they weren’t trying either. Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore. Well, it still matters to me. I still want them to know. But you know what they say, when it rains it pours.
It was so bright. I was terribly uncomfortable in this room. There was no plant there that I could depend on anymore. Just me. I don’t know if I was still alive when I was in this room. I felt alive, but then again I felt nothing so I can’t really say if I was alive or not. The whole incident is still a blur. Exhausted as I was at the time, I was still pretty happy. Actually, I felt great. It was really bad timing to feel great. I’m not even sure if I remember feeling great. A lot of really strange things were happening in my life that could have easily affected my own judgment of how I felt about me. Just when I was thinking about myself for the first time in a long time, a man entered the room from a door that I hadn’t seen and asked me to follow him.
There were hundreds of newspaper articles written about what happened to me, but I’ve only ever read one. It was the first one I saw the day after it happened. The date caught my attention. September 28th, 2009. The headline on the front page read: “YOUNG MAN DIES IN AUTO ACCIDENT.” I laughed at first. There was something about “Young Man” that made me laugh. I don’t know why. I started reading the article and it went something like this: “At approximately 1:30 A.M this morning, Andrew James *******, 20, was killed in an automobile accident. His vehicle was struck by a sixteen year old boy, who was not identified at press time, that ran the red light at the intersection of Hercules Road and Newport Gap Pike in Wilmington, Delaware. Alcohol has been mentioned as a possible factor in the accident. Andrew was pronounced dead at the scene, and it is highly possible that he was killed before the paramedics arrived. The other boy is being treated for minor injuries at the Christiana Hospital and is listed in stable condition. Andrew’s family was not available for comment at the time, however the police have hinted that charges may be pressed.”
There was more than that, but that’s all I can remember. I wish I could tell you what it was like, but my memory has faded since that night and now the only memory I have is supplied by that newspaper article. I remember hearing that the coroner said I died of massive head trauma. I guess that’s true. The young boy was drunk when he ran that red light. For a long time I was very angry. I was angry that some stupid kid made a mistake and took my life and he was fine, but I’m not any more. I’m no longer angry. I’ve forgiven him because he meant no harm. He’s currently spending time in the state penitentiary and I wish him the best when he finishes serving his sentence.
I’ve heard about the general reaction from other people. Most of the people that read the articles just turned the page. Some other people used it as an example for their kids. The “Moms Against Drunk Driving” organizations ate it up. They tried to vilify that poor kid and make me some sort of martyr. I’m not a hero, I just had bad timing. A few people that read it talked about it for a couple of weeks. A couple people cried and even less people smiled. The funny thing is out of all of the reactions there were to my death, not one of them satisfied me. I wish the people that turned the page read the article twice. I wish the people that used me as an example turned the page. I wish the people that talked about it for a couple of weeks cried. I wish the people that cried smiled and I wish the people that smiled knew that I was smiling too.
Like I said, I was ripped away from my world. I didn’t think I was ready to let go, but there was an interim period of ten seconds after the accident where I was just kind of staring at my body. Not at all alive, but not quite dead. I was just hovering above myself. I remember feeling weird watching myself lay there. Ultimately, I made the decision not to return to myself. I let go. It was my decision as much as was anyone else’s.
It’s been 10 days since the accident, although I wouldn’t really call it an accident. An accident implies that it wasn’t supposed to happen; that it was a mistake. I’m done believing that it was an accident. There was a reason for what happened to me, I just don’t know what it is yet. When I was alive I was never a highly religious or spiritual person. I was never too concerned on whether there was a God or not, or if we got sent to Heaven or Hell based on our deeds as humans. I’ve read before that “every man is guilty of all the good he did not do.” I always sort of figured that if there was a Heaven or Hell that I would be sent to Hell. That’s not to say I was a bad kid, because I wasn’t. I had always cheated myself out of so much that I assumed I would be denied access to Heaven. Looking back, I disregarded a lot of signs because I refused to ever believe in anything other than myself. I’d let things slip away from me because of my unwillingness to believe in something more. Even now I still only believe in myself.
The man took me from that room to a very large open area that stretched on for miles and miles. There was a long line of people of all shapes, sizes, colors, and backgrounds. People from all walks of life. I couldn’t even see the beginning of the line from where I was standing. I was handed a packet of papers that was to be filled out by the time I reached the front of the line. At the top of the paper was a date: October 21st, 2009. I could only assume that that would be my judgment day. I started looking through the packet of papers to see what kind of information was requested. Instead of filling out the required fields I started writing this very story on the hallowed sheets. Now I’m next in line and I don’t know what to think. My whole life has been all or nothing.
For so long people have gathered and prayed and cried and fought and lived and died over an idea. Over speculation. Over a story. I can’t say that I believe in this anymore than I did when I was alive. I’m not going to use death as a reason to believe. All that I can hope for is that the world remembers me. I hope one day one of you finds these hallowed sheets that were written by a hallowed pen held by a hallowed hand maneuvered by my hallowed mind guided by my hallowed heart. I hope after I’m gone the only memory you have of me are these words. I hope they provide balance and stability. I hope they provide strength. I hope one day you realize that I never made an excuse. I never betrayed a friend. I never turned my back. I never gave in to temptations. I never sat on idle hands. I hope one day you realize I never turned my back.
I hope one day you realize I never turned my back.
I hope one day you realize I never turned my back.
I hope one day you realize I never turned my back.
I hope you realize I never turned my back.
I never turned my back.
And I will be back for you.
And this is where the story ends.
And this is where you fall apart.
And this is where the story ends.
William Wallace
Forever GMK.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Beliefs
It was some sort of underground treasury. A cross between a treasury and a bank. There was a long, spiral stairwell that led you to the main room of the building. There were paintings on every wall, sculptures in every corner, and people at work. Simple transactions were made here daily. Things such as withdrawals, deposits, and loans. Deep beneath the building was where they kept the gold standard, among other things. There was always heavy traffic in and out of the building.
Thousands of people walked down that spiral staircase but not one of them knew what that building actually was. Davis was only slightly different. He had never been inside, mostly because he had no need for anything that happened inside. He had seen and passed this building almost every day for 20 years but never thought twice about what happens in there. There was no reason for him to think anything. It was just an institution that handled money.
This particular institution had been around for hundreds of years. Before there was a society in this town, that building sat just below the surface of the Earth. Men and women worked inside this building years before any traces of modern life existed. These people were able to adapt easily to new and passing trends. They stayed relevant in every society that died around them. Much like the actual daily functions that took place within the walls of the building, little was known about the men and women that worked there. They were smart and knew what they were talking about, which had always been just enough to keep the general public censored.
Members of the bank adhered loosely to a set of rules. These rules were set in stone, however they were not strictly enforced. If a lonely widow defaulted on a loan, the bank was lenient on their punishment. They would reach out to the person in need in hopes of establishing a long lasting relationship built on trust, customer service, and second chances. Loyal customers were always taken care of, mostly because the bank had enough sources of income to overlook petty mistakes.
Davis didn’t care enough to open up any kind of account with this bank. Everyone in the town talked about how great it was to work with this bank, but he never needed that sense of security. He was very comfortable handling his own money on his own time in his own house. He was not brought up wealthy, so the idea of having excess money was foreign to him. However, you always want what you cannot have, and deep down Davis wanted to be a part of that bank. He just wouldn’t let himself give in.
Eventually Davis decided he would enter the bank. Weeks went by and with every day that passed the idea of entering that building grew heavier and heavier on Davis’ shoulders. On a Monday evening Davis stopped right in front of the building. His heart was beating through his chest. His palms were sweaty. He walked into the building and before he could shut the door behind him a tall, powerful looking old man in long white robes was there to greet him.
“Davis, we’ve been expecting you. Come with me.”
Davis spoke no words and made no sounds. He followed the old man down the spiral staircase that was so new to him. He entered the large atrium and saw all of the paintings and sculptures and was amazed at how beautiful the inside was. He saw all of the small offices where the inner workings of the bank took place. The old man took Davis down another spiral staircase lit by candles to a small and empty room. No paintings littered the walls and no sculptures haunted the corners. For some reason Davis was not at ease. He felt a strong burning deep in his gut. He knew this was not for him.
The old man sat down in the single chair that was in the room and said, “Davis, we’ve been watching you for years now. We know the people you interact with. We know where you spend your time. We know what you’ve done. We think you are the perfect candidate for us and would feel right at home if you switched your funds to our bank.”
Davis was speechless at first. “Sir, I’m not really sure what to say. I don’t have much money. I don’t have much of anything to offer you. How do you know…”
He was interrupted by the old man who had yet to give a name. He said “I’m not going to sit here and waste our time telling you how I know you. But I will tell you what I know. I know you’ve stolen from the rich, robbed from the poor, lied to the ones you love, and cheated your way through life. We are offering you a second chance.”
Davis responded, “Sir, I’ve never… none of that is true, why are you offering me a chance I don‘t need? Why do you care?”
“Because we are the forgivers, not the sinners. We know the truth. You could find a whole new life with us. We live our life by a set of rules, which you can look over on this sheet of paper.”
The old man took out a sheet of paper and it read like this:
1 “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage. You shall have no other gods before Me.
2 “You shall not make for yourself a carved image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth; you shall not bow down to them nor serve them. For I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children to the third and fourth generations of those who hate Me, but showing mercy to thousands, to those who love Me and keep My Commandments.
3 “You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain, for the Lord will not hold him guiltless who takes His name in vain.
4 “Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord your God. In it you shall do no work: you, nor your son, nor your daughter, nor your male servant, nor your female servant, nor your cattle, nor your stranger who is within your gates. For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested the seventh day. Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and hallowed it.
5 “Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long upon the land which the Lord your God is giving you.
6 “You shall not murder.
7 “You shall not commit adultery.
8 “You shall not steal.
9 “You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.
10 “You shall not covet your neighbor's house; you shall not covet your neighbor's wife, nor his male servant, nor his female servant, nor his ox, nor his donkey, nor anything that is your neighbor's.”
Davis looked over the list a few times. He said to the old man, “are you trying to tell me that I am a sinner and you can help me?”
The old man stood up and in a deep, powerful tone said “I am your God. I am here to help you. I am in charge of this massive institution and with your signature here and a small donation, we can help you.”
Davis became angry. “Fuck you, you aren’t my God.”
“And what makes you believe that?”
Davis then took a set of keys he had in his pocket and carved a gaping hole in his stomach. He took the cold blood and wrote his answer on the paper. It said: “For years I’ve seen you let pure men starve and filthy men feast. I’ve seen you take away the vision of an entire world. I sat back and watched you lead the blind into the darkness. I’ve seen children lose their fathers in wars fought in your name. I read newspaper stories about men that committed murder, adultery, and theft only to be forgiven for a small price. Forgiveness is what you offer? For a fee? I refuse to let you steal from me. My God would never ask for a donation. My God would never let the rich get richer and the poor get poorer. My God would never punish me and tell me that everything happens for a reason. My God would never starve me of answers just so I asked a question. My God would never make me ask for forgiveness. My God would not cater to the thousands. My God would not come to me on his knees and he would not make me come to him on mine. So, fuck you. Fuck your institution. I don’t ever want to be a part of this.”
After the he read the paper the old man in the white robes fell down and vanished and the only thing left on the floor was the whole world and everything in it. Davis put it in his pocket and fell to his knees…
William Wallace.
Landslide.
Thousands of people walked down that spiral staircase but not one of them knew what that building actually was. Davis was only slightly different. He had never been inside, mostly because he had no need for anything that happened inside. He had seen and passed this building almost every day for 20 years but never thought twice about what happens in there. There was no reason for him to think anything. It was just an institution that handled money.
This particular institution had been around for hundreds of years. Before there was a society in this town, that building sat just below the surface of the Earth. Men and women worked inside this building years before any traces of modern life existed. These people were able to adapt easily to new and passing trends. They stayed relevant in every society that died around them. Much like the actual daily functions that took place within the walls of the building, little was known about the men and women that worked there. They were smart and knew what they were talking about, which had always been just enough to keep the general public censored.
Members of the bank adhered loosely to a set of rules. These rules were set in stone, however they were not strictly enforced. If a lonely widow defaulted on a loan, the bank was lenient on their punishment. They would reach out to the person in need in hopes of establishing a long lasting relationship built on trust, customer service, and second chances. Loyal customers were always taken care of, mostly because the bank had enough sources of income to overlook petty mistakes.
Davis didn’t care enough to open up any kind of account with this bank. Everyone in the town talked about how great it was to work with this bank, but he never needed that sense of security. He was very comfortable handling his own money on his own time in his own house. He was not brought up wealthy, so the idea of having excess money was foreign to him. However, you always want what you cannot have, and deep down Davis wanted to be a part of that bank. He just wouldn’t let himself give in.
Eventually Davis decided he would enter the bank. Weeks went by and with every day that passed the idea of entering that building grew heavier and heavier on Davis’ shoulders. On a Monday evening Davis stopped right in front of the building. His heart was beating through his chest. His palms were sweaty. He walked into the building and before he could shut the door behind him a tall, powerful looking old man in long white robes was there to greet him.
“Davis, we’ve been expecting you. Come with me.”
Davis spoke no words and made no sounds. He followed the old man down the spiral staircase that was so new to him. He entered the large atrium and saw all of the paintings and sculptures and was amazed at how beautiful the inside was. He saw all of the small offices where the inner workings of the bank took place. The old man took Davis down another spiral staircase lit by candles to a small and empty room. No paintings littered the walls and no sculptures haunted the corners. For some reason Davis was not at ease. He felt a strong burning deep in his gut. He knew this was not for him.
The old man sat down in the single chair that was in the room and said, “Davis, we’ve been watching you for years now. We know the people you interact with. We know where you spend your time. We know what you’ve done. We think you are the perfect candidate for us and would feel right at home if you switched your funds to our bank.”
Davis was speechless at first. “Sir, I’m not really sure what to say. I don’t have much money. I don’t have much of anything to offer you. How do you know…”
He was interrupted by the old man who had yet to give a name. He said “I’m not going to sit here and waste our time telling you how I know you. But I will tell you what I know. I know you’ve stolen from the rich, robbed from the poor, lied to the ones you love, and cheated your way through life. We are offering you a second chance.”
Davis responded, “Sir, I’ve never… none of that is true, why are you offering me a chance I don‘t need? Why do you care?”
“Because we are the forgivers, not the sinners. We know the truth. You could find a whole new life with us. We live our life by a set of rules, which you can look over on this sheet of paper.”
The old man took out a sheet of paper and it read like this:
1 “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage. You shall have no other gods before Me.
2 “You shall not make for yourself a carved image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth; you shall not bow down to them nor serve them. For I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children to the third and fourth generations of those who hate Me, but showing mercy to thousands, to those who love Me and keep My Commandments.
3 “You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain, for the Lord will not hold him guiltless who takes His name in vain.
4 “Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord your God. In it you shall do no work: you, nor your son, nor your daughter, nor your male servant, nor your female servant, nor your cattle, nor your stranger who is within your gates. For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested the seventh day. Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and hallowed it.
5 “Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long upon the land which the Lord your God is giving you.
6 “You shall not murder.
7 “You shall not commit adultery.
8 “You shall not steal.
9 “You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.
10 “You shall not covet your neighbor's house; you shall not covet your neighbor's wife, nor his male servant, nor his female servant, nor his ox, nor his donkey, nor anything that is your neighbor's.”
Davis looked over the list a few times. He said to the old man, “are you trying to tell me that I am a sinner and you can help me?”
The old man stood up and in a deep, powerful tone said “I am your God. I am here to help you. I am in charge of this massive institution and with your signature here and a small donation, we can help you.”
Davis became angry. “Fuck you, you aren’t my God.”
“And what makes you believe that?”
Davis then took a set of keys he had in his pocket and carved a gaping hole in his stomach. He took the cold blood and wrote his answer on the paper. It said: “For years I’ve seen you let pure men starve and filthy men feast. I’ve seen you take away the vision of an entire world. I sat back and watched you lead the blind into the darkness. I’ve seen children lose their fathers in wars fought in your name. I read newspaper stories about men that committed murder, adultery, and theft only to be forgiven for a small price. Forgiveness is what you offer? For a fee? I refuse to let you steal from me. My God would never ask for a donation. My God would never let the rich get richer and the poor get poorer. My God would never punish me and tell me that everything happens for a reason. My God would never starve me of answers just so I asked a question. My God would never make me ask for forgiveness. My God would not cater to the thousands. My God would not come to me on his knees and he would not make me come to him on mine. So, fuck you. Fuck your institution. I don’t ever want to be a part of this.”
After the he read the paper the old man in the white robes fell down and vanished and the only thing left on the floor was the whole world and everything in it. Davis put it in his pocket and fell to his knees…
William Wallace.
Landslide.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
The Mockingbird
For Dustin. Inspired by ????????.
If all the world is a stage, then the setting will be a fishbowl. I’ve got the blue rocks, the plastic astronaut, the toy ship, and the sunken treasure. My fishbowl is bigger, though. There are real predators out here. There are real victims.
When you are one of many you learn safety in numbers, but I missed that. We all did. The only thing I’ve ever learned is that real leaders learn to adapt. Change can be progression or digression. It can be whatever you want it to be. I’ve always chosen progression over anything. Being a stagnant body of water was never attractive to me. I live in one and it never changes.
Down here there are no cardboard cut-outs. We live so many leagues down that the water pressure is too great for many other species. No aircraft carriers interrupt our sleep and no fishing hooks offer fake meals. We are so far down that at times everything can be completely dark.
It’s so deep out here that we don’t even have tears. But we know what the fuck we’re doing down here.
Even though I was so far beneath the surface, I could always sense that there was something else out there. I always felt like if the sun was shining just right and I looked hard enough, that I could see a Mockingbird flying right above me. And sometimes I did.
It sang such sad songs. In between it’s verses and choruses I would talk to the Mockingbird and ask why it was so sad. The bird had beautiful stories and would tell me about the best laid plans of mice and men. It would reach out to me and I would try my best to help. Being from these depths you have a lot of time to think and formulate thoughts.
I would tell the Mockingbird not to worry about the past and the future but to focus on the present and the bird would listen and take it all in. But it seemed as if every night the bird forgot everything I said. All of our conversations started and ended the same. I was not familiar with the way things worked in the sky. I’d never felt the wind at my back or the clouds on my wings, therefore nothing I said held any true weight. All my words got swept away in the tide. This bird was not familiar with the way we did things in the water.
I was determined to help this Mockingbird. However, the first step in helping a bird is convincing it not to fly away and this bird had an issue with staying grounded. I can only help those who want to be helped. I can only help those who come to me. But this bird kept coming back.
It was like the bird was addicted to the pain and the sorrow and the emptiness. Eventually I decided to stop writing all my responses in the sand and looked for something more permanent. I came up with a story and etched it in stone. I thought my action would speak louder than the words. It didn’t matter. The bird was hopeless and helpless.
It hit me one day. This mockingbird was unoriginal. It was the same songs in a different voice. This mockingbird was in denial. It wasn’t unique. I am unique because I don’t sing. I am not a beggar or a chooser and I still refuse to participate in this game. This bird couldn’t be helped. Deep down I knew I was the one that could do it, but I refuse to live my life like that. Maybe some other time.
I decided I would rather drown than go unheard, so I said good-bye to the mockingbird and left. Every once in awhile when I’m by myself I can still hear the mockingbirds songs. They never change. Things never change. People never change. And the world remains a stage.
William Wallace.
Next.
If all the world is a stage, then the setting will be a fishbowl. I’ve got the blue rocks, the plastic astronaut, the toy ship, and the sunken treasure. My fishbowl is bigger, though. There are real predators out here. There are real victims.
When you are one of many you learn safety in numbers, but I missed that. We all did. The only thing I’ve ever learned is that real leaders learn to adapt. Change can be progression or digression. It can be whatever you want it to be. I’ve always chosen progression over anything. Being a stagnant body of water was never attractive to me. I live in one and it never changes.
Down here there are no cardboard cut-outs. We live so many leagues down that the water pressure is too great for many other species. No aircraft carriers interrupt our sleep and no fishing hooks offer fake meals. We are so far down that at times everything can be completely dark.
It’s so deep out here that we don’t even have tears. But we know what the fuck we’re doing down here.
Even though I was so far beneath the surface, I could always sense that there was something else out there. I always felt like if the sun was shining just right and I looked hard enough, that I could see a Mockingbird flying right above me. And sometimes I did.
It sang such sad songs. In between it’s verses and choruses I would talk to the Mockingbird and ask why it was so sad. The bird had beautiful stories and would tell me about the best laid plans of mice and men. It would reach out to me and I would try my best to help. Being from these depths you have a lot of time to think and formulate thoughts.
I would tell the Mockingbird not to worry about the past and the future but to focus on the present and the bird would listen and take it all in. But it seemed as if every night the bird forgot everything I said. All of our conversations started and ended the same. I was not familiar with the way things worked in the sky. I’d never felt the wind at my back or the clouds on my wings, therefore nothing I said held any true weight. All my words got swept away in the tide. This bird was not familiar with the way we did things in the water.
I was determined to help this Mockingbird. However, the first step in helping a bird is convincing it not to fly away and this bird had an issue with staying grounded. I can only help those who want to be helped. I can only help those who come to me. But this bird kept coming back.
It was like the bird was addicted to the pain and the sorrow and the emptiness. Eventually I decided to stop writing all my responses in the sand and looked for something more permanent. I came up with a story and etched it in stone. I thought my action would speak louder than the words. It didn’t matter. The bird was hopeless and helpless.
It hit me one day. This mockingbird was unoriginal. It was the same songs in a different voice. This mockingbird was in denial. It wasn’t unique. I am unique because I don’t sing. I am not a beggar or a chooser and I still refuse to participate in this game. This bird couldn’t be helped. Deep down I knew I was the one that could do it, but I refuse to live my life like that. Maybe some other time.
I decided I would rather drown than go unheard, so I said good-bye to the mockingbird and left. Every once in awhile when I’m by myself I can still hear the mockingbirds songs. They never change. Things never change. People never change. And the world remains a stage.
William Wallace.
Next.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Children Of Honor
For Adrian.
We were born under stars. We were children of honor. Our fathers were men of respect. The year was 1843. Unfortunately for both us, we were not born into a world of unity.
I came from a hardworking family. The type of people that had to carve their names into the ground for respect. The type of people that name their children after their family members. I shared the name James with my grandfather and I wore it with pride. My friend and his family were no different then us. Our fathers were military men so naturally we would become military men as well.
Joel was always one of my best friends. We never had arguments or major disagreements. It seemed like we saw eye to eye on everything. As we got older we went from children of honor to men of respect. It was in our blood. Not everyone was like us though. The blind really do lead the blind sometimes. Not us. We were not followers we were leaders. We were the change. When everyone was going right we were going left. And I knew we were leaders because as we started going left, less people were going right.
In 1861 the South voted to secede from the Union and the American Civil War began. Delaware was the first state to join the Union and was said to be the last state to leave it. I made a decision to fight for the South because I believed in a lie. Joel decided to fight for the North. It wasn’t uncommon for boys from Delaware to serve in companies from Maryland or Virginia mostly because of Delaware’s geographical position. It was considered a border state. There were slaves in Delaware. Some men bought them and some men didn’t.
Neither of our fathers owned slaves. My father was not wealthy enough to purchase slaves, but I could always tell he envied the men that did. Joel and I discussed this and we basically came to the agreement that if we ever met each other on the battlefield that it would be just business and nothing personal. We didn’t have an argument about which side was right or about who would win. It wasn’t about right or wrong, North or South, white or black, or anything like that. It was kill or be killed. Simple.
For the first time since I can remember we went opposite directions. That was the day we were no longer leaders.
We had a mutual understanding of the situation. I tried not to think about the fact that I’d be fighting against my friend. I didn’t care about the stress I’d be putting my parents through. I was afraid that when the day came, if I didn’t kill Joel then he would probably kill me. At this point we were soldiers, not friends. Followers, not leaders.
I didn’t think it was acceptable to enslave a human being. That wasn’t what I was fighting for. I don’t know what I was fighting for. I didn’t believe Jefferson Davis was an adequate leader, but I didn’t believe I was either. My confidence was gone. It had been two years since Joel and I had parted ways. It was now 1863 and we hadn‘t spoken. I was stationed in Northern South Carolina. I’ll never remember exactly where I was. It was so foreign to me, so stupid. I thought about my friend every time I shot at a Union soldier. After every battle I survived I prayed to God that I wouldn’t find my friend on the ground. I searched every battle field. For two anxious and miserable years I felt this way.
On July 1st, 1863, under the orders of General Robert E. Lee my regiment went into battle against General George Mead’s Union Army at the Battle of Gettysburg two months after we defeated the North in Chancellorsville. I was unaware at the time that Joel was fighting under General Meade. Later on I read that this was considered the turning point of the war. I’m not really too sure about that, but it was undoubtedly my turning point of the war.
On the third and final day of the battle, the South was defeated by General Meade and his men. I could give you the exact details of every minute of the battle, but that is not what this is about. I won’t tell you about our attacks on the Unions left and right flanks. I won’t tell you about the 150 Confederate guns that attacked the Union at 1P.M on third day and last day of fighting. What I am going to tell you is that in the middle of this mess, I came face to face with Joel. He had just been knocked down by another Confederate boy. I picked him up off the ground and instead of shooting him like I was supposed to I just stood there in shock. My iron ribs gripped my lungs so tight I found it hard to breath. After a couple of seconds I realized that he wasn’t making any movements to shoot me.
Right in the middle of the chaos, the gunfire, the screaming, and the hatred we dropped our guns and just walked home. Nobody followed us, but that wasn’t the point anymore. It’s been 20 years since that day. I read that Gettysburg was the bloodiest battle of the war, and I’m not sure how true that is because I saw a lot of blood and I can’t distinguish the battles anymore. What I do know is a Confederate soldier and a Union soldier kept their shirts clean that day.
Braveheart.
I'm still genuine.
We were born under stars. We were children of honor. Our fathers were men of respect. The year was 1843. Unfortunately for both us, we were not born into a world of unity.
I came from a hardworking family. The type of people that had to carve their names into the ground for respect. The type of people that name their children after their family members. I shared the name James with my grandfather and I wore it with pride. My friend and his family were no different then us. Our fathers were military men so naturally we would become military men as well.
Joel was always one of my best friends. We never had arguments or major disagreements. It seemed like we saw eye to eye on everything. As we got older we went from children of honor to men of respect. It was in our blood. Not everyone was like us though. The blind really do lead the blind sometimes. Not us. We were not followers we were leaders. We were the change. When everyone was going right we were going left. And I knew we were leaders because as we started going left, less people were going right.
In 1861 the South voted to secede from the Union and the American Civil War began. Delaware was the first state to join the Union and was said to be the last state to leave it. I made a decision to fight for the South because I believed in a lie. Joel decided to fight for the North. It wasn’t uncommon for boys from Delaware to serve in companies from Maryland or Virginia mostly because of Delaware’s geographical position. It was considered a border state. There were slaves in Delaware. Some men bought them and some men didn’t.
Neither of our fathers owned slaves. My father was not wealthy enough to purchase slaves, but I could always tell he envied the men that did. Joel and I discussed this and we basically came to the agreement that if we ever met each other on the battlefield that it would be just business and nothing personal. We didn’t have an argument about which side was right or about who would win. It wasn’t about right or wrong, North or South, white or black, or anything like that. It was kill or be killed. Simple.
For the first time since I can remember we went opposite directions. That was the day we were no longer leaders.
We had a mutual understanding of the situation. I tried not to think about the fact that I’d be fighting against my friend. I didn’t care about the stress I’d be putting my parents through. I was afraid that when the day came, if I didn’t kill Joel then he would probably kill me. At this point we were soldiers, not friends. Followers, not leaders.
I didn’t think it was acceptable to enslave a human being. That wasn’t what I was fighting for. I don’t know what I was fighting for. I didn’t believe Jefferson Davis was an adequate leader, but I didn’t believe I was either. My confidence was gone. It had been two years since Joel and I had parted ways. It was now 1863 and we hadn‘t spoken. I was stationed in Northern South Carolina. I’ll never remember exactly where I was. It was so foreign to me, so stupid. I thought about my friend every time I shot at a Union soldier. After every battle I survived I prayed to God that I wouldn’t find my friend on the ground. I searched every battle field. For two anxious and miserable years I felt this way.
On July 1st, 1863, under the orders of General Robert E. Lee my regiment went into battle against General George Mead’s Union Army at the Battle of Gettysburg two months after we defeated the North in Chancellorsville. I was unaware at the time that Joel was fighting under General Meade. Later on I read that this was considered the turning point of the war. I’m not really too sure about that, but it was undoubtedly my turning point of the war.
On the third and final day of the battle, the South was defeated by General Meade and his men. I could give you the exact details of every minute of the battle, but that is not what this is about. I won’t tell you about our attacks on the Unions left and right flanks. I won’t tell you about the 150 Confederate guns that attacked the Union at 1P.M on third day and last day of fighting. What I am going to tell you is that in the middle of this mess, I came face to face with Joel. He had just been knocked down by another Confederate boy. I picked him up off the ground and instead of shooting him like I was supposed to I just stood there in shock. My iron ribs gripped my lungs so tight I found it hard to breath. After a couple of seconds I realized that he wasn’t making any movements to shoot me.
Right in the middle of the chaos, the gunfire, the screaming, and the hatred we dropped our guns and just walked home. Nobody followed us, but that wasn’t the point anymore. It’s been 20 years since that day. I read that Gettysburg was the bloodiest battle of the war, and I’m not sure how true that is because I saw a lot of blood and I can’t distinguish the battles anymore. What I do know is a Confederate soldier and a Union soldier kept their shirts clean that day.
Braveheart.
I'm still genuine.
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