A Few More Swipes

Chapter 8.

For Blood

I just got up from a deep sleep. A strange dream. During the course of this writing, I might feel
like getting into the events in the dream, and I might not. All I care to say for now is the
dream ended with me rudely awakened by a disturbingly CLOSE Jack Black holding onto my balls with
one hand and squeezing VERY hard. The pain was real. My reaction was far from that.
I was ok. I didn't complain. I had nothing to say about it to Ol' Jack except "OHhhh! You got me
man you really got me."

I was inspired when I woke up. I felt like writing. It was such a deep sleep that I felt like
writing till I pass out again. I doubt it'll happen anytime soon in this night. I still have the
regular things to get to eventually. Drugs to smoke, stories to type, people to imagine, the many
ME's to speak with. The many ponderings of a man who never got into college. I don't even know if 'pondering' as an ACTION can even HAVE a plural. Yea, sure, why not? I started this page to be honest didn't I? If I appear not to be afraid for what this means in my future, I might as well start throwing it out there too.

I missed my girlfriend like hell, too. It was the quickest thing to wipe that weird smile off my face
after I felt so rested and at ease. She wasn't around. Girlfriend form, wife form, in the form of
a child who just smiles and let's you know everything is OK. I don't even know the last time
anyone grown up did that and made it all ok. Not except HER anyway.

I've picked up a cigarette from my Dad's pack outside in the hall. The lights were very bright,
so I went straight back to my room. I love how there's an age where we all think it's normal to
be in love with the dark, to act like vampires among a slew of mortal men, disgusting in their
habits, and so in love with the day. I thought it was normal to dislike the reason so many people
do everything in the daytime instead of the night.

It's not.

Even if YOU spend most of your time in the dark like I do, you will soon grow out of
it. It's not always cool being all that different from the masses. Because when you think about
it, if enough people enjoyed the dark, that would take the fun out if it for YOU again wouldn't
it? You just want to be alone, INDIFFERENT they say. I think I finally know the meaning of that
word. Funny how a Dilbert comic made me realise the meaning of the sociopath, leading to the
consideration that I might actually have BECOME one after all these years. There's no point in
not being honest.

I need to stand up on a stage and make people laugh. I need to do some comedy. Soon. It's the
only thing I remember to have kept me awake all these years.

There's no point in being dishonest.

Not unless you're a mechanic. Another joint part of society that I had the pleasure of brain picking earlier in this day. It's funny how we flock together when we find similarities among each other. It's so harmless when a group of mechanics are doing it to fool someone into paying 150 for something that costs 130.
And so harmful when people of ANOTHER kind flock together. Marching. For blood. Land. For want of
their belief replacing another. Money. Women.


God, the women.


God.


God?

And strangely enough, wouldn't you know it, all it takes is the honest approach of saying, "This
spark plug costs 130, but I'm a lowly knuckle scraping primate who wishes you to give 150 for it
so that the extra 20 bucks can mean either another packet of this weird green stuff I keep
shoving into the corner of my mouth, or a few more swipes of Samad Bond to put into these cuts
under my armpit." Disease ridden INGRATES? No.

No.

They have no choice. I mean they DO, but they don't even know what those choices ARE. They were
never given the options. I think about this as the mechanic waits for my nod on adding the brand
new shiny white spark plugs. The vile, problematic and in most parts, BURNT old spark plugs
sitting, weeping in the corner of my car's open insides, awaiting their end fate. To be chucked
onto the main road like they never served a purpose. Like no funeral would ever be held for them.
Like they'd never be remembered.


Why should they, anyway? They're 3 God damn spark plugs.


I smile, and I nod. He gets to work and I keep smiling, because a purpose has been served.
Everything seems to make sense again, the mechanic is putting in the spark plug. I wondered if he
CHOSE to be a mechanic. I thought about how many people have either the good fortune, or the hard
willingness to CHOOSE something for themselves in life and going ALL THE WAY with it. I took
another look at the mechanic, and he was enjoying his work. The guy's eyes lit up like a child's
do when he peeks outside the window on his birthday and sees a surprise being planned. You
remember how you acted all surprised too when that happened? Like all, "Wha...WHAT? OH MY GOD!
COOOOOOLLL!!!"

It was in a moment where even your selfishness was making others happy. You were seven years old.
You didn't know how much it would mean to anyone to see you TRULY surprised. You didn't even do
it for them. You did it for yourself. You were too excited, and woke up TOO early in the day. You
saw the celebrations TOO soon. And it was over before it even began. So you forgot everything -
something which if, at seven years of age, you were anything like me, was something you had
trained yourself incredibly well to be able to do at any time.

Mum: Didn't I tell you not to go picking unripened watermelons and slamming them on the walls?Faraz: Did you say something? I'm hungry. What is your ROLE in this household again?

You lied to yourself. FOR yourself. So you could live the moment they all surprise you. You
didn't do it for them, but they took the most joy out of it. More than you did. This became the
purpose that created, and nearly ruined, the rest of my natural life.


"Do things that you love doing for yourself, all the while assuring that people around you will
actually manage to appreciate the outcome MORE than you do."


It's a tough gig to follow, as you can see. Because I doubt anyone was reading this after the
first paragraph. But whoever made it this far, I hope this has made you happy in SOME way or the
other at least. I always start out doing something for myself. My ability to get bored with things
hell fast changes that, though. Eventually it becomes only about you, whoever you are.
So I write, for everyone and everything. It's not ALL I do, no. Perhaps comics. Perhaps movies,
some day. I can only hope. And dream. It's all I have been doing since I came on this earth to
fight for God, but realised that no one remembers Him anymore. Not the way He would WANT anyway.
But there's no stereotyping in Lodhism. So I fight along the men and women who have the core
beliefs down TOTALLY right. I fight by their side, without ever having met them, or seen their
faces.

You ever miss your girlfriend so much you want to hit an animal in the face? Any animal. It
doesn't really matter which one, since none of them can utter curse words that you'd understand
anyway.

I guess this is where I immortalize our love, m'lady. This is the new age tree to carve your
names in a heart on. I DID IT, LOVE! Now the whole world will remember, the day one person out of
a soul total of two, decided what he needs to do here. I love you, friend. I love all of you.


Blogs.


They're nothing but a bunch of people trying to be remembered on this planet we will be FORCED to
call home one day. To me, it's just a space to put ideas I may not want to forget. For MYSELF,
more than anyone.


What if you ARE different, guys? What if, you REALLY are. Not better, not worse. Just, different.