Ever lasting questions

Easy does it, the word ringing in my ears, my eyes on the Tank Girl tome 2, my brain roaming through wandering if all I can see is me or does it change the moment everyone changes to something more serious. I am not too sure. Ready what lit up the minds of the past, does that make me more knowledgeable of the future or the past. I am sober in every respect and awake and I have eaten, and I feel all melo and strange. Everything feels a lot heavier than usual. I don’t know if anything I do helps me get through the next stage. The next what do I want to do with my life. In my low state I feel like I should be doing something that will make me laugh and feel great. Or does the work that I issue make me “bad” and the rest of my life make me happier. I want to write things that will shake the lazy mentally conservative people of this planet, show them that the future is what is important and that the children are important not the parent. The parent forms the future and once born the offspring becomes the one thing that should be bettered. One thing is clear I just don’t understand where all this is going and how I am to make the future better. The one thing I seem to be good at is dreams, being fat, singing, maybe writing and sometimes drawing. I don’t take drugs, I have stopped smoking, my life seems to have been more fun in the past. Does that mean the past is the most important and therefore the parent is the more important and the child secondary?

Or in a mix and match are both important.

I do think that people that don’t have human children will exchange their love to something or a “someone” enough to try and make better and form.

I do think I need to get out because I feel all strange and the hole writing like this is making me feel very spaced out.

I lean back in my squeaky chair and stretch, I return to the music and the writing bobbing. I look around my room and see the past flashing past me. I see the history of my life and the impact over people on my room. My space that has house many nightmares and dreams of beauty and ugliness, finds me crushed on a small broken chair typing on a computer. Finding it hard to feel anything. The MTV tapes that recorded on VHS, the music I like and the videos clips I found interesting, the book I won, all the dictionaries, the bottles of alcohol that I or others have emptied marking a time in my life. From lovers to friends to my sexual bursts, I see all in here, but no other being will see them the way I pensive them now. The wondering of my sanity and other and the need or want to be great at something that I would no longer need to search.

The search, on going and never ending for self-respect of ones work. What is issued through our-selves. The slow crawl up to the world that sometimes fall back in the ripples of time and only mark a pour select few.

I found that everyone that missed the aim become cynical and harsh of their environment. They feel that it is hard, but they seem to be hiding behind the one thing that has happened in their lives: by being alive and having tried, by creating they have won. They have felt that they were giving the world what it needs and that is a blessing.

Is there anyway the world will move forward without it stopping to notice the pour souls left by the money obsessed unfortunates.

The sharks of our lives the money and the creation, the “what makes money” and the what I feel should be made” combat every day. Every crappy song that many feel should never have been made and the great that have never even stepped up and felt the fruit of the their labor. And all the secret agents of the world that seem to steel the beauty of the less fortunate.