Un-Focus T H E Focus

Number of buildings from my apartment I had to walk after parking my car from mine totalled twenty seven. Thousand. The days have recently grown longer. Work is busy pit pat, but not busy tic tac. There, normal. But there, crazy. The seven's dwarfs cottage doesn't keep dirty and the deadly sins have been reduced to six instead of seven. Work runs like a race track with no cars, but them all driving backwards in my mind. The rubber smells of wax, and the strawberry I bit into tastes like tire.

It's days like today, watching the North Carolina sunset that I am reminded of the 82nd Chorus' horrible rendition of Carolina In My Mind. There are few songs that should never be redone by someone of less talent than Robert Goulet, and that's one of them. Another, Brittney's Womanizer. It's amazing what hearing even a crappy rendition of a song will remind you of, make you crave, make you feel. This morning was no exception to that. The sun was setting this evening, and I was happy to be at least away from work even if I was still working as I watched it. Most of the time, I'm still at work during that time and don't get to see the beautiful rays say goodbye to today. Goodbye to the world.

I don't know whether some of the decisions I've made in my life are going to make me stronger or weaker. I'd like to think that I face adversity and suffer the turmoil of life to come out on top, but day by day my idea of what I think is right and wrong fades to it's infinite shades of gray and I'm unsure of the consequence upon myself of my choices. I look to the round face, tattered and marked with itself, the only judge who will tell you what was right. Time. I wait for it's decision, it's truth.

I hear the heart beat in my ears and it tells me close my eyes. I slept too much last night and won't sleep enough tonight. I play some music and I don't recognize it even though I've heard it more times than I can remember. But never like this. The key to the soul, music that is, always seems to speak to your exact feelings and emotions. That's what good music does. 

Short timers and long timers too, they all arrive at the zoo, spattered and clattered with a knack for disaster and call of master. I grab the thorn and feel no pain, let go and it hurts again. The sky is blue and so are you. You call me a cactus but meant to say snake. I regret me for you and you for me with a honey made from bumble bees. Your castle built isn't a keep and you don't hope to keep it, just preserve it long enough to move back in. It's growing mold and you're not too old but your race car goes faster than mine. You count to three and then we'll see if the running of the bulls will happen in your lifetime or if you just come up tomatoes. The random isn't funny, but it makes you wonder where I'm going and I can't even imagine, but I'm writing with my hands closed and my eyes not smelling, but at least my nose is seeing. The battle of this world known as my soul still rages on, but the fires have dwindled, the oxygen is gone. I sniff your roses but they don't smell to good, but their taste is amazing and I swallow two more.

I get off my kick because I'm tired and too overwhelmingly creative for my own good, and it's sucking me down. I push off the bottom because at that point of the maze you have to. My brain is thinking more than ever. It's a combination of things and with one more number I'll be able to open this lock, let the flood gates roll. I can't focus it's so much energy and I'm surprised that this made any sense. But it didn't, not to me, but maybe to you or to me and not you. It started focused, but with all things, except those other things I lost focus, lost my train of thought, couldn't remember all that I told myself not to forget, but can distinctively remember telling myself not to forget at the moment of such idea, of such clarity. I need a note pad, one I can operate while I drive. My brain is numbingly busy like the bee with honey and tonight maybe; I'm going to close my eyes and get a little taste.

ROBERT GOULET!