Читать книгу Maggot Brain Dreams - Cameron C. Duncan - Страница 5

“Don ’t ask God for a ride to eternity and scoff at the train. For you ’ll be like everybody else if you sho think the same.”- A. Nobody

She sat in her favorite chair reading a magazine and took a drag from her preferred brand of cigarette, I hated when she smoked.

“I’m moving Mom”

I spoke with an unexcited tone as if I’m headed to the corner store for an Everfresh juice and a newspaper. She answered with the simple joy of finding your lost keys.

“Good, there is nothing for you here”

Pleasantly relieved, she must have sensed my misery on my weekly visits.

“When do you leave?”

In my mind I contemplated that it should’ve been 5 years ago.

“September 25^th ”

A virgin date with no current historical significance just as September 23rd 1966 the day that Jimi Hendrix left America for England once was. Just as he was tired of patent leather shoes and hairdo’s to match, I was eager to shed the work boots and graveyard shifts. I was determined to look back at that day as the crossroads for my own battle of independence. An independence of 5:30 A.M alarms and bedtimes, the independence of living life how I want rather than how it can be afforded, the independence to do only what I love and to only love what I do. No more sacrifice, no more anonymity and no more long cold winters.

The future always seems so perfect doesn’t it, so ripe for optimism, so welcoming, like a child who wants to be a teacher and live in a mansion with five children and a horse. The future can offer an escape from today’s harsh realities; we can look beyond present circumstance and lean on the promise that our struggles will find reason, that our pain will only help us to cherish our future happiness. Just maybe! The future gives us strength to push through now, though now was the future yesterday. At 9am we look forward to getting off work at 5:30 and Monday we look forward to Friday. In winter we look forward to spring. Sometimes we’re right, sometimes tomorrow is better, sometimes next year is the year; sometimes the next try is a success. But many times the next day isn’t much different from the last and the season is just another season. The years go by like Minivans in the car pool lane, just like every other year before. Frustratingly, sometimes we even fall backwards but if we are strong and we keep fighting one day our day may come. It may not come how we planned or as a dramatic event, but rather slow and gradual changes that we didn’t notice were happening seem to take place. Maybe we become better people and maybe our experiences give us the wisdom to learn what is truly important. Maybe we focus on the things we have and the relationships we have built rather than the things we don’t have or the places we haven’t been. Maybe we even trade comfort for uncertain bliss. All choices have consequences. Consequently, we may find what we want and lose what we need; feel what we wanted to feel only to find it didn’t feel the way we expected. I wondered what side I was on. What were my consequences? What kind of man was I socialized into? Was God still preparing me for greatness or I was already great but didn’t know how to reveal it? Was I just a dreamer? All I wanted was all I wanted, there was no compromise, no consolation prize, either I was the best at my craft and everyone knew, or I was an utter failure regardless of anything else I would accomplish in my worthless life. I would not accept 12 lemons for a peach. I would bare a million nightmares for that one dream. I would win or I would die.

She was no love of mine, but her piercing green eyes made me pretend, as she rubbed my thigh and ignored her boyfriend’s phone calls. She was just my type; beautiful, witty, taken and temporary. I often lamented the idea of being with an attached woman. I considered the way I would feel if it was my calls being ignored, while my lady fell into the arms of another, then I remembered that had been me and I got over it.

“So you are really leaving?” she asked in a sincere tone, like she’d miss me.

Her facial expressions portrayed a hint of sadness, a hair of relief and a cup of happiness as if she knew I had to go.

With three days left until forever, I knew that we’d meet again but never the same.

Her last kiss tasted of that familiar lemon, so similar to the first one; I savored the scent of her perfume as she hugged me, knowing this embrace would be the last of its kind. I was not at all, but completely hers just as she was hardly but sincerely mine.

She gave me her favorite flower a Purple Lilac and said without promise I was her second favorite man. A lesser guy would take her hand and never look away. Not only did I walk away, I ran.

I drove into a mountainous new world with a few dollars and a place to stay. The views were mesmerizing to a Michigan boy though. I acted as though I’d been here before, like Barry Sanders simply handing the ball to the referee after his first touchdown. Like a young lady I courted in my mid-twenties I acted as though nothing impressed me, yet the excitement of new possibilities helped me to forget that I was broke, had no friends and I was all alone. I was running on faith like an Eric Clapton song. Far away from all I knew because all that was known was that I had to be here. It would’ve been fun to say I boarded a spaceship and the next stop was the moon but my hands are calloused with reason. Opportunity now existed around every corner, it was easy to be hopeful, and every conversation was yet to be had. I took a job at a local gym training housewives and cellophane socialites.

I would watch people have so much excitement about improving their health and for the first 2-3 weeks they are really committed, working out 4-5 times a week especially after the New Year. But gradually the visits to the gym become more infrequent and finally they’d stop coming in at all. But few ever came in to cancel their memberships. I wondered what changed in their life that derailed the excitement and commitment they once had and were they too embarrassed to come in and cancel their memberships because they didn’t want to feel as though they had given up. Perhaps keeping the option open of continuing again one day when their schedules allowed it; maybe when work wasn’t so hectic or when the kids were a little older. But at what point does what we want for ourselves no longer matter? It reminded me of a horrifying reality that at some point our goals would become buried in responsibility to others. I would confess to anyone who’d ask about my single status that I did not want to be responsible for anyone but me and that I never planned to marry or produce children.

“Oh you’ll grow out of it” people would exclaim.

“You’re so selfish” they’d say.

“I’m not selfish my dream is just bigger than yours” I’d retaliate.

I was offended because the idea of being selfish made me think of someone who would let a heavy glass door close in an old lady’s face or clandestinely drink the last of the bottled water on a desert hike, someone who has no regard for others well-being. But that’s not selfish that’s just wrong. As for selfish I am selfish and who cares? What’s so bad about being selfish? We are Americans, the most selfish society in the world. Every great American figure that I can think of took a path of selfishness to accomplish great things for themselves and eventually others. No one became President just because they wanted to change healthcare reform. Would you marry someone you didn’t want, even though they adored you? Every relationship we create in life besides parenting is based on the principal that it is good for us. However we can’t disregard the needs of others because if we refuse to give to them, they will no longer give us what we want. Very few people invent anything that they weren’t interested in using or profiting from. Selfishness is a red herring used to divert the truth of our own selfishness and cast shame on others for not putting us first. Yet our selfishness is vital to our identity, our passions, our ambition and when that freedom to be selfish is taken or expires we may become resentful and or unfulfilled if those passions and goals have not been satiated. So yeah I’m selfish and why can’t I be? No one else will make sure that I succeed; no one is going to write this song for me. No one is going to sacrifice for me, everything is on me and with so many expectations on me I should be my main focus because I am my only responsibility.

I hated training people and had little patience for a 45-year old man that couldn’t do a push up.

“Karl, The Bad news is you may be the weakest healthy man I’ve ever met. Good News is you can make it home early enough to catch your wife screwing your neighbor”

“What the hell am I doing with my life?” I pondered.

I even hated when people referred to me as their trainer. I often found myself trying to convince them of what my true aspirations were, if nothing else but to excuse why my people skills were awful. No one gave a shit. A teacher, who paints, is a teacher. Eventually, I learned to not to proclaim myself as a writer. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself, when people asked, “Anything I heard of?” So I could reply with a dumb ass answer of “Probably not.” Or have to explain why I was wearing a nametag. I’m not saying that anyone should be ashamed of working a job, but it can be shameful to be caught working a job when you project that you don’t need one.

Patience was not a virtue that identified me, but I was left with no other choice as every day of my life was being lost building the dreams of another while mine wavered and laid dormant like a star fish on the ocean floor. One thing that a big city gives you is options it makes you think of all the things you could do if you can’t do something else. I could be a journalist if I can’t be an author, I can be a business man if I can’t be a musician, I can be a doctor if I don’t make it as an actor, Options are great to have when you don’t know what you want. When you’re in love with something you aren’t concerned with options, you don’t care to be a ring announcer when you desire to be the world champion.

When I was a child my parents told me I could be anything I wanted to be, as a teen my peers said that I could only be some things and as a man I realized that everything is possible if I let nothing stand in my way. I refused to allow the circumstances of life to rob me of the passion and imagination that gave me hope that I could do more than just exist. At some point in our lives people lose their imagination and creativity to others realities. Because people did not accomplish what they wanted to in their own lives for any multitude of reasons whether it be as a result of the choices they made or the lack of talent they presume we will be the same. The saying goes that it’s misery that loves company but so does ordinary.

We all have limitations. I could not truly be a great Artist like that guy with the afro who painted stuff on Saturday morning cable because I couldn’t draw a straight line without a ruler. I wouldn’t likely ever be some high-powered sports agent because I could barely sell water to a dying man in the desert. Yet, I would always hear these statistics that were supposed to scare me away from doing what I really wanted to do, and instead concentrate on another plan, i.e. go to college and bury myself in debt so I could get a degree that left me being a subordinate to a man without a high school diploma. Well at least I would fare better with an advanced degree right? I applied for 723 jobs and got calls for three interviews. My conclusion was there are no safe choices in life, so if you are going to fail, fail without regret in pursuing your passion rather than fail in your pursuit of merely avoiding failure. The American dream is not the same for everyone and if your dream is not to sit in traffic twice a day, and sit in a cubicle, then don’t strive for it!

My vision of the right path was murky at times. But I knew I did not want a wonderful hell, better than where I was but far from where I needed to be. I wanted more than melancholy cheer, and short periods of joy earned by longer periods of drudge. I need greatness right now more than ever. Help me find it God! Give me something give me heartache, give me joy, give me beauty, wisdom, whatever I need, share it now. But there was nothing, the voices hushed to cruel whispers, no harmony, just a faint buzz like a blown speaker. What is missing from my life? I was so wrapped in what I didn’t have I forgot about what I did. I was alone here no friends, no history, no memories of good times, good laughs to share. I had no inspiration.

Inspiration is in experiences and personal experiences aren’t always enough and in fact we probably aren’t really as interesting as we think we are. Check that, I’m not. I’m not an action movie or a romance novel, I was just a guy alone in a room with a vision of the life I wanted and truly believing that I could succeed by myself because I failed by myself. One of the most puzzling matters of truth came to me by realization that very few people really believe in your journey until you reach your destination. I mean sure some of your friends may tell you that you’re going to be great but it’s not always because they believe it but because they are being a good friend and not crushing your dream. But as someone once told me true love is not about feelings and rhetoric it’s about actions. Here are the harsh actions from the ones who claimed to believe in me. When my first book was released of all the people who claimed to support me very few of them actually even bought a copy. Imagine yourself as a R&B artist and your first album comes out, but hardly any of your friends went out and bought it. Your friends, or even your family go out on the first day of release to buy IPhones, or their favorite rappers mixtape but neglect you even after they’ve seen what you’ve gone through firsthand. “I believe in you” Screw you show me! Some friends even have the audacity to tell me they shouldn’t have to buy what I worked hard for months and years to create. Strangers pay the rent but friends come to the party, Aint that something? The blessing was that I learned who really stood with me and behind me versus who just came around the block to hang out on occasion. But no dynamic of life is perfect; even great mothers make terrible wives, and even great wives prefer to screw other men. Don’t get me wrong if I was mixing stool in a blender and selling it as a smoothie, can I really blame them for wanting lemonade? The problem wasn’t my product; it was the demand. I was Ibuprophen in a Cocaine revolution so could I become a Heroin? If I only knew the answer to that question I’d be writing on a beach somewhere, rather than on my lunch break. My ego tells me I am the best, but reality reveals that though I think the songs I hear on the radio are simply terrible, they are effective. Oh what I would’ve given at that time for a bad song that was a hit rather than a wonderful mingling of words in college ruled tablet tucked away secretly in my nightstand audible to only me.

My words stopped flowing like cold Kool-aid on a Texas summer day and more like mucus through a collapsed lung. I had begun to focus so much on getting away I had left behind much of what made me what I was. A good friend once reminded me on a late night drive that our experiences, our history and our surroundings are what make us unique and we can become so frustrated with our existence that we neglect to recognize that the chaos of our lives can be used as the ingredients that mix the paint that color us and create the will that forces us to push forward. It is the reason why the greatest love songs are often written following the pain of lost love. It is the reason that Blues is soulful and most impactful when it is authentic. It is the reason that my pages were empty. At some point in my journey I had stopped feeling, while I never wanted to be controlled by emotions I let them all drift away to the corners of the earth. I lamented over my past decisions pondering where I would be had I followed my left mind, and I stopped believing that destiny or fate alone would get me anywhere. It wasn’t all bad because my perspective changed, for the first time I realized that everything I wrote wasn’t great and that maybe I was where I was, because that’s where I deserved to be at that point. Maybe I just wasn’t good enough. It was frightening to consider at this point of my life after dedicating so much time and ink to being the best, that perhaps I was just average. To make things worse I couldn’t find much to write about anymore. I was lost at the exact point where I expected to be found. I wasn’t the same person anymore, I was cold, and analytical instead of warm and creative, I was a shell without the sound of the ocean. I was so tired of being nobody, that I abandoned myself. Somewhere the best part of me was locked away in room with a bowl of Cap’n Crunch, A Jimi Hendrix Experience box set, a 6 pack of Optiflow pens, and a composition notebook. I was in my hiding spot far away from the dull gray spectrums of a complacent, common reality. I had pressed the mute button and left the room during the commercials until the feature presentation came back on. However, like the outcome of long commercial breaks, I forgot what I was watching and immersed myself in a whole new activity. But it wasn’t so easy to come back as to open a door and call. The room was sound proof to the outside world and Bose noise cancelling headphones covered my ears, filling my brain with nothing but manic melodies welcoming that perfect chaos clinging to my being like hot silk pants in an Alabama Baptist church. I would need the key to be freed of captivity. And the only way to get it was to let go of my past regrets and move forward. I needed to stop trying to fix my past decisions and concentrate on building the future I wanted. I had found myself in a quest more for status than Art and I was trying to get it by every means necessary. I was spreading myself too thin. I was an athlete, student, scholar, employee, businessmen, fitness guru, a writer, I was too much and therefore nothing. It was like being in love with a beautiful, wonderful woman who makes you laugh, builds your confidence, and is there for you when you need her, but she won’t marry you. Yet, instead of building the relationship and earning her trust by being patient; you start courting cavalier women, who other men may adore but you are lukewarm for, because you don’t know if the true love of your life will ever say yes. Furthermore, the love of that cavalier woman is not guaranteed, you’ll never be the world to her, and she won’t mean much to you. My flawed philosophy was if I just threw enough darts at the target something would score a bulls-eye but a foolish focus is not in focus at all.

Writing is like true love, you write because you love it not because of what it can do for you. You don’t protect your child so they will take care of you when you grow old; you don’t clothe your child so people will tell you what a good parent you are. You care for them because you know no other way, because they’re cold is your cold, their pain is your pain, and they’re life is more valuable than your own. Writing without love was like planning courtship of a woman as to how quickly I could get her to sleep with me, it was disingenuous. It wasn’t fair for me to expect, words to kiss me when I hadn’t called, for lyrics to comfort me when I had not listened, for harmony to to trust me when I had abandoned them. Imagination is a fickle lady, she loves hard or hardly at all and if she leaves you she may never come back. I needed to caress her, I needed to invite her, I needed to welcome her back by my side and if she would only come back to me and love me now more than she did before I would never leave. But I had to make room for her I had burdens to release. I had to free my mind of regret, fear, insecurity and heartbreak. I needed to accept all of who I was the strong, the weak, the vulnerability, the pride, the caring, and the cold. I could not fool her. She knew what made my heart beat, and what made the Maggots in my mind begin to slither. I recalled memories I had suppressed, I recalled tears that I shed, I recalled the feelings of abandonment, tenderness that I cursed away, the sensitivity that I rebuked. I felt the fear, some of which I overcame some of which I disguised. I was often wounded when I called upon her and she healed me, I often wept to her and she made me strong. I shared my emptiness with her and she made me full. For every piece was given to her, all of my passion and doubt but she made me believe it was all a gift from God. I was pure, plus naive. Scar tissue covered my wounds so I could pretend they were no longer there. I could play a role, create a new me, one that wasn’t so tormented, one that could just go through life without madness. I could’ve been someone people would look to and say “that guy has it all together”. But I was not together in the least and flirted with desires of ending it all; I’d be six feet under or stand 6 feet tall.

It was difficult to forgive myself for decisions I made that I felt were incorrect. I was convinced that if I had just picked Door B, I wouldn’t be in this war. I was convinced that in some parallel world my life was perfect, complete with all the possessions and respect that this world fails to offer. What do you believe exists behind the door you didn’t choose? For a single woman who yearns for a family, is it a child with your eyes and their father’s nose? For a frustrated intern; maybe you’re an executive at prestigious firm. Lives are full of difficult decisions; the choices we make are met with reward and consequence. But reward also has consequence and consequences may have rewards. We are often tasked to make decisions to avoid consequence or chase reward. We may pass on future opportunity in pursuit of immediate gratification. If you have ever trained for a marathon or a sport you understand the importance of choosing painful consequence for the ultimate reward; just as someone who has sold stock immediately after an increase in value understands the choice of immediate rewards and consequence prevention. When reflecting upon our life’s paths we may feel that because the road of our journey is not paved in Sapphire, that the other options would have provided the remedy to what ails us, completed the voids that exist within us, protected us from our heartache, or hardship. We envision a utopia of sorts where our weaknesses would have no merit and our strengths would be magnified like a politician’s private life during election time. Perhaps one or all of them would have. But in my survey of what was missing or not found I forget to enjoy what I collected. If we are too busy looking for gold we neglect to appreciate the beautiful site, people and experiences that we have met along the way. For if we can only endure the pressure and heat of this coal road, just maybe one day we will walk on diamonds. The hindsight bias reveals how easy it is to make decisions when we know their consequences, but if we know all of the consequences to every decisions, there would be no daring, there would be no suspense, it would be like reading a book from the back to the beginning. Additionally, if it wasn’t enough to second-guess ourselves we begin to compare our lives to others. It can be the jealousy of why do they have or deserve the life I should have, or why didn’t we follow the path that would have led us where they are. Another world tends to have a different color when you’re staring out your blue window, but such shades may not be true, because someone is peeking through their patio to catch a glimpse of you.