When I was a Kid I wanted to be a hobo.
I remember in the third grade when Austin and I told one ‘n other we’d vote for each other in the student council election. But I deceived him and voted for myself, netting an extra vote. It’s funny how that still sticks with me. Perhaps it’s because it was my first stray from societal expectations. I learned that one could lie for their benefit. But it seems the fallout was more lingering as I still remember it today, and not with pride.
I remember when I use to ride the bus to school. Slapping each seat as I walked passed it or vaulting myself off them into the air. I’d get to my seat and wonder. Wonder how many more times I’d sit in this seat, or in the seat of some other nameless bus before I got to chase dreams. Before I got to run off down the road and taste freedom. As things at the time seemed so constricted and planned out. I felt like some cow slowly being prepped and raised for slaughter.
I’d stare out those windows and wonder what adulthood would be like or how the hell I’d ever possibly reach it. As time then seemed eternal and endless. Childhood and adolescence was a prison where there was no escape, and any future was shrouded in a crude unforetold mystery.
I remember the old grey man we helped out on a whim in front of that Mexican dinner that one sweltering summer afternoon. Where the wind sweeps your hair into a mess and the pollen stings the nostrils and drives the mind mad. We helped him with his car in a moment of need. And aren’t those the best. When your stuck in a moment and you have no expectations of help, but it comes anyways. Like a rain in a arid desert when you’re days past your last drops of water. Of course it wasn’t a selfless deed, as after we buzzed off the feeling of helping another. As it was just as random and unpredicted for us, as it was for him.
I remember when the road looked like a million black scabs as she sat there next to the pavement smoking her cigarettes with her New Year’s Eve streamers in her pockets. Jabbering about a million things that didn’t mean a thing. But in the moment they seemed like the most meaningful conversations that could have been possibly conjured up. Spilling out ones heart. With all the “I understands” and the “let’s share these moments.” that bond the hearts together for a thousand eternities.
I’ve recently come to the realization that I am not a man for this era. Where being the loudest and craziest in the room wins you praise and glory. Rather I crave a time where being modest and thoughtful were considered a genuine perk of being a person. Where knowledge was favored over fashion and flashiness.
My thoughts have become holy. The more I write the closer to the universe I become.
These are the things that people share together and remember from time to time that make them feel.
Reblogged this on creemcycle.
I want to meet you 😛
“I’ve recently come to the realization that I am not a man for this era. Where being the loudest and craziest in the room wins you praise and glory. Rather I crave a time where being modest and thoughtful were considered a genuine perk of being a person. Where knowledge was favored over fashion and flashiness.”
How much I agree with you.. nice to know there’s another kindred spirit out there 🙂
I came from a culture that rejoices in a sense of community. One that promotes the “we” rather than the “I”. It was surprising, to put it mildly, finding myself surrounded by talk that starred “I” pervasively. The loudest and the craziest, the better. The one thing I miss the most is being a part of a community in the truest sense of the word where each person’s work is recognized whether they are loud or not.
Yeah I dream of that sort of community I dream of. It seems to be a truer for of society.