Lets Be Serious Now

What kind of human being can sleep at 3am? I guess all the normal ones. As my fingers freeze while I type I can’t help but wonder what a normal life is like. What is considered “normal” anyways? Waking up and going to work for 8am, then working till 5pm, to come home to your perfect significant other and well behaved daughter and son, with a home cooked dinner on the table? Is the American Dream something that we all strive for? What if it’s something I don’t want?

90 words, 20 minutes. I would be terrible at essays.

I was always told I should become a writer, and each day it is becoming clearer than before. Curled up in my jacket, listening to some Gabriella Cilmi on the 14^th floor of a cute little apartment building at 3am writing something for nothing. Something for closure, but what kind of closure am I looking for? Why do I continue to write down thoughts and feelings I have if they are only going to be posted on pages like facebook and blogspot. Wasted words. Maybe one day I will look back and read these and remember how I felt when I typed such things, or how cold my toes were.

Or maybe these journals will make their way into a book one day. I wouldn’t mind seeing an entry like this in chicken soup, I see those books everywhere. Just more wasted words, but this time in a bestselling novel that people buy as gifts for others. They never actually get read. I owned four and can’t say I read one word other than the title on the front, but we did own them... I guess that’s something.

Maybe these entries will find themselves in a writing portfolio one day. I’ll be applying for a magazine I love, and ill sneak this sucker into one of my collections to show them a little bit of who I am, or where I come from, although this journal has not really been any of those things.

Maybe this will be one of those things I never get around to saving. One of those “for my eyes only”

What kind of human being can’t get to sleep at 3am?
Wasted Words.

On The Hill Top, I Sit to Think.

I saw my sister for the last time today. Shes going up north with my cousins this entire week. She left today... or yesterday... and wont be home till Friday night, Which is funny because i leave Friday morning. We just hugged and didn't really say anything... I told her to have fun up north and we gave each other disgusting kisses on the cheek and i left for work.

It still doesn't feel like I'm leaving. It just feels like I'm stuck here forever, which is how i have felt my entire life. Its strange...



After nine days I let the horse run free by soleá.
On the first part of the journey
I was looking at all the life
There were plants and birds and rocks and things
There was sand and hills and rings
The first thing I met was a fly with a buzz
And the sky with no clouds
The heat was hot and the ground was dry
But the air was full of sound

I've been through the desert on a horse with no name
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert you can remember your name
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain
La, la ...

After two days in the desert sun
My skin began to turn red
After three days in the desert fun
I was looking at a river bed
And the story it told of a river that flowed
Made me sad to think it was dead

You see I've been through the desert on a horse with no name
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert you can remember your name
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain
La, la ...

After nine days I let the horse run free
'Cause the desert had turned to sea
There were plants and birds and rocks and things
there was sand and hills and rings
The ocean is a desert with it's life underground
And a perfect disguise above
Under the cities lies a heart made of ground
But the humans will give no love

You see I've been through the desert on a horse with no name
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert you can remember your name
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain
La, la ...
Written by Dewey Bunnell