Diary In The Desert

     I am neither a poet nor a genius. I cannot sing, play guitar or become a professional drummer. I have tried all of these and have yet to discover my true talent. Please, this is reality. I am not a depressed, lost boy. I do know for sure that I am a man. I came into this world three months before destined, and I know that by me smoking a cigarette a minute, a day of my life will go by every twenty three minutes. I'll let you do the math. My laziness keeps me from calculating to see if it is actually reasonable. I know that I am a man but not a man made of steel. I probably have had lung cancer for three years now, but that won't stop me from pursuing my dream as a writer before I'm ashes, floating over the Mediterranean Sea, singing with the birds the book of my life. One of the birds could be my bed and mother to tuck me in for the long journey ahead. I would sleep and sleep the right way, so deep into a dream that upon awakening I won't even remember my own name. When I wake, I would try to recollect the remainder of my legs, and walk her body until I find my pelvis and genitalia. This is all that I will have with me until we reach her nest. After arrival I could and should be eaten by her offspring as an appetizing midnight snack. I will give them the knowledge of maturity and they should, in return, let me roam freely in their minds, controlling their thoughts as I did my own for eighteen years.
     Or fortunately with my luck, I'll get caught in the engine of a rusted jet flying over Japan and upon arrival I will make peace on top of the turbine. I will wait for my time, when I'm almost too disintegrated, to travel. When everything seems to be in order the next day for take-off there will be no trip because I will be th reason it willn't start. "Call the mechanic! Hurry! If you delay I will kill you!" they'll say. There will be a long pause.. You bet your a*s I will! I'll open my eyes when the giant is staring me down in the face. You don't scare me, I says to myself. Because of his scorching hot breath I would be flying in the air like I was wind, like there wasn't a difference 'tween his breath and my body. There's the landing strip now, I see it. I would fall on the orange, oil-stained work uniform of a bald, greasy, over-sized machanic. After the long trip home, his wife and children will inhale me into their lungs as the father exhales the third round of smoke that has been forced out of a half lit cigarette. I will sing inside of them the great knowledge I have learned over the previous three years; they will know of me, without even knowing. I'll know I am a writer when this happens.
     I have been told my face looks a lot more clear with smoke swiveling around it because it is a perfect demonstration of the way my mind flows. I have been told that I am the simplest of fish swimming on the most complex of water always trying to make my way to the area where all is calm. I have been told that my mind is water, and water is the home of all enlightenment. For these reasons I apologize for the future writings.

     "The day is sometime between June 11th and June 15th, 2005. I have lost track of night and day. Time does not seem to be a major factor here and neither does ease. My left foot leaves behind me a bloody footprint every step forward I take and this damn sand is not making the three-inch gash on my heel any the easier. Walk, walk; walk until the sun goes down. Walk, walk; walk without a frown. that is what I've been chanting to myself ever since I tripped over what ever the hell that was back there. Wait... what Sun? There is none. What "self?" I speak ignorance. What pain? Oh yeah, pain. Pain! ('Hah, I'm insane.)' That pain doesn't bother me as much as does the mystery of the location I current reside in, and in some way I am quite thankful, actually, that this journey is of mental being rather than physical. Sure, there have been some physical affects, as you can probably tell, but the damage is slight. The Mind of Pain ratio is strangely 14,700 to 3." I took a deep breath and started to recollect my thoughts, realizing I had just been talking to myself. Am I talking to myself? The thought of it made me grow weaker in the knees. I was still losing blood! "Hmm, this cactus seems to be so comfortable that I could make a bed here if I wanted to."
     "Hallucinations, Hallucinogens, thank God for Hallucinongens. Maybe I am not bleeding, maybe I am not stuck in the desert, and maybe this pain I think I feel is me searching for inner-self." I fainted from dehydration.
     "If I had time to tell you the whole story I would. As I lay here and rest, it seems I have all the time in the world, and it also seems that I've already begun to tell you, so I can not stop now," said I to what was perceived as a crowd of c**k-thirsty women. I would have honestly said no, but ever single female I sould see in front, behind, on top of, under, and beside me promised to be my caretaker if they received the entire story. "Here, my darlings, i s apoem to describe how I spent the majority of my time out here in the desert..." I paused for a few seconds to make sure I knew what I was about to do. Heavy breathing from the goddess above me put me in an exhilarated mood so I, then, continuted to speak...

"If there was more for me to say
It would be said with a golden tongue
Out there, out there
I've been out there
Where the Golden Rule is won."

I come in repose
For I am a man
A man with a hand of iron,
'He sits atop the Jesus-Sand:
The sand above a lion.'"

'His face is dirt, his mind a seed
And to blossom will be rebirth
Out from the dirt, a hint of weeds
His body becomes the earth.'"

'If I were him
Each strand of hair
Would be a string of time
I'd know, I'd know
Just how to
Contruct every fading line.'"

 

'It's very simple,'
I have told the ones who wish were me
'Just let your feet become the rocks
On the bottom of the sea.'"

     "Sir, sir, what does it mean?" said the blue bug-eyed girl with mountainous hips. I was not too fond of specifying the answer to her. She smelled of burning paper and tobacco.
     As I exhaled out my nose I asked her, "Got a smoke? I haven't ha-"
     "Answer my damn question and maybe you can have one!" her words shot at my like a cobra before I could even finish the statement.
     "Well, this you will never know for telling you would not reveal the true answer."
     "I do not understand what you are saying."
     "Then you'll never understand my mind, motive and logic."
     The smell of success is what I thought when she lit the cigarette she promised. It hung there from my bottom lip like the hair on her head.
     "Continue, please," said the shy one to the right, "I'd like you to share anything else you know."
     Exhaling for the sixth time I said to her, "Many a man, have been where I've been, but my journey has yet to begin. There was a time when my mind was hardly at peace, though my appearance begged to differ. I was stuck inside of the sweet, sweet rhythm of a determined sort of anxiety. As often as I can, I follow my instincts as they follow these words:"
     "Ready?" I ask before I deliver my philosophy.
     "Yessah."
     "Indeed."
     "Yes!"
     "Mhmm."
     All of the girls replied with an affirmative work to prove their curiosity.
"Alright," I says, "these words are to be followed by each and every one of you until the day you die:

When one is lost
Two are found
When three are lost
The two are nowhere around."

To get healthier.
Loss is in order
And in order to lose
You must conquer disorder."

To count is a rhythm
And to make perfect, sound is a must.
Either four or eight (the natural way)
Are correct,
Since six cannot be found."

The centre is the edge,
As the river is the bridge;
If water is impossible to walk on
Then a sphere is never perfect.
"