the picture makes a promise; the flesh lets it be broken.
You can close your eyes
and see a picture-perfect life
inside of your mind.
Dreaming only of the days ahead,
wanted and wished for more than now
or the days behind.
You waste your time:
The picture makes a promise; the flesh lets it be broken.
You can never think–
you can’t even stop yourself
before the words have been spoken
And you’ve already said
you would give everything
and something for nothing.
Everybody thinks you’re joking:
The picture makes a promise; the flesh lets it be broken.
When your life is never what you wanted,
not even halfway normal,
just tarnished and soiled…
When in your reach,
a framed and frozen moment,
so far from perfection,
not truth or transcendence
will set you free.
Still you don’t believe:
The picture makes a promise; the flesh lets it be broken.
“You can never think–you can’t even stop yourself before the words have been spoken.” — “Broken” by Tracy Chapman.
I made a mistake.
I thought myself capable of great things. I believed what I was told, that I could achieve anything with sheer will and a little elbow-grease. That following my heart could be crazy enough to work. That dreams were more than just fantasies of the heart.
I was mistaken. And I was foolish enough to believe that all I needed was time to reset myself and start again.
But, you remember games for the Nintendo Entertainment System? (Old-School Nintendo.) Sometimes you hit the reset button and the screen became all fucked up and jittery? And you’d have to push down and pull out the cartridge and just blow in it?
I wonder if all I need is someone to take me out of the machine and force air and life into my connectors to the world.
And as much as I would love to go in-depth on this, per normal, I won’t.
I’m done with saying I know what is wrong with me and what is best to fix said problems. This boy is merely human, and as much as we like to pretend they don’t, humans fail a lot harder than humankind would want us to believe.
—
I used to dream.
Not like, while sleeping. I won’t ever avoid that kind of dreaming. But I used to have plans for myself. I could see a future in which I was doing what I wanted to do. Goals were achieved that I set for myself and it was glorious.
Somehow I came to the realization that those were just fabrications of a heart, fabrications near-comparable to delusions of grandeur. (Minus the whole… insanity part of it. But am I minus that?) It was easy to dream up big solutions to the problems I was and am currently facing, and see a life free of such. My saviour was to be the end of school and the chance to support myself in a happy life. It won’t ever end like that. No one is saying it can’t, there is no need to claim I know what can and cannot happen. I am just stating that it won’t.
I don’t have the strength to make it my own. Or the strength in general.
—
I asked for change.
In the presence of a shooting star, a clock reading 11:11, or the tear-filled moments hiding under the blankets and sheets of the world’s most uncomfortable futon, I found myself asking for change. Godly influenced change, world influenced change, life influenced change… whatever I thought would be right for the moment, I asked for it.
Often I used to wonder if I ever was granted the change I desired. Looking back on it now, I realize that yes, yes Matthew, change was more than simply granted. It was heaped upon me while I blinded my eyes with claims that everything was normal.
In the moments of change, I lost my chances of grasping at any path out of my current situation due to what will be the death of me: apathy. Apathy so deep it appears to be more like its murderous cousin, lethargy. With both, I am all too familiar.
—
I claimed I was able.
Probably the biggest truth about myself to have finally found home under my skin? That I cannot stick with anything for more than a passing moment. It was brought to my attention earlier this month, that I have changed my major countless times. I have shuffled through potential schools, claiming each one “better than the rest, perfect for whatever reason.”
Admitting to it, is the hard part. I like to think of myself as a guy who can “stick to his guns.” The problem is, my guns were swapped out and upgraded as often as possible, as long as it fit expectations and offered a quick-fix.
Quick-fixes to my life seem to be the downfall. Well, quick-fixes and signing onto the longest possible “recovery plan.” (read: Air Force.)
My claims hold no merit. That’s what I’ve decided for myself. What I say about my plans truly have no weight in the words that are being used to describe them.
—
I am ready to stop it all, I just wish it was as easy as recognizing what the problem was. Now the ball is back in my hands and I am lost.
There’s just one thing I have left to say this morning:
Autumn came early and the winter follow-up seems too long away.
Don’t worry about that not making sense. Only the superhumans in my life will truly understand this blog, let alone that line.
- Mat.