CD Wilson's life lessons and junk

“I think he is just getting crazier everyday!” exclaimed Itamar with a twinkle in his eyes as he sat back in his chair and laughed. His voice, smooth against the cacaophony of cafeteria chatter, rose with exclamation and then died as he looked back down at what he was he was shoveling into his mouth. coloful mushy stuff and meat (I would be more specific but I don’t have all the facts on the identity of this cartiledge) that sprawled out on an orange plate unethusiastically as if it had tried to escape and then just given up and flopped over. He lifted the glass of Pepsi to his mouth and drank, washing it all down, the food and my behaviour.

Robby shrugged, his blonde hair falling to the sides of his head, and he habitually launched into a non sequitur about Martial Arts, politics, or something that we definitely were not going to cover in our normal dining conversation.

And I lay in wait and then, finally somebody says something and I become illuminated, waving my arms and talking off the top of my head.

And it is all levels of crazy.

Even crazier than usual. Striving for smiles, I am the epitome of method acting willfully indulging in a wicked schizophrenia causing people to be surprised, giddy, and a little creeped out. Yep, that’s me.

And how is the weather in my head?

Cartoony two ton weights fall from the sky with the consistency of hail execept this time they are nuclear bombs and the band members of Pink Floyd, who are for some reason in my imagination, are building a bomb shelter while strumming guitars and singing, “Goodbye blue sky!”

“Let me in, save me!” I cry pounding on another brick in the wall, “I have money.”

“Money, get away,” they exclaim shaking voodoo staffs at the evilness.

“Money, it’s a gas,” I exclaim but then they reply , “money, get back.”

“But money, it’s a hit”, I cry out once again desperate for shelter, but they put a nail in the coffin by scoffing and finalizing my argument by whispering through the cracks, “Money, it’s a crime. Money, so they say, is the root of all evil today.” So they beat me in the knee with the voodoo staff they stole from Led Zepplin who in turn stole it from Allister Crowley. I know this because Led Zepplin and the Rolling Stones showed up and flashed the british flag and screamed, “Gimme Shelter or atleast give us the staff we stole from Allister Crowley back.” And they let them in (along with the Beatles and a whole bunch of super models.) They all look me in the eye as the final brick is put in place and each one says, “I wish you were here,” and they slip out enough money to buy a stairway to heaven.

Well, I do buy the stairway to heaven and I run up the steps, beating back the hailing bombs with my Hulk size fists now green with envy at not being allowed in with the cool people. (of course as soon as they were alone together they killed eachother because rock stars never  get along for too long except for John Lennon who camly asks, “Give peace a chance” but they kill him first and giving him an underwater burial in a Yellow Submarine.)

And thenI reach the top of the staircase, out of breath, prespiration showing through the prison stripes I am suddenly wearing and then I encounter God.

But first back to the real world for news.

The meal is over and the sun has went down like it has faithfully for millions of years.

And, inbetween the delusion of nuclear cartoony bombs and Pink Floyd, I am lonelyand think about rain.

Or that is;

Rain on my parades even when it is sunny, the rejection by society of me is thrown like pink gooey bubblegum into my gears. Or maybe I am the bubble gum, chewed up by society and spit out when I have lost my flavor. When they grow bored of me, after the clown make up has been removed and everything I say loses a punch line.

Now I am at the computer, ruining my eyes by staring at the glowing screen laying on my bed in my jail cell dorm room after Sidd has went to sleep while I IM people on Facebook desperate for companionship in the wee hours of morning when people are generally the most lonely and the most honest.

And Itamar sends me a message and we start an IM discussion about how the reason I can’t get a girl is because I come across as a little crazy.

That makes me laugh.

Anyway, I approach God and blame him for everything. He looks at me, sad, with tears in the eyes because the Greatest Being in the Universe wanted love from me but I am too dumb to change just because I love him. Do I love him?

I try to

I want to

But his love is a great green expansive meadow where each blade brushes my skin feather soft while calling my name out in intimate whispers. That love is more than anybody could ask for but still it is nothing to hold onto when it is dark and you want to cuddle and, despite the sincerity of my desires to love just Him, I am a human and even weak for a human.

I still want to though

“Just leave me”, I tell the Great Old Man with the great big beard that is white like clouds from caring, “”I will never be good enough”.

“I want to.”

Back to the real world where i am chatting with Ittymar,

i answer his semi-joking messages with the message that I don’t think he is right but what I mean to say is that I could care less. I am inbetween on the stairway heaven (and no I am not high you literalists) on a self imposed exile from heaven and having been walled out of the real world. Crazy is how i re-enter. it is how I cope. It has become me. I have role played so long and method acted so long I  left the old me on the stairway waiting for change to hit while this guy climbed back down and joined the normal people, communicating with the rock stars by sticking my head to the wall that seperates us and listening. Haha, and I am getting worse.

Do I even make sense?

This is Basic Interpretation, signing out.