ramblings and a picture...

How am I supposed to do this?
I have realized that I can not work in your factories and offices.
I can not act as though it all isn't too much.
I grow weary of the pressure.
Am I weak?
I must be.
When I think of all those people and their hearts and pride that came before me I realize how pitiful I am.
Money doesn't drive me.
Satisfaction does.
Where is the happiness in what I do?
I don't feel as though what I do makes that much of a difference. And even if it did I don't think that I would notice because I am too busy thinking about what it is that I haven't accomplished and haven't yet done.
Then when I think about how it is that I am going to do these things...These things that I feel drive me so much, my attention quickly vanishes and I again accept, neigh look forward to, the life that I find myself wanting to escape.
What's it going to be?
There are two columns, two choices, two futures. To me the first looks like a shopping cart, with a kid at the front, a basket full of food, and a wife leading the way picking and choosing turning only to scowl at my requests or to put something else in the little space that's left.
The other choice is just me. Alone sitting in a nondescript room wishing for the first vision but happy to be by myself.
I want to make my own way and create the reality as I go. But there are too many times when I just don't believe in myself...see, even right now I just realized that this post is really a waste of time. I started off thinking that it would be great, but in the end I've lost interest...I blame DNA.

A humorous anecdote:
I met a girl out at a bar the other night who told me that she had the ghost of a dead soldier following her around. Intrigued I asked how she knew this. She replied that a Buddhist nun who owned the snack bar around the corner told her it was so.
Interesting.
"Do you know why he's there?"
Her answer had something to do with the fact that her soul was damned or something like that. I didn't get it all, I was too busy trying to get the barman's attention.
I just picked up the beginning and end. I guess she is destined to kill herself. Or at least that was my interpretation.
It really was kind of sad. So sad that I had to move away.
As I bent over to pick up my bag I realized why it was that he was following her; her legs didn't even touch the ground.
She must of made him feel taller.
Damn soldiers, you can bury them, but the pride just won't die.

This here is Captain Ditto, a man of below average height, and a regular Japanese soldier. Too bad for the girl, if only she had drank that extra glass of milk when she was younger...but instead her soul shall suffer.
Lifes a bitch. Drink your milk. Or just don't visit Buddhist bar owning Nun's. They've got nothing nice to say about anyone.

The great philosophical minstrel show that is life...for Scotty on his Birthday

Two men walking home from work one day turned a corner to find an unusual site. On a street they had walked many times before they ran into a man standing amongst a passing crowd singing out loud. It was no familiar tune or amazing melody. It was a mix of body movement and murmurs with a whistle and a twitch thrown in here and there. Most of the lyrics consisted of grunts and what sounded like occasional laughter. Immediately the two men stop. After a day of staring at computer screens and office memos this stirred their dormant spirit within.
One of the men immediately turned to the other and through a laugh mumbled, “The man must be crazy. His song makes no sense at all.”
His partner nodded at first and then added, “It may be a little odd, but to be honest I’m a little jealous.”
Seeing the puzzling look on his friend’s face he adds, “Well what have we done all day? We sat at work without making so much as a peep while he stood out here singing for all to see. Although he may not make a penny at least he’s creating something new for the world.”
“What will that ever buy him?”
“Nothing I guess. What does your money really buy you? What meaning does it give you?”
“Security, what more could I want?”
With this they both stand quietly drawn to the man who remains bonded to his ballad. After a few minutes incommunicado the opposition simply rebuffs, “meaning.”
“Meaning? You think I don’t have meaning? Why else would I work? Why else would I even try to get up if I didn’t have meaning?”
“That’s not entirely what I mean…”
The conversation is interrupted by the final screeching note from the crooner and ends abruptly as the two wait for the next possible distraction.
As they wait patiently a few feet away glancing, not glaring, the singer hums a few more notes in possible preparation for the encore. But instead he gives in to his own satisfaction and with a look of pleasure approaches his audience.
Walking the short distance through the crowded sidewalk he approaches the two men who notice his approach and signal to each other it’s time to move on.
“Excuse me gentlemen,” they’re caught, “I don’t mean to press you or anything, but I wonder, did you like my diddy?”
Reluctantly they stop and turn. Both looking in opposite directions they offer their limited appreciation.
“I thought it was rather funny, if you don’t mind me saying.” Says the man with meaning.
“It was kind of refreshing.” Offers the jealous one. “But I have to ask, what makes you sing like that? Are you trying to make a point? Or is there some meaning to it?”
“Maybe,” he replies, “what do you think?”
“I think that you are wasting your time. What good comes from you standing out here in front of all these people making an ass out of yourself? Don’t you have a job? Or even a normal life?”
“I have everything I need.” The man acquiesces.
On that note the two men peer at each other and then back at the man.
“Well either way, I enjoyed your singing. Do you have a collections box or anything I can put your tip in?”
Confused the singer repeats with extra emphasis, “I have everything I need.”
Slightly agitated the pessimist sternly adds, “Excuse me, you have nothing.”
“Exactly, I have nothing. And everything.”
Confused the optimistic enquires, “How is that possible?”
“I have my song.” And with an air of renewed confidence the singer quickly turns his back and disappears into the crowd.