/dream

most kids grow up with aspirations of one day becoming astronauts, policemen, ballerinas . . .

i can't remember ever having dreams for the future.

i dressed up, to be sure, in fatigues and ponchos, cowboy hats and cap guns, but i fully realized i'd never become any of that. it was make believe and momentary. once the neighbor kids were untied from the tree everyone went home for lunch and resumed their normal lives. i daydreamed for hours on end, sketching, writing - anything and everything that crossed my mind. for years i worked on a comic strip which evolved, through an ungodly amount of notes, into a science fiction mythos common to all Tolkien wannabes. it, like everything before it, was eventually abandoned. i still use the back half of that damned, voluminous notebook for brainstorming, mildly embarassed whenever i come across some map or schematic penned nearly a decade ago. it's cute:: it's worthless.

it's sad.

i was struck with the harshness of that kind of thinking this past weekend. why do i think it so pathetic to dream? why don't i invest more time in fantasy, in my own writing? why don't i believe in the future?

my father beat jesus christ to the grave at thirty-two. the man had a family, a successful career, and his own dreams. he was denied a future. why? goddamnit, WHY? what mortal sin did he commit against the heavens to bring fate crashing down upon his head? why did he go into respiratory arrest on that occasion, having had so many closer calls in the past? what did the nurse who incorrectly vented him, causing him to aspirate on his own vomit, think of at the end of their shift? dinner? bed? sex? human frailty?

that one was too easy. why the hell should i believe that everything will work out in the end if i work hard and live well? for every american dream realized there is some poor shmuck struggling to make ends meet, at the end of his rope and marriage. for every man who manages to clamber to the top there is a lightning bolt or gust of wind waiting to make a dead fool of him. there's dumb luck and shit rolls for all - it's only a matter of time until we have our bad streak and go bust.

i'm out. i'm fed up with not investing in anything, barely coasting through life with no aim. i'm sick of people telling me i don't care about anything. i'm tired of dullness and the inevitable intellectual and spiritual death it will bring about. FRIGGIN YAR.

i've wrestled with my father's ghost for the past ten years - i think it's time for me to let him go and continue on my way. i'll never be as brilliant, but dammit if i won't live past thirty-two myself.