Sometimes The Sun Shines 

Monday, Fuckin’ Monday

If my chest ever caves in and I find myself standing before the wrong God, it’s probably gonna be on a Monday. 

Monday is for bad shit. It shouldn’t really be that way, should it? Nah, it shouldn’t but it is. It should be for staying in bed, if you want to. It shouldn’t be for dread. It shouldn’t be about living to suffer. It should be about watching dogs be all happy with their heads sticking out the window in the passenger seat of a car. It should be about petting strange cats. It should be about taking some time to cry if you need to.

See, that’s why I think we need to quit this capitalism shit. It’s way overrated and it’s profoundly evil. I suspect most everybody who has ever worked knows in their heart how fucked up it is. They know it ain’t right. They know the game is rigged but they keep playin’ the game because they don’t know anything else. They can’t imagine anything else. I don’t even know if I can imagine anything else. The word faith just popped into my head. Faith. What the fuck is faith for me? Belief that something better is possible. I’m not talking about the idea that some day I’ll be brave, sexy and rich. No. A better world. 

I woke up this morning mildly stoned. I always tell myself that I will not get so fucking stoned on a Sunday night but I never listen to myself. I could be wrong but I think it’s quite possibly a bad idea to be even a little high at work. Who wants to be stoned in an office building? Let me tell you, it’s not fun to come into the office at 7 AM and get told that everything is on fire and you are the one that’s going to put it out. I’ve had that happen and lived to tell about it. Oh god damn it. Not this. I don’t need this. Beads of sweat on the back of my neck. Fuck. Why did I come to work today? Cuz I’m tryin’ to be an adult. I haven’t missed a day. People think I’m reliable. People think I’m personable. People think I know my shit and I kinda need all that because on paper I’ve been a bum for like 5 years and I’m trying to quit that. Okay. Let’s do this. You got this, brotha. You got this. 

Yeah. Nothing happened today. Nothing that made me sweat. I spent a lot of time looking busy and some time actually working and I just ran out the clock and now I’m here typing this. 

Guess most everybody who is everybody hates Mondays. That might be true but I don’t find a lot of solace being a member of that club. Typically, I just want to get the fuck home and sleep it off. It was alright though. Maybe tomorrow the devil will decide to fuck me up. God, I hope not. 

I’m one neurotic son of a bitch. It’s not good. I should probably be talking to someone. 

I guess I could be more well adjusted. I never want to be too adjusted though.

It’s a queer thing. What’s a queer thing? Glad you asked. I live in mortal terror of some stressed out motherfucker who can afford to play golf coming to my desk to yell at me but see, there is all this crazy shit going on in the background. 

The President is talking crazy and sinister. You know it ain’t normal. You know you can sense evil. You know the substance of that shit. You tell people you got a bad feeling. People tell you not to worry. 

People are being put in cages but it’s people without power. It’s people who don’t speak English. Bad shit happens in these cages but see, it’s people that society is comfortable un-personing. It’s them today but who the fuck is it gonna be tomorrow?.

You know you’ve seen this guy before. He’s some kinda archetype. He’s a manifestation of the worst parts of all of us. Sometimes you find yourself yelling till you’re hoarse but you get told to calm the fuck down. 

Truth be told, I got no clue what to do. I know there is so much going on outside of myself. I’ve podcasted my rage and my concern. I’m a dues paying member of the local chapter of Democratic Socialists of America and hell, I may even have to start turning up at meetings. I have an ACLU membership card in my wallet. I’ve donated money to striking teachers. I know all of that is so very, very little. 

As I type this, the song Holding out for a Hero by Bonnie Tyler is playing on a loop. The words seem sinister to me in the place where my head is at. The idea of a hero riding upon a fiery steed seems fashy as fuck. 

There were some twists and turns here, right? 

I’m really tempted right now to just write the words “Monday fuckin’ Monday” and be done with this. Yes, that would be really lazy. 

Monday, fuckin’ Monday. 

What it is

All of this arises from a sense of loneliness. That’s what drives this. There are layers to it. 

Not a ridiculous number of layers though. I’m a simple guy. 

I’m not close with too many people and by many, I mean, like any. That’s not to say that I don’t have my moments. Those moments kinda scare me though so sometimes I need to take a few years to breathe and by breathe I mean, mess up my life and sink into a pit of self-loathing. 

I’m questioning the wisdom of doing this but not really. Fuck that. You gotta take risks sometimes. 

This is an unremarkable’s man’s inner monologue on a Friday night. 

I was about to declare this art but god damn it, that would be cringe-y as fuck. It is art though. It just will never be studied because it’s not that good. It has its moments though. This is all about those moments. 

The problem with school is that it doesn't teach you to be a human being.

https://youtu.be/-65HmxjIzPI

Funny as hell.

Sundays, My Voice, Etc.

This is me trying again. 

This feels like trying to carry a depressed sumo wrestler on my shoulders. 

I want to say that I had something specific in my unremarkable, possibly second-hand head. I kinda do but see, I don’t really know how long I can really go on about it. 

It’s a Sunday and those are tough. Sunday means Monday comin’. Feels like the day before the chair, ya dig? Thing about the chair though. Thing about Old Sparky is that it is a cure for Mondays, right? Yeah. I don’t know if it is. I got suspicions about what happens after death and I don’t really want to discuss them with you, okay? I’d rather discuss them with a naked woman in a room full of something like love on some night that’s way too warm and sticky, maybe on some day where there is nothing else to do. 

I guess it doesn’t have to be like that. It can be with someone who has somehow become like a brother or a sister to me. There are a few like that if I really take the time to think on that. You need that or else you’re like some inmate in solitary fixin’ to bang your head against the wall. 

A moment of silence for those in solitary. It breaks my heart that that happens to anyone. I don’t care how guilty they are. Fuck. Maybe it happened to me. Maybe it will happen to me. Maybe it happened to you. Maybe it will happen to you. 

I’m trying to make this weird. Is it working? Truth be told, I hope it fuckin’ is but if not, at least I tried. 

I haven’t really tried at this in awhile. Fuck. I don’t know if I’ve ever really tried. I lack discipline. I lack focus. No Mr. Miyagi or Yoda or Mickey Goldmill is gonna show me how to get focus. 

Life has a shape, ya dig? Well, mine does. That shape is a mess. I promise I will go into details on that mess and some of those details are not gonna make me look like a big, god damn hero. Thing about life is there are no big, god damn heroes. Just people. 

That mess though. My mess. The mess I’ve made. It’s been a whole lot worse. Maybe I’m making progress. 

What was on my mind is my voice when I do this thing. Lord knows I don’t talk like this but I don’t typically get the chance to talk about anything that actually matters if I’m gonna give the vocal chords a workout. I will confess to you though that I spend a lot of time concerning myself with whether this sounds vaguely cool. 

Shit. I’m 35. I have no business worrying about what’s cool.

Am I talking about my persona on the page? Yes. That’s me being clear.

Part of me thinks I’m just not really being authentic. I’m just stringing a bunch of words together that sound cool so people think I am some great soul. Some wise soul. Like, sometimes I think about shit hitting the fan for someone. Red alert. Barbarians are at the gates. Chips are down. Abandon all hope. That person going through that wishes I was there to tell them it might be okay, that I’ve seen beyond the veil and that there is absolutely no reason to be afraid. 

I mean, what the fuck is that? There’s mountains of ego there to be sure. I just hope that that isn’t all there is. 

What is it? Okay. There’s this desire to make someone go, “I kinda know what this weirdo is talking about here. I get it. Somehow I get it and I kinda felt something.” 

I can live with that. I think. 

https://youtu.be/iP_pq-7K0GM

Love this track.

I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in. 

I wish that line was mine. 

Thing is though. It doesn’t matter that it isn’t. 

Sometimes I wanna scream 

cuz I’m wise to the game. 

I know the game is rigged

but I ain’t wise to all the ways the game got put in me 

without my consent. 

I catch myself playin’. 

Hate myself for the size of my wages 

and the fact that my words ain’t commercial 

won’t pay my bills 

won’t free me from dreadin’ the first day of the week 

and from feelin’ all Shawshank on the last day of it. 

Thursday

I sit down at my desk, open a Word document and start typing away. Nothing like inspiration has hit me. No burning bush. No getting struck blind with the truth while hearing the voice of God. The office is quiet. I’ve said my good morning to the office manager as is always my custom. She’s a sweet lady.

It occurs to me that what I’m doing here is writing just to get something down. It really doesn’t matter if it’s complete garbage or not. Just do it. Nike that shit.

I sip from my second cup of coffee today. I have one cup of coffee at home, another when I get to work and some decaf in the afternoon while I’m just coasting through the second half of the day (hopefully).

I’ve worn a collared shirt and khakis every single day that I’ve been employed here. I could probably get away with dressing a bit more relaxed but I don’t. Even though I’ve developed quite the disdain and skepticism for authority, I still tend to follow rules. I try to look as respectable as I can even though the idea that someone is respectable due to wearing a collared shirt is almost unspeakably stupid. Maybe I manage to completely undermine my air of respectability by wearing my collared shirts untucked though. I mean, I used to tuck them in but they kept coming untucked so I just wear them untucked.

I’ve been in this habit recently where I sit down at my desk at work and begin writing. I do it “now” instead of waiting until I get home because mostly I fear that I’m not going to have much in the way of motivation when I get home. What I’m aware of when I’m sitting in the office writing is that when I’m doing that, I’ve got the vibe of the office going on. I believe when I’m engaging in this exercise in the office, my mindset is that of the office. There is reservation in my words. I keep myself from going to certain places inside myself because of where I am. Things be calm at the moment, ya dig? Any moment though, that serenity gonna get murdered by a member of the professional managerial class. I’m always thinking about getting interrupted.

Don’t ask me what’s with that 1950s hipster language or whatever that is. I couldn’t tell you.