I think it’s possible, at one time, we all had to study. We had to study hard. If we didn’t we’d have very little. Studying meant long hours of determined will. Your will against having nothing. Coming from nothing and having nothing. Yet to study could help one to leave the dust for a different life. If we study we can be. Be what? Who knows. Study and find out. Wait. That was 75 years ago. Now. Things have changed. All the metal has been created and studying doesn’t much matter when you can have, for having not. It’s more a mental state of mind. I think if there’s nothing and you find a way to be something, then congrats. But I ask, does it matter to be something when there’s so much nothing? I’m wondering if we have the same idea concerning what something is and possibly we should study the nothing. We’re not saying something is more relevant. This has nothing to do with it.
I remember you as a toddler. You once pointed your finger and shot. I look at my hands and view age. Here now is most impressive.
I told you no. When you’re small gender doesn’t matter. Don’t, let’s not pretend this hasn’t happened to us also. Understand. We became angry and self destruct and then rebuild only to repeat the entire cycle. Fair has nothing to do with it. Gender has nothing to do with it. There’s a rock strolling along in the mud. Which is odd because rocks don’t move. They are stuck in situations. The rock speaks up and reminds us that situations change.
Time doesn’t exist. Thoughts do. In Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath I’m reminded of my opinion of Time.
Walk in my mental hallway a moment. Below is an excerpt from The Grapes of Wrath published in 1939.
“For a moment she hesitated uncertainly. “Well,” she said quickly, “why ain’t you prayin”? You’re a preacher, ain’t you?”
Casy’s strong fingers blundered over to Grandpa’s wrist and closed around it. “I tol’ you, Granma. I ain’t a preacher no more.”
“Pray anyway,” she ordered. “You know all the stuff by heart.”
“I can’t” said Casy. “I don’t know what to pray for or who to pray to.”
This is significant to me. This book was published in 1939. The great depression had destroyed family bonds attached to land that never ought to have been taken from them. What stands out the most within this small sample is Casy’s struggle with his faith. In this book, Casy, had been a preacher. His line, ‘I don’t know what to pray for or who to pray to.’ Rings as loudly now as it did then. And, I’m sure, was among the reasons this book was banned at one time.
I’m not done.
Man-vs-Man. We all know this, along with Man-vs-Nature, etc within writing. Not two pages later Steinbeck put this thought to paper helping it to live on forever.
“Pa said softly, “Grampa buried his pa with his own hand, done it in dignity, an’ shaped the grave nice with his own shovel. That was a time when a man had the right to be buried by his son an’ a son had the right to bury his own father.”
“The law says different now,” said Uncle John.”
Again, published in 1939. Do you see? Here’s what I see. Forget the man-vs-man shit, I’m seeing humans. I’m seeing people having the same thoughts over and over and over. A friend of mine might say, “What’s the country coming to? When I was a kid I…things aren’t like they use to be…The Laws Are Different Now.”
Really? Are you sure? Let’s play pretend. Let’s say that my friend who complained about the country was 38. Let’s say my friend stopped their education at 18 and seldom read. Let’s pretend that my friend didn’t start to have an awakening of the mind until 26 which helped them to actually see the world around them for what it truly is. In this theory, my friend has been an individual thinker for twelve years.
Steinbeck has given us a glimpse into the past with his thoughts. Some of his thoughts are the same thoughts many of us have now. It’s possible another fifty years will pass and I’ll be saying thing’s like the characters in Steinbeck’s book. I doubt it. I think I’d rather prompt the individual probing my mental hallway to read a fucking book.
Shut Door- Locked
A Child’s Heart Beats
The Floor Opens
The Only Shield-
I cried. I cried so hard that vessels burst around my eyes. I sobbed and broke silence with my soul. I know I have a soul because of the hurt. The floor came fast and I lie crying. I don’t care that this is happening. I held this off for a lifetimes and now I’m here. We met on a blurred line. The light was bright and I covered my eyes, but I saw. You were there and then you left. We don’t know why you needed to leave, that’s not up to us. We loved you anyway. We still do.
His muscles tensed. He tried calming his thoughts. Breathing was now an issue. He felt his chest constrict and his hands began to shake. If only the ceiling were thicker, he thought. The massively loud thump from the apartment above had disrupted his writing.
The candle flickered a menacing glance his way; a moment before it had encouraged him. His apartment was small and dark. He felt his mind was trapped. It hurt to open his eyes. To see his nothing. It tortured him to be alive. Outside the door was additional pain. It was better to sit here with his four walls and write.
He ran his hand down the length of his face and beard. Over and over he continued doing this without realizing. The candle become a nuisance. He blew it out. This was now between himself and the walls. His beard was long and he rocked slightly as he continued to run his hands down the length of his whiskers. A few hairs drifted to his feet, no longer attached to the man, or his rocking. The wood floor was unkempt. Dishes had piled up and had taken over much of the counter. Books had been left open and forgotten throughout the apartment.
Stopping to smell the oil on his fingers, his eyes became wide. He thought to himself, that which is nothing is still here, and continued to run his fingers down his face and beard.