Animalistic Instinct

I've been running from the end of the world for a while now. It isn't a bad thing, once you get used to it. You eat a lot, sleep very lightly, wake up, and run like hell. It's not that hard, either. Once you're out there and the world is crumbling around you, instinct kinda takes over, you know? Some kind of animalistic instinct, programmed into our brains and prepared to take over at the slightest hint of danger. The Fight or Flight reaction, as my biology teacher in high school put it.

It was pretty funny how they made the apocalypse out to be. In the movies and stories, there was always a meteor that was careening towards the Earth, and some fucking awesome action movie star would go up into space and destroy the meteor before it could destroy us.

That didn't happen.

Instead, we didn't even detect the meteor until it was too late. Until it was soaring above our heads, crashing into the planet, destroying everything we once held dear. No Bruce Willis to save us. No ragtag team of drillers turned astronauts to go into space and save us. No doomsday clock that counted down the very nanoseconds until utter extinction.

And that was just it. The meteor crashed somewhere in Eurasia. I can't remember, it's been months since it happened. All I know is that every city since Pittsburgh has been crumbling down around me, and I find myself running from it.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Frankly, I'm tired of it. In between runs I often contemplate just lying there and sleeping, not waking up until it was too late. On purpose, of course. However, every time I try, I get up just before it strikes.

The animalistic instinct won't let me die.

When I get out of those situations, I often thank those instincts. It turns out I didn't want to die. However, that feeling fades quickly.

The Earth is crumbling, and I'm looking to get my ass to Florida. To Cape Cod. To try and see if I can't jump on a shuttle that may be left there. I don't know the first thing about flying a goddamn space shuttle, but I'll sure as hell try.

I hope to find a woman. She don't have to be pretty or anything, just a woman. It's pretty lonely out here, on the run. I want to find a woman who's just like me. A woman who's running as well, so I don't have to drag her along.

I want to start the human race over again. Maybe on a different planet, who knows. Be just like Adam and Eve, only without a God.

There is no God.

I want to find some crazy-ass, foreign planet and restart human life there. I want to have babies with this woman whom I've never met. Maybe it's just the thought of not being alone. Maybe I just want someone to hold, and someone to fuck.

I think it's just those animalistic instincts.

You're the most important thing in my life.

Why are you so far away?

.

Fuck it.

Soundlessness

The boy never heard the sounds of an instrument. The boy never heard the sounds of chatter, never heard music, nor has he ever heard the sound of the wind, blowing across the land, upturning autumn leaves in a huge cacophony of crackling, crunching sound and bright, warm colors. I don't even know if he could hear his own thoughts, or his own voice inside of his head. And I felt bad for him.

We walked the streets of Times Square, New York city. We shoved through the crowds of people, walking down the street in their day-to-day lives. No-one spoke, there was no need to. Sounds were long-gone anyways. No longer was New York filled with the sounds of horns honking, cars accelerating, and the seas of people talking and discussing with each other. I used to hear it. We all did. I looked at the boy holding my hand, and realized he never heard any of it, and I felt bad for him.

No longer were the streets of New York filled with people who would sit on the sidewalk, playing their tunes on their trumpets and trombones in the hopes that someone crossing their path would drop a few coins into their hats. No longer did the religious men and women stand on the corner, waving their bibles around and yelling at people, trying desperately to make them realize the error of their sinful ways. None if it was heard anymore. Sounds were replaced with flashing lights, images, and video. Epic films once filled with character-building dialogue and emotion-rendering musical scores were replaced with action scenes, soundless explosions and the sight of guns going off. And the boy grew up in this day and age. And I felt bad for him.

The idea of sound became, "obsolete" to humans. The idea of sound became "dangerous" to the government. The idea of "sound doesn't sell" entered into people's mind through the ebb and flow of media. Scientists had ideas. The government had them too. Citizens and media further drove those ideas into the ground—into the heads of society. Sound became obsolete, dangerous, and altogether censored and repressed. The boy didn't know why he couldn't hear. As far as he knew, he could never hear, and there was nothing for him to hear. And I felt bad for him.

The wonderful, dulcet tones of a trombone being played on the sidewalk by a man in need of money would never be heard by the boy's ears. The only thing the boy could do was look. Look at the man playing the trombone. Look how he moves the slide up and down, and how it glitters bronze in the sunlight. Look at the man, his cheeks puffed and his lips to the mouthpiece. Look at how he is unshaven, how dirty his hands are from the oil he uses to keep his instrument in tip-top shape. See how he focuses on the task at hand, weaving delicate notes in a pattern that not only is pleasing to the ears, but makes you feel. That feeling, that pattern of notes that is pleasing to the ear, will never be heard by the boy. Instead, we walk past, and the boy stares at the man's futile attempt at trying to produce sound. He looks on as people pay him no mind, refusing to drop coins into his hat like they used to. He watches as he moves the slide up and down, breathing through his nose and exhaling through his tightly pursed lips, trying desperately to produce even the slightest note, to no avail. We walk right by, and the trombone player is a mere passing glance to the boy. And I felt bad for him.

Self-Inflicted

I hate how easily one can make themselves miserable.

For example, I could be even more miserable than normal after having to walk over fields of pure ice.

PURE

ICE

With no 2-hour delay. Half the time I couldn't tell where the ice was, and I fell on my ass.

And then almost lost my phone.

And I could be miserable now, because people insist on pounding on the wall I'm leaning on, causing it to shake, which is extremely annoying.

And I could be miserable because when you're sitting on the floor in the hall, listening to music, and people want to get attention, they for some reason find it acceptable to kick you lightly. It's not really acceptable, it's goddamn annoying.

But, I digress. The point of this post wasn't to bitch.

The point of it was to muse over how you can make yourself miserable.

I love how I could be miserable at all that was mentioned above, but I'm not. Not really.

Because I've chosen not to be miserable.

I refuse to be miserable.

Because if I'm already miserable, then things that would make me miserable would make me even more miserable.

Catch my drift?

So if I choose not to be miserable, and wait to let other things make me miserable, I'll be a happier person. I don't know if that makes any sense but it does.

I have every reason in the world to be angry/miserable, right now, but I won't be. I won't let it get to me, because it'll just make the day even longer, and seeing as how I don't want to be in school already, that will just make it worse.

I wish I could listen to music all day in school so I can get lost in it like I am now. That way, I would have no chance to be miserable. Maybe I'll just imagine the music in my head, and that might help.

And I'll just focus on you as well.

I hate this.

Riddle me this:

If you didn't want to learn how to play the trumpet, you wouldn't waste your energy learning it, correct?

So why do we waste our energy in school, which I don't really care about anymore?

It's not like I'm willingly attending school. If that were the case, I wouldn't complain like this. No, instead I'm unwillingly attending school, and it's a waste of my energy. I'm already exhausted and the school day hasn't even started yet. I woke up this morning at 5:45 a.m. and realized that even sleep exhausts me.

I'm too tired to deal with these people

and honestly I'm too tired to deal with this piece of shit I call a blog.

Fuck it. I'm done.