So, I've apparently been given a very special birthday gift. No name given. He say's that he's gonna remind me why I'm here, and he'll bring me to where I was young, to where my memories lie. Every part of my body told me to say no, to resist, but I couldn't. My "mother" gave me enough info to drive me away, but not enough to get me to believe anything beyond what I know for a fact is true. Why I'm here, eh? He'd better have a damn good answer for that.
You know what I've been thinking of when it comes to meaning? Maybe meaning and love go hand in hand. Maybe that's what the Fab Four were trying to tell us with their songs. Maybe, they found out their purpose was to spread love and meaning. That's an existence I want more than life itself.
A knock already. Whoever he is, he works quick. Well, it's time to roll up. I'll tell you what happens if and when I return.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Let It Be
She lied to me. Twenty years and no damn mention. Just a big fucking lie, a big, meaningless life birthed from this illusion. That woman isn't my mother, just some broad who found me at one of those adoption homes. I remember it in goddamn high definition. Caverns, endless in creation, almost alien in nature. The further I venture, the less it seems that things keep their structure. Suddenly, a left turn leads me into a Wal-Mart. I look back, the entirety of the realm I was in was nowhere to be found. Just little ol' me. I wandered for hours, looking for someone. And I remember one more thing. A pain, a pain that feels identical to what I'm feeling now. I blacked out, but I remember my "mom's" voice. Calming, soothing, but just another deception. They adopted me the second I awoke, two months later. She said she never bought me the journal, she said she never knew I had one like the one I found. But I know there's something she refused to tell me, I know damn well.
My headache's getting better, but at the price of knowing the majority of my life is fabricated bullshit. Purpose. I'm beginning to despise that word. It just lingers over me, an obvious prize I can't obtain. I'm sick of these kinds of lies, I'm sick of feeling useless, I'm sick of they who continue to fabricate the world I live in. I want bloody reality, I want to remember when I wasn't a cesspool of naivety. I need to get back.
My phone's ringing, but it's not my so-called mother. It's just an unnamed number. Give me a second.
My headache's getting better, but at the price of knowing the majority of my life is fabricated bullshit. Purpose. I'm beginning to despise that word. It just lingers over me, an obvious prize I can't obtain. I'm sick of these kinds of lies, I'm sick of feeling useless, I'm sick of they who continue to fabricate the world I live in. I want bloody reality, I want to remember when I wasn't a cesspool of naivety. I need to get back.
My phone's ringing, but it's not my so-called mother. It's just an unnamed number. Give me a second.
Revolution
That was me.
The picture with the man reading the book. I drew me. Same shirt, same chair color, I don't know how I bloody missed it, but that's me. I don't have the slightest idea how the hell I predicted this and finding this twenty years later. I want to believe that it's just a coincidence, that it's just some sort of odd occurrence, but I don't believe that. No, that can't be true. I wished it wouldn't be, but I know that can't be right. Not after I looked on. There were only three pictures left in the journal.
The first one had no caption. I didn't see any lyrics, but I remembered the event instantly, an event I thought was just a weird dream. I was in some big, dark place and I wander a little into the depths. Next thing I know, I'm in a supermarket and people ask me where my parents are and etc. as I walk around the place. Then my mom comes to pick me up, and after a long discussion with my dad, she takes me home. The thing that bugs me is that this "dream" is the first memory I have of my mom. I think I was like five or six, I don't know. But this is where it stems back when it comes to my parents.
The second has the words All Together Now placed on top. And that's the only words on the page. It's a compilation of every character I'd drawn before in the journal, all in one nice, big image. The only thing truly notable is how I called the redhead Rita again.(I assume I found a new Lucy.) It's a mural to my frustration. I didn't spend long on it as it sickened me.
Finally, there was one with a simple title, Her Majesty. The thing is, there was no picture, just white space. It bugs the hell out of me, like if it's there only to piss me off. I need a goddamn answer, I'm sick of this headache, and I just want something to make sense for once tonight.
And I want meaning again.
I'm going to call my mom, she has to know something.
The picture with the man reading the book. I drew me. Same shirt, same chair color, I don't know how I bloody missed it, but that's me. I don't have the slightest idea how the hell I predicted this and finding this twenty years later. I want to believe that it's just a coincidence, that it's just some sort of odd occurrence, but I don't believe that. No, that can't be true. I wished it wouldn't be, but I know that can't be right. Not after I looked on. There were only three pictures left in the journal.
The first one had no caption. I didn't see any lyrics, but I remembered the event instantly, an event I thought was just a weird dream. I was in some big, dark place and I wander a little into the depths. Next thing I know, I'm in a supermarket and people ask me where my parents are and etc. as I walk around the place. Then my mom comes to pick me up, and after a long discussion with my dad, she takes me home. The thing that bugs me is that this "dream" is the first memory I have of my mom. I think I was like five or six, I don't know. But this is where it stems back when it comes to my parents.
The second has the words All Together Now placed on top. And that's the only words on the page. It's a compilation of every character I'd drawn before in the journal, all in one nice, big image. The only thing truly notable is how I called the redhead Rita again.(I assume I found a new Lucy.) It's a mural to my frustration. I didn't spend long on it as it sickened me.
Finally, there was one with a simple title, Her Majesty. The thing is, there was no picture, just white space. It bugs the hell out of me, like if it's there only to piss me off. I need a goddamn answer, I'm sick of this headache, and I just want something to make sense for once tonight.
And I want meaning again.
I'm going to call my mom, she has to know something.
Free As a Bird
Got four more in this pained state. After this, I'm gonna lay back down. I'm also gonna try to make this quick. It's hurting to almost intolerable frequencies.
First was just a picture of a crown. It was surprisingly well drawn and was colored as if it was to appear in Magical Mystery Tour.
Second was titled Sgt. Pepper. The cheery old man was depicted with an awkwardly wide smile and hair as red as Rita/Lucy. That didn't bother me though. What got under my skin was the choice of lyrics. "It was twenty years ago today." I'm baffled at the coincidental implications.
Third was Carry That Weight. It seemed to depict a younger me holding some large box with a bunch of words I assume represent the baggage we all have to carry with us. Notable ones were, "Past, Future, Purpose, LackThereof." Why the last one was merged into one is a question I could care less about right now.
The fourth was a very simple picture of a mirror and a poor attempt at a young me's face. It was almost a little mystical when I gazed upon it, but it was short lived due to my aching mind. There were four words scribbled on the bottom. I am the Walrus.
Now, I need to get some rest, or something. I'm far too tired right now. Maybe, if I look hard enough I can find the meaning of anything in this book. but sleep is my priority.
Hello, my dear bed.
First was just a picture of a crown. It was surprisingly well drawn and was colored as if it was to appear in Magical Mystery Tour.
Second was titled Sgt. Pepper. The cheery old man was depicted with an awkwardly wide smile and hair as red as Rita/Lucy. That didn't bother me though. What got under my skin was the choice of lyrics. "It was twenty years ago today." I'm baffled at the coincidental implications.
Third was Carry That Weight. It seemed to depict a younger me holding some large box with a bunch of words I assume represent the baggage we all have to carry with us. Notable ones were, "Past, Future, Purpose, LackThereof." Why the last one was merged into one is a question I could care less about right now.
The fourth was a very simple picture of a mirror and a poor attempt at a young me's face. It was almost a little mystical when I gazed upon it, but it was short lived due to my aching mind. There were four words scribbled on the bottom. I am the Walrus.
Now, I need to get some rest, or something. I'm far too tired right now. Maybe, if I look hard enough I can find the meaning of anything in this book. but sleep is my priority.
Hello, my dear bed.
Fixing a Hole
The long nap didn't help, not one bit. God, my temples are getting to a near unbearable state. Just thinking hurts like hell. Tomorrow, if I even make it, I'm gonna go see a doctor or something.
For right now, I'm not in the mood to read that book, not in the mood to think. Thankfully, a little bit of ale calmed down my numbing mind, but the pain endures. My mom keeps trying to call me, wanting me to spend some time somewhere for New Year's. To do something for my birthday. I didn't mention that, did I? Oh well, it doesn't really bloody matter. It's just my twentieth. Yes, I got my hands on ale. Don't quarrel over that, really. Like I said before. It doesn't matter.
You know, I don't know what I was thinking tonight. I guess I supposed that a lot of others would comment here, saying how it meant something to them. That my sharing of this dream journal would make a fucking difference. But no, of course it isn't. It's pointless, and within itself another addition to the long line of meaninglessness my adult life has been. I guess that's why I listened to the Beatles to begin with. To find that purpose through the stories of others. Looks like that mission failed.
There's one thing I remember vividly about being a teenager. That feeling that you had a role only you could fulfill. That vague idea that you weren't just an easily replaceable gear in a clock that continues to turn regardless of your health, or the health of those you care about. It still gets me to sigh heavily each time I ponder a little too much about it. Probably because the feeling doesn't shown any signs of returning.
Those bloody fireworks keep going off, just feeding my migraine. This computer's light is eating away at my innards. I'm going to die here if this pain doesn't go away. Okay, I need to calm down. I need to breathe. I need something to do tonight and that journal is continuing to puzzle me. Perhaps I can muster the strength to a few pages. Perhaps.
For right now, I'm not in the mood to read that book, not in the mood to think. Thankfully, a little bit of ale calmed down my numbing mind, but the pain endures. My mom keeps trying to call me, wanting me to spend some time somewhere for New Year's. To do something for my birthday. I didn't mention that, did I? Oh well, it doesn't really bloody matter. It's just my twentieth. Yes, I got my hands on ale. Don't quarrel over that, really. Like I said before. It doesn't matter.
You know, I don't know what I was thinking tonight. I guess I supposed that a lot of others would comment here, saying how it meant something to them. That my sharing of this dream journal would make a fucking difference. But no, of course it isn't. It's pointless, and within itself another addition to the long line of meaninglessness my adult life has been. I guess that's why I listened to the Beatles to begin with. To find that purpose through the stories of others. Looks like that mission failed.
There's one thing I remember vividly about being a teenager. That feeling that you had a role only you could fulfill. That vague idea that you weren't just an easily replaceable gear in a clock that continues to turn regardless of your health, or the health of those you care about. It still gets me to sigh heavily each time I ponder a little too much about it. Probably because the feeling doesn't shown any signs of returning.
Those bloody fireworks keep going off, just feeding my migraine. This computer's light is eating away at my innards. I'm going to die here if this pain doesn't go away. Okay, I need to calm down. I need to breathe. I need something to do tonight and that journal is continuing to puzzle me. Perhaps I can muster the strength to a few pages. Perhaps.
Strawberry Fields Forever
We all have that one picture as a child, don't we? While we might not understand a lot of them, there's always gotta be a creepy one thrown in for good measure. Well, mine is proudly proclaimed as Strawberry Fields. I don't know what I was thinking. I mean, you already are well aware of that, but I need to emphasize that. This picture is fucked up. It's a bunch of dead trees and a bunch of leaves I colored in black. And having the lyrics "let me take you down, cause' I'm going to-" doesn't bloody help. It's just a weird creepy thing and doesn't continue, thank god.
The next is called Bungalo Bill and I suppose is meant to show what he killed. In the background you can see like a scuba driver holding a gun pointed at some sort of weird human-esque beast. I can only assume I was terrible at drawing animals so I came up with some sort of weird tan-ish thing. Cool, but odd. I also think I drew Bungalo Bill pretty messed up because he has some sort of nose that looks like it belongs on a garden hose moreso than a person.
The last picture for this post(I'm getting a small headache) is titled Lovely Rita. And from what it appears, it's just Lucy again, albeit a different angle. I'm starting to think I didn't see this girl in a book. I think I remember seeing her around town. Probably had a crush on her and if I remember correctly, she was beautiful. It's hard to believe I'm just recalling all of this now. Anyway, I'm gonna lie down for a bit.
The next is called Bungalo Bill and I suppose is meant to show what he killed. In the background you can see like a scuba driver holding a gun pointed at some sort of weird human-esque beast. I can only assume I was terrible at drawing animals so I came up with some sort of weird tan-ish thing. Cool, but odd. I also think I drew Bungalo Bill pretty messed up because he has some sort of nose that looks like it belongs on a garden hose moreso than a person.
The last picture for this post(I'm getting a small headache) is titled Lovely Rita. And from what it appears, it's just Lucy again, albeit a different angle. I'm starting to think I didn't see this girl in a book. I think I remember seeing her around town. Probably had a crush on her and if I remember correctly, she was beautiful. It's hard to believe I'm just recalling all of this now. Anyway, I'm gonna lie down for a bit.
Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds
So, my first visit is to a picture I drew obviously based off of Lucy.(I even captioned them, heh.) I noticed the diamonds instantly, each filled with lyrics from the song. Oddly, I like how I chose to draw Lucy. In my eyes, I guess I thought she sounded like a redhead because that'show I drew her. I also gave her a blue dress. Interestingly, I think I know where I took this from. I remember seeing a picture of her somewhere, like in a library or something. Like I said before, don't recall a lot of those early days. The picture I drew wasn't terrible, but it was certainly a seven year old's picture. I do have a slight fondness for it, though.
The next one confused me. It looked like it was supposed to be somebody sitting in a chair reading a book. No caption. Nothing. Probably something I drew when my dad was reading something. Sadly, nothing Beatles related here, so I'll just move on.
This next one impressed me. I never knew I could imagine sweet stuff to go along with Nowhere Man. So, it's this guy wearing all black and a read glove. He has a slight smirk and holds what appears to be like an orb or something. It looks kinda cool. The part I really dig about it is the fact that I had a few lyrics spiral around him. I think it was just the first part of the song, up until the "please listen" section. The only other lyric not apart of that I saw was "the world is at your command." Not as good as Lucy, but still nice.
The last one for this post is a picture captioned Mean Mr. Mustard. I have no idea what to think of it. It's like, a librarian, I think? With really weird glasses. No idea what it is or why I drew it. The only lyrics on it are "Such a mean old man." I guess I tried to make my picture wrinkly like an old bloke?
That's it for now. Still looking through, though.
The next one confused me. It looked like it was supposed to be somebody sitting in a chair reading a book. No caption. Nothing. Probably something I drew when my dad was reading something. Sadly, nothing Beatles related here, so I'll just move on.
This next one impressed me. I never knew I could imagine sweet stuff to go along with Nowhere Man. So, it's this guy wearing all black and a read glove. He has a slight smirk and holds what appears to be like an orb or something. It looks kinda cool. The part I really dig about it is the fact that I had a few lyrics spiral around him. I think it was just the first part of the song, up until the "please listen" section. The only other lyric not apart of that I saw was "the world is at your command." Not as good as Lucy, but still nice.
The last one for this post is a picture captioned Mean Mr. Mustard. I have no idea what to think of it. It's like, a librarian, I think? With really weird glasses. No idea what it is or why I drew it. The only lyrics on it are "Such a mean old man." I guess I tried to make my picture wrinkly like an old bloke?
That's it for now. Still looking through, though.
Here Comes the Sun
Well, it's another new year coming up. I know there's no reason to start a blog when I should be getting ready for parties. Oh well, I never tend to go to those things anyway. However, that's not the real reason I created this blog. Yeah, that'd be a sorry reason. The reason why I'm even taking time to do this is because I recently found an old journal of mine. You see, when I was younger I really enjoyed the Beatles. Oddly, that's really the highlight of my childhood. Not much else happened of importance, I guess. Otherwise, I'd remember, right? Anyway, so I recently found it just kinda covered up with a bunch of other junk. Lately I've been getting back into the Beatles, so I think it's a great time to look back into it.
Just taking a peek at the first few pages, it's nice to see what I thought about back then, even if it embarrasses me a little.I mean, we're all young at some point and I guess it's just how things are when we look at our younger selves later. That's about it for now. I'll be posting some excerpts or things I find interesting. I don't even really expect anybody to read this. It's just gonna be nice to take a left turn down at memory lane and go down to the place where nothing is real.
I almost forgot to introduce myself. Name's Paul Walken.
Just taking a peek at the first few pages, it's nice to see what I thought about back then, even if it embarrasses me a little.I mean, we're all young at some point and I guess it's just how things are when we look at our younger selves later. That's about it for now. I'll be posting some excerpts or things I find interesting. I don't even really expect anybody to read this. It's just gonna be nice to take a left turn down at memory lane and go down to the place where nothing is real.
I almost forgot to introduce myself. Name's Paul Walken.
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