BLOG-Bits: A Man

BLOG-Bits

A MAN

4.13.21Vision “Vision without action is a dream.”

Why don’t I have a vision? Something that guides me, and motivates me along the way? I can envision so many great things, almost will them into being. But by own future moves along a different timeline. I can open the door to my mind, yet have no access my future. Even a hazy vision would be fine; it doesn’t have to be crystal clear. When I close my eyes, all I see nothing but darkness, still I can hear the voices sneering and snickering hiding in the corners of my mind. I suppose that’s what therapists are for. Wait a second – my vision is to have a vision. Eureka, I’ve got it! Time to get to work. What is my vision? Why don’t I…

3.04.21 – Cog in The Machine

Most men are simply a cog in the machine… In that they, no matter how integral, are just part of what makes the whole contraption run. But they, too, will be replaced after churning out their best work, put through the grind, worn and abraded, a thick layer of elbow grease, blood, sweat and tears, with another just like him but at cheaper cost. None the matter; as long as this thing keeps running. Now go back to work!

3.03.21A Man

What is a man, if not his word? A man is his promise. And I cannot keep promises. In fact, anything I’ve “promised” you before this very writing could not and should not be counted on. And for that, I apologize. I am human, but I feel more like a scrapped blueprint for one. “I am my thoughts,” and my thoughts are made of shame and regret. Shame and regret for what? For letting myself down; for I know what a man is – sense one when he is in my presence – and I am not that, although it is what I strive to be: to finally become A Man.

BLOG-Bits: Ramblings of a Madman – The Pub

BLOG-Bits
Ramblings of a Madman
the-flask
The Pub
10.23.19
    Nothing like a cool pint on a cold day… Sitting in a warm, dimly lit pub, in prohibition era red velvet chairs. With the first sip you can forget your worries… And the pub suddenly becomes your home: the dirty table, the stained chair, the dusty lamp. You could live here. The waiter is suddenly your best friend. The previously loud and annoying resident is suddenly a friendly neighbour. The loud noises are suddenly welcome. The smell of chicken wings is suddenly akin to the feeling of an organism. An overall sense of elation comes over you like there’s not a thing wrong in the world. All you worries, anxiety, depression – poof – gone. I could kiss my neighbour right now: a bearded hipster. This feeling feels like it could last forever. Is this how men become alcoholics? Did it all start with good intentions – a stress relief, a therapy, something to set the world straight? If I were dying I’d like to got out after a few pints. I wouldn’t be afraid of death. I would welcome it with open arms, like my mustachioed companion. Why can’t I always feel like this? I never want this feeling to end. Weed is good too. Why don’t they serve weed-infused beer pints? They’re missing a good business opportunity. Maybe I should start one: a pub that sells weed pints. I’d make a ton of money. Then I could buy as many pints as I like.