Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Stale Beer and Cigarettes

If my life had its own scent it would smell like fresh vanilla in the midst of stale beer and cigarettes. It would sound like sad songs about unrequited love and hopelessness, a muttered curse, and a shout of praise. Its taste would be the purest of spring waters marred by the copper tang of blood. It would be a black and white film, both nihilistic and hopeful, filled with cynicism and a child-like wonder. I am Dante and Nietzsche, Peter Pan and Pagliacci. I am a child awed by the world and its inner workings. I am a man hardened by a world that has taught over, and over again, not to trust it. I am filled with inspiration and disgust with the great love and great evil that humanity is capable of. I am a romantic idealist searching for my Beatrice. I am a hero searching for a giant to defeat, and finding only windmills. I am the son of a King, and a disciple of a Transient. I try to live a life of love and doubt that love exists. I walk alongside Tolstoy, and try not to stumble in the drunken stupor of my own unrighteousness. I am an embodiment of inconsistencies and contradictions. I utter tirades against the masks I see people wearing, while my vision is narrowed by my own. I despise the objectification of women within the fog of my own lust. I speak out against war, and drive a knife of judgement into the backs of my friends. I live in a bubble of self-centeredness, demanding and then rejecting the love of those around me. I preach love and cloak my heart in bitterness. I am Dorian Grey; my portrait is hanging in the darkest room of my heart. I guard myself from outward attack while I decay inwardly. I try to pull the mask from my face to find there’s nothing underneath. I base my identity on what I am not, not what I am. I am a pessimistic optimist, a naïve cynic. All I want is to be loved, but I don’t know what love is. I am trying to find Heaven, and trying to find people who will look for it with me. I am split between the mystic and the intellectual, pulled one way by beauty, another by logic. I am created in God’s own image, scarred by sin, and redeemed by His sacrifice. I am desperately searching for who God made me to be, and desperately trying to see those redeeming qualities He created in me. My greatest weakness is that I think myself weaker than I really am.

I am trapped in the ninth circle of Hell, while I struggle up the mount of Purgatory, and exult in the Presence of the Almighty.

Please, don't make judgements about me based on this rambling rant, it is the spawn of late night introspection and confusion, an attempt at an honest look at the convolutions of my person. All in all, God made me, my life has shaped me, and I am still growing.