Surprise!

So I guess I'm writing in the blog again... Surprise surprise....definitely been awhile. It was a form of therapy from the beginning so I guess that's a good sign that I've been away. However, I'm sure my good and faithful readers have been longing for some Owen Brown. lol.

Anyways, I'll some up what's been going on in 1 word
NOTHING
probably one of the worst things that happens to me, I like stuff to happen. I'd rather be overcoming problems and fighting battles or helping people and having fun then doing nothing. The middle sucks, time passes. PERIOD.

don't get me wrong. It's not that I'm sitting at home all alone. I hang with friends and go to work etc etc. But nothing that is important to me and to life is happening. Basically I could do whatever I want to without directly affecting the circumstances. Of course there would be long term effects. But immediately, shit all is happening and I guess that's what's supposed to happen.

I don't like it. I don't want it. But if that's what has to be. Well who am I to question?

Life is happy. Life is sad. And sometimes it's just boring. There's no right way to escape it and no right way to accept it. I'm training for my purpose, I'm mentally and spiritually preparing myself for whatever it is I've got coming.

I don't know when it's my time or what it's going be.

I hope it's enjoyable, I hope it brings joy and peace and love and happiness. But more importantly. I hope I'll be ready.

I don't get it

Rain on my hopes
Rain on my soul
Rain on everything that i know
It feels so ludicrous
The pursuit of this dream
We thought we'd be there along ago

I want answers....I want promises....I want hope....I want stability....I want happiness

Time Time Time Time Time

Another week went by. Cassie met up with me once on Monday
Her friend needed grocery money so I gave her $160

STFU!!!!! I dont' want to hear anyone's crap about this.

I'm not trying to buy her back of anything. I'm doing the right thing because it's someone in need. You guys have to trust me on this. I know it looks stupid and that I'm just getting used. And maybe I am.

But none the less. I talked about true strength and love previously. And that means giving when its needed and taking punches to the face just for goodness' sake.

And that's what I'm fuckin doing. taking hit after hit with no benefits and just keep getting up. Because it's the right thing to do.

Curse you weekend

Saw Dennis for the last time on Thursday. Last time that is until some other crazy problem comes up that I need help and shit for. It was good. Just kind of a wrap up. He said I need to not do anything using the "O, Whatever" logic.

Also that I'm supposed to think that life is like throwing mud against a wall, and not like rolling dice. I guess that's a negative thought and it's damaging.

I still think it's dice though, I work my ass off compared to other people in terms of personal growth, and generosity, loyalty, willingness to help. etc etc. All those good traits that people "claim" they are looking for in other people.

Yet not only is nothing improving. Some days I feel worse.

Thankfully Church is tomorrow. It seems like forever since last Sunday. It just doesn't come soon enough.

This Poem is not addressed to you

This poem is not addressed to you.

You may come into it briefly,

But no one will find you here, no one.

You will have changed before the poem will.

Even while you sit there, unmovable,

You have begun to vanish. And it does no matter.

The poem will go on without you.

It has the spurious glamour of certain voids.

It is not sad, really, only empty.

Once perhaps it was sad, no one knows why.

It prefers to remember nothing.

Nostalgias were peeled from it long ago.

Your type of beauty has no place here.

Night is the sky over this poem.

It is too black for stars.

And do not look for any illumination.

You neither can nor should understand what it means.

Listen, it comes with out guitar,

Neither in rags nor any purple fashion.

And there is nothing in it to comfort you.

Close your eyes, yawn. It will be over soon.

You will forget the poem, but not before

It has forgotten you. And it does not matter.

It has been most beautiful in its erasures.

O bleached mirrors! Oceans of the drowned!

Nor is one silence equal to another.

And it does not matter what you think.

This poem is not addressed to you.


I did not write this, nor do I know where it came from, it
was just a random word file found on my computer.