Window thoughts. Ô life thoughts.

I was looking out my window at 2:00 a.m. The moon was shining bright and the stars were too. A small breeze made the trees move and a noise came from the door. I couldn’t see what it was and my mind wasn’t clear enough for me to guess. I threw the butt of my joint out the window and closed it. What a wonderful thing it is to disappoint them. But as long as they don’t know, how could they be disappointed? 

It is a strange feeling wanting to do the opposite of what they expect you to do but fooling them at the same time. They don’t want me to smoke? Then I’ll smoke, but I’ll smoke in secret, never telling them I do. So they keep this image of perfection of me and keep expecting everything of me and I am the only one who knows I am not what they think and that is happiness, I think.

I can’t help but feel good when I smoke, I can’t help but want to smoke when something bad happens, or something good happens, either way, a joint fits in perfectly. Now I don’t want to make others smoke, that’s not my goal, but you don’t know what you’re missing out on. The experiences, the feelings, the moments, the dreams and the nightmares, the people and conversations, everything it brings is a tool to use to grow. Even the slight addiction that comes with it.

After all, what is life for if not living? LIving it to the fullest? And once this thought has entered your mind, it grows like cancer until every time you ought to do something, if it isn’t something you enjoy you’ll remember your meaning of life and you won’t do it. But is not doing something you don’t want to bad? It might not be but in society’s eyes, it is. And society is also what makes you do those awful things in the first place. So fuck society, fuck them all, leave them behind in their little hell, and move forward, towards a place where there is no thing you don’t want to do.

And when I’m flying over everyone’s head, when I’m closer to the end of the world above than ever, I feel like I’m fucking society, fucking them all, leaving them all behind in their little hell while I’m moving forward, towards a place where everything is a choice and I am the master of my life, where there is no society that benefits no one, especially not me. And chills run all over me, through me and a smile finds its place on my face and my eyes close and shapes and forms become in the dark infinite place I see when my eyes pause.

I, I, I,, I,,,, I I II iiiii. I. I am the master of my sea, I am the beautiful boy. I am the master of my sea. I am. I am, I swear. I swear I am. I. Yes, I. 

You, You, you, y... You you you uyouyouyyyyyy. You with your eyes wide open, looking over a fake world filled to the brim with fake people. You are the master of no sea, not even yours. Not even any sea. Not even the master of no sea. Not even the master of you, you, with your wide-open eyes and no sea to master, not a ship in sight, not a droplet of water to touch. Not even you. You. You’re sleeping your eyes open. Your eyes are open although you’re sleeping. And I am awake my eyes closed. How easy a life. Ô life. Ô beautiful deranged life. Ô if only life was.``

But at last, I open my eyes and see this town, all roofs of a town looking up to me. I turned to the left for a person was there looking down at me. A man, a woman, a monkey, who knows but God? And if God doesn’t exist, who knows but the thing itself? My smile disappears, I don’t remember it coming, but it is leaving already. I look up, feeling small and I can’t see its face, its face is black, blacker than black. No texture to it, its eyes were not there, all black, a black oval, a silhouette, I think. It talks, I can see the outline of the oval moving against the blue wall behind it. A sound reaches my ears, but who knows what it means. Maybe an insult or a praise, a wish or a spell, a curse, oh yes a curse maybe. A curse it must be. It cursing, it with no face and no eyes, no texture, not even relief. Cursing at me. Cursing I don’t know what about. About what?

There is a strange feeling to not knowing what, who or why when something is cursing at you. So I stand to look at it and as I stand, the blackness and reliefless face of it fades and my mother’s face appears, she seems sad, but what do I know about sadness in others? I only know about sadness in myself. But the tears are running, so I might have guessed right. She looks at me and speaks what seems to be gibberish. But she speaks nonetheless and she hugs me, I hug her back. I count. 1, 2, 3, 4 ,5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17 and it stops. Inhale. Exhale. I walk back and look at her, she smiles, talks some more, and leaves my room. I open the window and sit back down, I close my eyes while my face gets hit by the outside fresh air coming in as strong as waves during a tornado.

“Out on the ocean, sailing away, I can hardly wait, to see you come of age, but I guess we’ll both just have to be patient”1 Oh how those words resonate with this flow of air waving through the skies into my room while I wait for all to come of age. It is mesmerizing, it is incredible and I can only feel as though all is well. All is well. It is all well. All. All of it. It is all well. I feel it is all well. I feel as though it is all well. Well is all, all is well. Well if it isn't all well, all would be close to well. And it doesn’t stop. It doesn’t stop.

I can never tell if I am real or only a fraction of reality. But as I fly with the wind, I can feel it soft against my skin, and I can only be thankful for a world where thinking is free and freeing. Those thoughts I think as though I’m one myself. Window thoughts. Ô life thought you are keeping me alive and live and well. Ô life thoughts.

1: "Beautiful boy", John Lennon, 1980.