torture

According to the friendly neighborhood check-out clerk at Walgreen's this evening (who's mustache admittedly creeped me out initially) he has devised a new torture method for getting members of the Taliban to disclose secrets.


Oh, you want to know what it is?



Music. A endless 45 minute loop of Christmas music. He assured me it would be more effective than anyone could imagine.


And I just laughed. Laughed my little, well big, butt off. Thanks creepy mustache man!

that's all.

.



My insides sit in a tangled knot
As my mind drifts from thought to thought;
A quilt of pieced-together memories
Reflected in the mirror of my mind.

I cling to these conjurings,
These half real, half romanticized reminisces
That create the essence of my being,
The "man" that I am today.

And I long for something more.
Something beyond the torn life that I have lead:
Above the struggled moments,
Away from my sordid past and undoubtedly more sordid future.

I sit a prisoner to my nature,
Knowing well what I should do,
Yet continually running the other direction:
a belligerent self-promoting narcissist.



And I wonder: how long will this last?


Bemoaning the present paralyzes the future.
Living in the "what might be" nullifies the "now."
Perhaps then, celebrating, exploring, cultivating the past, holds the secret.
The secret I'm struggling to understand even now.



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