What Does?

While the rest of the world was sleeping I was awake, riding the rings of Saturn at 45,ooo miles per hour, but the cold winter wind blew hard against my cheek and I was roused from even that delightful flight. So I got around... chugged some coffee, chewed some mints, breathed a cigarette and walk about the place in all its dull and lifeless presence. Spent the whole day doing so, too. Spent it riding on blue carts instead of white particles of ice chips, snowballs, and bonsai glaciers. Then the day was done, my freedom won, and the car started, puttering me away into the three-o-clock streets again.

Everyone is moving always. Everyone is staying always, too. Thirsting for a drop of knowledge, we all are, and ever thirsting for whats next, whats new, whats just around the bend. What is just around the bend, anyhow?

I think it began somewhere back in 1999 when I was young and things were easy and music was the new territory to explore and employ myself about. Take me back to that day and take away my sticks and see what I should have been composed of by now, I wonder. Is that a regret? I think not. I think it's a curiosity of sorts. I don't mind that I picked up the sticks and made nine years of it. But what if I hadn't? Ah ha! It's a "what if," that's what it is. Well then... What if I had been born in the time of Alexandria? Would I sit with Archemedes and study the stars? Would I fight in the great army of Alexander's and conquer new and different places? I can tell you this much: were I born back then I would have been nothing special, nothing noted, nothing of importance of my time. Just another backdrop. Just another extra in the hindsight of time.

It's not that I want to depreciate my value. It's simply that I know I would not have stood out. Very few really did. Those were the days of Gods; gods for everything. The few that stood out were those that dismissed the notion that the sun is a god, that the earth is the center, that the stars are holes in the great black blanket of night.

It is too hard for me to judge my worth in this time. I am too young to know what I will amount to. Most of us figure that if it hasn't happened by now it won't, but its simply not true. There is always time. Just a little is all that's needed. A few moments to change to course of history.

And then there is me, sitting here in my empty house, thinking about a hundred things at once with no connection or purpose. Furthermore writing them for the empty massed like you to read.

You few little spies, you few little curious cats. What do you do tonight? Take a peak at my words and say, "that boy is simply absurd." Well, fine then, cheeky monkies. It never makes sense, I never make sense. What does?