As he gathered himself in front of their mirror, not just in the sense of his acute fashion sense, he had to wonder. Is this really who I am? A question that is hard to answer, yet few have the courage to admit it is one that is needed to be asked. Where or how come this quandary is important is something that I cannot ascertain, and why I the writer of this story must feel the need to tell others that I am not writing this story in the first person but rather a first person third person story about a second person, I cannot tell you. Its the simplest of things that are always the hardest to come to an easy answer. Delve into a lifetime into whatever topic that is challenging and you will find an easy answer. Ask thine self what the meaning of self is and it will only detain your self into either a perpetual lifetime questioning who you are, following the words of some person’s character who fits your paradigm more adroitly than you or understanding how futile coming to an easy answer really is to whatever even the simplest question really is. The world is a beautiful place that is enraptured by minds like Mark J. Spoonfield or at least that is how I perceive it.
He looked back into his eyes again. Those deep brown eyes that have been weathered through experience that could look into another’s soul simply by looking through his ears. To perceive looking into the character of a man through hearing what one does is again a conundrum, but one fraught with a perceptive brain. Most people judge through their eyes first when judging the character of a man. Yet, if asked what they think about their best friend, it is so rarely how beautiful their appearance appears to the outside world. And if it is, I would rather reply with a sarcastic quibble to whatever their perception is than to go off complimenting their insolence (and if you do, get ready for those personal attacks riddled by backlash by someone who cannot perceive how intolerable their behavior really is.)
“Why did I take that DMT hit? What did I get out of it? Who am I? Am I the bacteria inside me or is the bacteria in me? What is bacteria and why is it different than humanity? Why is bacteria more important than the virus I got last year? Why do we kill off organisms if God really is without fault?” all questions flashed through his racing mind. It was a humbling moment in the grand scheme of things. Each man should have at least a few otherwise they will always remain a boy, yet it is quite easy to remain a boy. Girls have it easy, yet all they want to be is a wo-man by that humbling experience of birthing a live birther. It’s programming folks and all society wants is the graphical user interface instead of the underlining code. Why that is, I cannot tell you.
“And for those that weep. Death comes cheap. These men with broken hearts. Oh so humbly you should be; when you come passing by. For it is written that even the greatest of men should never be afraid to cry.”