The day K. S. Uiry lost his karma

Uiry thought he was a smart guy; he thought he was a smart guy because he believed in the rules, he also thought that only dim-wits could possibly deny them. And since he believed in the rules he thought he had a natural right to break them, after all rules are made to be broken… or so they say. But you had to believe in the rules to break them, and Uiry believes, he believes so much that sometimes he thinks his head is going to explode from all the damn zeal he keeps inside.

If you come that far, then you are all set, you can break the rules, you can even run them over by your old beetles as you are driving to work each day... in fact, that's exactly what Uiry used to do: run over the rules each morning as he is heading to work, occasionally bumping the car behind him as he is leaving his parking space, "kissing it" he called it … sometimes he run over the rules twice, call it his morning ritual.


And if you are a really firm believer, then you already know how things work, you break the rules not because you have to… but because you can. Anyone that has faith knows that he can get away with it, and faith was something Uiry had in quantities, he had enough to wake up each morning and shave, he had enough to drive to work each day and he had enough to make strawberry-and-faith jam for the entire freaking neighborhood if he had to.

Bottom line is; Uiry breaks the rules and never gets caught, it is a fact of life, and that, ladies and gentlemen, is what he calls his karma.

Then comes Jack. Jack was, if the string theory is to be trusted, living in an alternate universe... a universe where rules were as strict as your 3rd grad math teacher, where they might bend, occasionally, but never, never, break. And if the string theory is a ball of crap, then he is just some square living next door from Uriy. At least that's what uiry thought...

Shallow

Like waves in shallow waters flow
Our paths in life come and go
See the future vague in shape
From the nothingness we escape
Is there not a wise man to head;
A mighty horseman on his steed?

Bliss

They smile and say, "It's a bright full day,"
"And blessed is all the fun!"
And the face of doom; the wretched gloom
Is imprisoned by the sun
Yet grim death glares, at he who dares
And walks upon this earth
And although you despair, of this lively air
You should not lose your mirth
In a bit you may, as well as stay
In the fiery bowls of hell
But the will is weak, and the soul is bleak
And fire… is fun as well!

Ci Sono Cose Che Nessuno Ti Dira'

This seemed like just another setup, people are unique, yeah, sure… but when you are low on the rest hours the faces take these oddly similar characteristics, the same goes when you are drunk…. I think.
They say 60% of stress in adults is work related, that's probably a load of crap if you think about it…. It's ok to suck at work, but it would be unthinkable to have a shitty time at home… oh, no, that essentially means you have no way out.
The first thing you feel is you feel angry, you feel angry when people don't act the way they are supposed to. Then you remember something about different perspectives and it slips by, just this once. It doesn't really slip, you know, it is just labeled water under the bridge, so you can move on… get things done.
Other times you might feel good about someone, just an irrational feeling because they remind you of a figure from the past, or because the image somehow conforms to what ticks inside… it is just an illusion of course, we all know that, there is no actual synchronization, there couldn't be. You could deny it, call it an 'emotion' if you like, but no matter what you think of it… it won't fly for long.
This raises a question, what do you do when you meet someone for the first time?
What are you thinking while shaking that hand, other than it's got a firm grip?
This probably goes beyond different characters, trespasses cultures and ignores rank; you meet someone and start thinking
"What's in it for me?"
"How will this person help me?"
"Will he give me happiness?"
"Will he give me money?"
"Will he give me status?"
"Will he make me feel good?"
You notice his clothes, you notice how he carries himself, you notice how he speaks and you notice his hairdo, you notice a bunch of useless things and then you try to answer the questions that keep bugging you… "Will he?"… "Really?"
Then they end up being, or not being your friend. After all, what is a friend really other than someone you can't risk telling everything to? And what's a stranger other than someone you expect nothing from?
hidden meanings buried deep into the psyche, not meant to be on the front page of your daily crap paper... cover your eyes folks, and run screaming while you are at it.
that is most definitely more prudent than dancing on the edge of a razor sharp sword, and it is probably more prudent than trying to find your way.
yet... Who will show us a path… any path? Who will slay our fictional deities?
who will be our hero? even if just for once?

****

*'* *****' ******' *****!

Slay Your Fictional Deities

insomnia... such a disturbing word, ominous and threatening. sounds like the name of a disease, definitely a sickness or simply a state of being.
when you don't sleep the world is a blur, actions are far away and uninteresting, like living in a dream, there might be some irony in the fact that you are dreaming even while you are not sleeping, call it daydreaming, only it's different than daydreaming, more detached.
i have tried multiplying 20 x 10, i'm very good with numbers... it took me about 6, 7 seconds to figure out that the answer is 200. i have never had trouble sleeping.
when people died, i slept
when i had problems, i slept
when i had things to worry about, i slept
when i had people to worry about, i slept
and even when i was undecided... i still slept.

but things change i guess, the world does not stand still, stagnation is just another word for death.
maybe death is not so bad, it contrasts life like a black dot on an endless white background. but even as life carries the seeds of death, could death somehow carry the will of life? could it somehow possess all the havoc that is essential , or is a result for all that matters, of huh...life?
it could and more i suppose... it could and more, but who could say for sure?
they say the dead tell no tales, but what if they came back, will they tell?
well, all i know is that death tells you to slay your fictional deities, and life holds on to them as a cub holds to its mother. their struggle is as unending and as deep as the chasm that extends between good and evil.