I Dream the Apocalypse

I love the way people act and reason. The way they squirm under the light. I like to theorize. I like to analyze. Sometimes, to the very ends of the wits of people around me. I find myself obsessing over the tiniest of details. Someone's slip of the tongue. A glance in an awkward direction. What did that mean? What is really going on here?

The fucked up part is, after a little while, I usually come to an accurate conclusion. It can be maddening for some people around me, and worse for me. I have come to trust my analysis and intuition well beyond what a person probably should. In intense scenarios, it leads me to jump to wild conclusions, filling in the gaps as I go. But, I have to breathe. Slow down, and SEE. See what is really there in front of me. What is really going on, not what I fear or hope is going on. Once in a while though, the two thoughts will meet. The terrible fear or great hope, wild and impossible, comes true. And then, I gloat.

In the ashes, I smile. Breathless, black and broken. I was right.

In perfect happiness, I become too obsessed with my deductive genius to take in the moment. Sometimes it saves me from a hammer of pain. Sometimes, it robs me of great experiences.

I keep leaving the positive option there. The things I hope for coming true. As if I've ever analyzed a series of events and come to the conclusion that I'm about to, and then do wake up in a pile of silent, half naked Asian chicks feeding me Michigan dogs and running their fingers gently through my hair (P.G. rating for the anonymous, ageless dwellers of the internet).

I fucking love a good Michigan dog.

As I was saying, I keep leaving that option there, but ninety nine times out of a hundred, it's negative. I dream the apocalypse and wish it into existence.

I see you start to get agitated more frequently. I see you become defensive. I see you over compensate. These things build and build in my head. I sleep, and my head constructs an outline, through nightmares and insomnia, draining all life from me. All joy. But I keep going. I keep thinking, obsessing, analyzing. I look for more clues, more truth. Deeper, and deeper, I dig for subtleties. I see you blink when you see a word on T.V.. What does that mean? What's so special about that word? Is it a place you know? A name? Is it a lyric in a song? (Note to self, pay attention to any songs that may be played frequently, or in private.)

I'm a fucking mad man for disaster.

I refuse to play the fool. To be blindsided. Instead, I kill everything in my path in my pursuit to KNOW what is going on around me. I kill everything. Everyone. Myself. But, in the end, I know. As I said, smiling up through the ashes. Because I was right.

I. Was. Right.

It's a terrible way to live. Constantly second guessing everything. The people I love, the world around me, complete strangers. Is it paranoia? Maybe. But I am so often correct. Is it genius? Fuck no. I'm an idiot. Is it madness? Surely.

I recently had the opportunity to shovel one of these great fuckers off of my shoulders. After years of it's weight breaking my bones, building rage and hate, I was convinced that I was a volcano. That I would erupt and smother and burn everything in my path, consuming all, unstoppably.

But when it came right down to it, I only spoke. Simply, clearly, and let it out. Like a winter breath, it was gone, and I was lighter. Astounded, and clear.

Is that a side effect of my hyper-active brain? That I am able to see the bigger picture in all things? Conflict and solution? That I can look at something so haunting, and realize that truly, none of this really matters? Is that balance? Is that a fair price?

Or should I be dumb, oblivious, and ready to pounce for no good reason, all the time? What do you think? What is a man to you?

Then again, I guess I don't really give a shit what you tell me. I already know what you're thinking.