Life

It's amazing, life. It's nearly 6am and I have had many wines. Perhaps I should sleep soon, but I figured I would write a story first. And I wish My sister all the best. We all try to do our best don't we? And even if we don't we just kind of hang around and try to do something. I'm starting to feel like, the people with the giant IQ's kind of make up a world just to satisfy their insastiable minds, I mean great things get accomplished, like medicine and such, but even without all that stuff, life isn't too bad. And going on from that, it all seems a bit , and to quote Mr. Villari my year 12 English teacher, a bit of an over intellectualisation. I have found that nothing Shakespeare or Sylvia plath can write on a page, can compare to a 5.1 dolby surround sound explosion and car chase like Nic Cage in gone in sixty seconds, there is nothing that can compare to the visceral experience of what we feel now, phenomenology, it's what we experience right now that matters. And a book is great and a mind altering experience but seriously a Nic Cage car chase!! And the rational mind kind of sorts the rest out, according to how smart we are. St. Augustine would say that someone who follows the words of god in the scripture, but is ignorant of science is living a better life, than the person who is well rounded in all sciences but lacking god. Personally I think its all bullshit, its hard to say not to follow intellectual endevours, but have fun. Because we would all die of disease, but if you can't follow that pursuit and you find yourself in a position lacking poverty, why not NOT take things so dam seriously.

Middle aged man

He tried to adjust the carburetor and felt a cramp in his hand, the skin didn't return to its normal place for several moments. The oil stains washed away, but the scars stayed. A family was his last business, a daughter and two sons. The father had a brow thick and wide and the wife spoke of modern things. With the sun making its presence felt, he made their car move, and they left. Now he sat, the dust cumulating on the visor of his well worn dodgers cap. He thought of a simple time, when his work mattered and people were pleased. He felt bypassed, by a highway and a career that gave him loneliness, never married and ageing quickly. Looking in the side mirror of his f-100 he saw a face that lied to him, his smile betrayed a young man, and any suitor passing thought of him as dirty and old. The wooden bench was his view of life, and he watched time make a mark. The shed where his truck was stowed rusted each day and he saw the bitumen road in front, cover with a red sand from the last gale. The next customer, a lone woman of the age of thirty, asked for a service, the desert was hard and those who knew their way didn't pass by the middle aged man. She fluffed her skirt and exited the SUV.
'I'll Fill her up.'
He did it with a smile, and made small talk. His coffee machine was dry, but he filled it for her. She left, he said hello, but she left. His service was done.
He sat on the wooden bench and thought of the sun as it dipped, the lady would have to turn on her headlights to see in the dark . If he was with her, he could show her the way.
The middle aged man, turned off the neon welcome sign, and locked the doors. He sat on the wooden bench in the dark, the stars were shining bright and he looked at them with a slight hesitation. His life was helping the lost, but failing his spirit. His skin moved like leather with each day that passed, it would take much time to return to its old position. The wrinkles around his eyes formed, he didn't laugh but they formed. And he looked in the side mirror of the F-100 and saw a life that passed him by, but he smiled and felt happy. He made decisions, and he decided to live his life.