Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“I’ve never known where I was going, I just knew I had to keep moving. But even without a destination in mind, I think I always sort of knew this is where I’d end up. In the end, we all reach the end we were destined for.”

I caught up to you, on the last train of the night. For me, it’s the last train home. But where is this train taking you? I can tell it’s not taking you home, but it’s still the last train, so where is it you want this train to take you? 

~Beyond the tracks, past the city lights, a place where not even the stars can be seen. I just need to find a place where the world can’t see me… because if the world can’t see me, that would mean I couldn’t see myself, right? That’s the only place left where I’d want to go, a place where I never had to worry about seeing who I am…a place where I could pretend I don’t exist, that I never existed in the first place…I want to find myself in a world without a shred of me…

Posted in My Daily Adventures, My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

I hate feeling alone… and I hate feeling scared, used and abused… but what I hate most of all is this inescapable sense of being open game. I hate feeling so vulnerable.

It’s not like I felt 100% secure in myself before, but I didn’t feel exposed all the time. I cared about how I looked, but only to what I considered a normal degree. I spent time each morning doing my hair, making sure it looked nice, and that was that; I didn’t waste anymore time or effort. Nowadays I spend the whole day catching glimpses of myself in puddles and dirty windows, and I am never satisfied with what I see. I sit in my car before work, messing with my face, trying to manipulate my hair, eyes and general physiology into something presentable, but I never get out of my car feeling human. It’s like I’m always wearing shoes that are just a tad to tight. 

It’s that feeling of opening the fridge to see what’s inside, closing it without having grabbed anything, and realizing you just checked your washing machine for food, and yes, you never even started that load of laundry, so you’ll be sleeping without sheets for the millenith time this century.

My face has no purpose, so everywhere it appears is another new nowhere. It’s not as I’m terrifyingly ugly, but I’m so out of place that I’m often mistaken for avant garde art, if an avant garde artist was on meth, and wasn’t really an artist at all but just some drug addicted 20 something sharing her “art” with her 97 Instagram followers, 8 of which are accounts she made to try and inflate her online persona.

I’m confusing to the public, regardless of the time, place, or lens through which I am viewed. Smartphone cameras consider my face as a smudge, so at least I can avoid being tagged in pictures posted to social media. But if you don’t exist on Facebook, are you even real? Without my opinions being expressed via Tweets and hashtags, I might as well not have opinions at all! My existence is a lie! Maybe I’m just the first of a new breed of modern ghosts. Maybe, if I spend another 5 years avoiding things like the Sun and any situation that has me interacting with another human being, I’ll finally just become a transparent blob. Perhaps, in that someday 5 years away, people who cast their gaze across the dotted lines of the early morning expressway will experience various levels of awe as they marvel at the modern wonder that is a driverless 2013 Honda Civic. Perhaps those people will even spare a thought as to why anybody would spend the money to retrofit such a vehicle to be self-driving, and perhaps even a few of those people will see the faint outline of my bulging form behind the wheel and realize this isn’t a technological wonder; it’s just a really pale and depressed fat human ragdoll.

Maybe I’m being too harsh on myself. 

Or maybe I just don’t give a fuck about my life.

But honestly? I hate myself, and I believe I deserve to feel this way.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

And I know I’d waste my last words on something stupid, like “I’m sorry,” or “I never stopped loving you.”

Another day, another bottle’s contents swirling in my stomach, melting away the anxiety and replacing it with a physical sensation akin to choking. Or perhaps my throat is actually swollen shut? My lungs might be filling up with cheap liquor and cigarette smoke, leaving no room for something as silly as a chemical reaction turning oxygen into carbon dioxide. Perhaps that’s for the best, letting my words die in my chest before they find purchase on my breath, saving me from making another mistake, since I’m sure I’d just waste my final moments trying to tell you something, even though there’s not a single fucking thing you want to here from me…

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“She doesn’t give you rose tinted glasses, she just paints you the colors you were always meant to wear.”

I’m not a fan of flowers, or at least not real ones. I like paintings of flowers. I like buying fancy parchment with flowery borders. I like writing poems about purple irises, yellow daffodils and pink tulips. I like doodling roses on my notepad during boring office meetings. I like the idea of throwing the bouquet at weddings, and the idea of corsages for high school dances, and the dream of having a garden with a rainbow array of flowers to spend Sunday afternoons drinking tea and reading murder mystery novels. I like so many things about flowers, but I don’t like real flowers.

I like how flowers look in paintings, but never stop to appreciate the flowers growing in my neighbor’s yard. They attract every bug under the sun, and the air around those flowers hums from the wings of a thousand honey bees. I’m not particularly afraid of bees, and I know that bees help pollinate crops, thus feeding me, and yet I always move quickest when I’m fleeing a bundle of bees.

I like flowers in the borders of my parchment, but the open spaces lining my fence remain patches of untilled soil. Some color would brighten up my backyard, perhaps even increase its resale value when the time comes in a few years, but I can’t be bothered with most physical tasks anymore, and gardening is #1 on my list of pointless activities to avoid.

I like writing about flowers, because there’s a flower for every feeling. A purple iris evokes a somber tone, letting me express midnight regrets. Yellow daffodils are just mini, pluckable Suns, reminiscent of mild summer afternoons. Pink tulips remind me of the most provocative lipsticks I have ever seen, and they shade my world in the perfect amount of lust. But I’ve never had a tulip touch my lips, nor picked a daffodil in the summer sun, and I’ve never cried at night within sight of an iris.

I like doodling roses, because they are easy to draw, at least for me. I don’t really have to think about it, I just let my pen circle around the center of my paper until the general shape is in place. A few, strong lines here, some sharp curves there, and everybody recognizes what it is I’m drawing. It’s that recognition that I like, because my doodling isn’t some expression of art, it’s to try and garner attention from my fellow bored co-workers. I want to catch their eyes, so I draw something I can draw well, something everyone will recognize, and a rose fits the bill.

I like flowers at weddings and dances and filling up my world with color while I escape into a book, but that’s because it’s ingrained into my ideas of those things. I didn’t picture my wedding with flowers; the world never gave me a view of a wedding without them. I didn’t look forward to getting a corsage for my senior prom, but my parents wouldn’t take my picture without one choking my wrist. And I already spend my Sundays drinking tea and reading murder mysteries, and all from the comfort of my hand-me-down recliner, but every time I’ve ever seen an old lady enjoying retirement, it’s from the supposed comfort of a flowery garden escape.

I’m not a fan of flowers, or at least not real ones. That may seem contradictory, but to me it lines up with real life perfectly. We use flowers to celebrate our happiest days, but we also lay them down in front of our gravestones. We use flowers to show somehow how much we love them on holidays and anniversaries, but also to beg for forgiveness when we royally screw things up. We use flowers to color-in our front yards, backyards and every space in between, but still live in a world that creates inequality based on the color of a person’s skin.

So, I don’t like flowers, but I like the idea of flowers, because those ideas are much lovelier than the truth.   

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“For all the feelings I’ve managed to capture in my words, I’ve never managed to write down anything that could compare to the feeling of kissing you.”

Our kisses were the best.

From the very beginning,

When they were shy and unbalanced,

To spending whole evenings

Buried in each others faces.

Those exchanges were wonderful,

And time made them unforgettable.

Kisses through the Summer,

Seasoned with familiarity,

Containing a dash of desire,

A sprinkling of passion

And the unmistakable rush

Of a blossoming love.

Posted in My Daily Adventures, My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

The Daily Adventures of Taylor Finn! Day 4 – “Who says you can’t survive on only ramen and vanilla coke?”

8/24/2018 – Today marks a major milestone in my life as a hermit; I’ve managed to survive 3 solid months without setting foot inside a store/restaurant. Between ordering all my dry/canned goods through Amazon (I abuse my Prime membership) and using only drive-thru windows for my fast food addiction, I’ve avoided having to stand in front of another human and speak/interact with them. Now, this hasn’t been a completely anti-social affair, not at all. I’d like to think those drive-thru workers love me, since I speak so calm and clearly. I know my local Pizza Hut is a huge fan of my ordering prowess. I always call fully prepared with my order, and I order often enough for most of their staff to recognize my voice. The delivery drivers enjoy my habit of majorly over-tipping (I worked in enough restaurants to feel guilty if I don’t leave an amazing tip) and they tell me I am the nicest customer they have. I’d like to believe they are telling the truth, because I put a ton of effort into sounding nice when ordering food. I know I’m just a stranger to these people, but I like to have a big smile, and say please and thank you, and try to get them to smile back. I feel like I can do this from the comfort of my car, and I know I can do this over the phone, and I somehow manage for the minute or two of interaction with my delivery driver. However, I cannot handle any more face to face interaction then that, so things like banter with the wait staff, or shooting the breeze with a cashier, are neigh impossible tasks.

All jokes aside, I want to make a greater effort to interact with people. I’m moving into my apartment tomorrow, and I should see it as a fresh start, a chance to be more outgoing, like I was back in college. It’s crazy to think just 5 years ago I was doing Improv shows and acting in plays, being on a big stage and acting like a fool in front of hundreds of people. Of course, it always felt easy doing those things because I was playing a part, living through a character I was portraying. I was always a shy, awkward human, I was just good at acting like I wasn’t. Maybe that’s what I need to do now, just find the character I want to be, study up on my lines and stage directions, and put on a show. It might not be me to begin with, but after some time, who knows? Maybe that’s how all confident people get by, just acting the part until the act becomes more than an act. It’s at least a starting point, which gives me something versus the nothing I’m currently working with.

I guess the only thing left to do is decide on what sort of character I want to play. Sauvé and sexy isn’t something I can pull off, no matter how much practice I put into rehearsal. I’m already seen as the nerdy one everywhere I go, so maybe I should play off that image? I could work on becoming the “cool nerd”, putting my encyclopedic knowledge of sports, pop music, and TV/Film to good use, while dialing back my expository habits when it comes to Anime, comics and Microsoft Excel. I can start to chime in during my co-workers talks about the upcoming NFL season, seeing as how I spend hours every night pouring over every bit of news from preseason games and training camps. I could offer my opinions on how the MLB playoffs will shake out, since I love baseball and have an intimate knowledge of every AL team (and also the Braves). I can sing along with any song played on any radio station, be it rap, rock, metal, pop or hip hop. Nobody knows my music tastes span all genres, most likely due to my insistence on listening to sad, depressing, beautiful tunes while working (Julien Baker, I love you so much).

The point is, I have a solid base to work with. I have interests that match up with people I see every day, I just have to learn how to join in the conversation. That’s been my problem for the past 5 years, so I’m sure I must be close to a real breakthrough.

Well, either a breakthrough, or another mental breakdown. I’ll just have to roll the dice and hope for the best.

Posted in My Daily Adventures, My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

The Daily Adventures of Taylor Finn, Day 1 – “Wow, I suck at dieting.”

8/21/18 – It was a rather poor start to my weight loss journey, pretty much the exact opposite of what I should be doing if my goal is anything other than “gain 300 pounds and die of a heart attack at age 30.” I woke up too late to cook myself breakfast, so I planned to settle for some Honey Nut Cheerios. Unfortunately, dry cereal tends to only be a legitimate option when one has some milk to soak those sugary oats in, and wouldn’t ya know it, I was fresh outta milk. This shouldn’t have been a surprise, as I ran out of milk Saturday afternoon, and it was now Monday morning, but after my shit weekend, groceries were the last thing on my mind. O, and for me a shit weekend is the norm, so it doesn’t mean anything particularly terrible occurred, just that I suffered through the same, pill induced haze I’ve grown accustomed to from Friday evening through the 10PM news on Sundays. And before you ask, no, I don’t watch the news at 10PM on Sundays, that’s just the general time I browse through the internet for headlines, to make sure I didn’t miss anything important. AND THAT REMINDS ME!! This weekend did mark my last weekend of living in my brother’s (very nice) basement! As of Thursday, I will be living on my own in an apartment within walking distance of my work! How exciting! If only my facial expressions matched my use of!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway, back to breakfast. Cooking was out, cereal was out, so I drove to work on an empty belly (it’s full of fat and stuff, but that’s not enough, obviously). Upon arrival, I found myself face to face with our decades old vending machine. Clutched in my sweaty palms were 6 quarters, just enough cash to purchase a cold can of Mountain Dew and some generic brand Cup Cakes. Back at my desk, I scarf the cupcakes down within a minute, and I chugged half the soda in the next. I felt the sugar rush through my chub, and the deep disappointment I associate with visiting my parents took over my being. For the next 4 hours, I typed away with a lethargy rivaling a hibernating bear, and by the time I left for lunch, I had managed to color-code my weekly cash forecasting spreadsheet to resemble a Christmas Tree, and nothing else.

I needed a boost of energy for lunch. Walking through the parking lot, I saw my fellow cube-mate taking laps around the building with her headphones on, blasting some sort of 80’s hair-metal. A walk would surely help pump me up, get my blood going, and wipe away some of the guilt of eating cupcakes for breakfast! It was the perfect lunch idea! And so, 53 minutes later, I walked back into the office, feeling like complete ass after eating a 10-piece nugget, large fry and coke from Mickey D’s. Yup, I’m clearly an individual with amazing decision making skills. At least the fast food was extra greasy, so in a few short hours I’ll be forced to skip my 3PM meeting to take an extra big/long/uncut shit. I’m a salaried employee, so I will get paid for that shit too. America is amazing.

I ended my day with a dinner of…carrot sticks! And…. pickles! Yes, my dinner was 3 sour dill pickles and 8 carrot sticks. It’s not exactly healthy, but carrots are good for you, right? And pickles…are a vegetable? Well, they are a low-calorie food, even though they are just wet, green cylinders of sodium. And I didn’t even have any soda with my dinner! (I had a 0 calorie Monster. Yes, that’s pretty much liquid cancer. No, it was not refreshing.)

All in all, I’d say the first day of my first day needs a new first day. But that’s the greatest part about a first day; you can always have another.