Jimi & Grape

It's a piece I'm writting to attempt to shake my blues.

I'm looking back on my life, wondering how i got where I am, and who I was trying to be all along. 

I've got no father, and so I've adopted a habit of looking for role models. I drink, I smoke, and I do it to satisfy myself. I've encountered many father figures in my various wanderings. Some of them were good, and some of them didn't know how good they were. I've listed to myself who they are, and I've tried to figure out where that leaves me. 

I realized that some of my greatest role-models I've never met. One of these would have to be Jimi Hendrix. He was calm, and balanced, and in retrospect persona until the cows come home. I'm calm, and I've got nothing to be calm about. He was a smoker, and he was a drinker, and he lived as most rockstars do. He was satisfied when he wasn't sober. However, what he had to show for this lifestyle was immense. Rarely, to this day, does one mention Jimi Hendrix without absolute recognition of whom they speak. I'm simply Adler, you'll never hear of me. My contribution to humanity thus far hasn't been great. I've been breathing some savants air for eighteen years. 

I've generally got a mighty high opinion of myself, but I'm incapable tonight. 

I've been thinking of the qualities of Jimi Hendrix, and I'll never know if he was truly happy. He died at 27. What if, at 30, he met her? What if his talent came from the same source which drove him to his lifestyle? What if his lifestyle drove him to his demise, or more on my mind... What if his talent did him in? I do not claim to be Jimi Hendrix, and I'm paler than a pale comparison. They loose me in hospitals all the time, because I blend in too well with the sheets. 

Well, a comparable figure, fictional and immensely Adleresque... Gilbert Grape. I've found a kinship with this imaginary person. His girlfriend, the one with the short hair, the bright smile, and the subtle enchanté reminds me of the girl I've recently fallen in love with. I cling to comparison like a wet noodle, if it's striking to me. 

He doesn't smoke, and he doesn't drink. He's got a life filled with adversity, and to top it off he's trapped. What separates he and I? Or habits are about as dissimilar as two folks can be.. But, he is a version of me I recognize and love.. He is who I was going to be, had I been given my own way. I've lost the strength which he so gracefully possesses. 

I'm never prepared, but I'm always ready. I'd love to know and get to know me again. I'm a product of a society which I hold nothing but distain for. I'm not me as I was born, and when I die, I wont be the me I am today. Primarily the difference I foresee is I'll be dead. 

But, I am dead, you see. Just, not physically quite yet. I'm separated by an ocean of sand and reality from my heart. My soul is not as I left it. I left it, and that's why. I want to succumb to it once again. I want to embrace me, and I want to find my heart and make it mine. 

I used to be so happy. I've never known what exactly happened. I'm familiar with the events, but I mean what happened inside of me. I've had psychotic breaks in the past, and I've been in deep depressions which took a clinger to hope to survive. I feel so tired. I just wish I could convey, but my language forbids it. I'm not here to show off, I'm here to spill my guts. 

My guts are telling me to chose Gilbert Grape. My lungs and liver in particular. 

But, my contradictory nature makes me wish to chose me. I just wish I knew him. 

I love you for getting this far in my ramblings... My stance on life is a little strange, I never went to school. 4th grade was my only truly successful year, and 5th was my latest year attended. I only made it till winter break. I tried 6th, but that ended very quickly. 

I hope I've not made a fool of myself here. I'm pretty sure I'm brain dead, and I don't believe I will always be. I hope that you'll be willing to try me again sometime when I've got something pleasant to say, for once. I never proof read, and each piece takes about 20 minutes. It's a product of spontaneity, and my doldrums don't allow me to yell it. 

My, oh, my... I do so miss her.