Borderline Traveling - Airports - Long Distance Parenting

I walk around wearing this suit, this shell, this burden. I separate myself from the rest of those around me, I watch their expression and notice the commonalities among them. Some in nice attire, clean, showered, and some seem to need to impress. The constant struggle between them is, what I can only describe as a good representation of electrons nudging for a stable position. Most don’t bother to adjust their expressions. Leaving it wide open for the few like us to read like a book. I see their disgust, their shifting for position on the ladder of importance. Do you see them too? I see everyone as a walking book; a cover to read and judge. Better yet, a mobile billboard advertising to the masses heir current mood; latent or not. I make no excuses for reading people. I read, they tell, we communicate on a wavelength no longer used in society. An art refined over the years of trauma and tragedy. To embody this means to go through horrific events that re-shape your cognitive flexing.

{I love everything and everyone I’ve ever met; yet I can’t wait to die}

Ronin PDX - Faces of Portland

The plane shakes and lurches forward in its final countdown until takeoff. My normal disposition is to crack a joke with my fellow passengers, however, I must admit that my refraining attempts to speak to others is one that needs constant supervision. I embody both personalities of black and white personas. I can’t separate the two for long, I notice they both vary in highs and lows, but also in a circular fashion. Meaning I’m caught in a constant loop of depression and happiness. Much like the others whom I’m seated with, different though by way of coping and, disassociation.

I often wonder what others are thinking. Let’s be a little more clear on that.... I constantly wonder and aggressively try to predict movement, thoughts, and intent from everyone within range of my five senses. I meditate, eyes-wide-open. I calm my senses, allow myself to drift off and focus all my energy on repetitious behavior. My foundation for analysis on human subjects. They amuse me with their “originality” and placebo-like confidence.

....takeoff.

The man beside me crosses his fingers, I see the white knuckles forming. The fear is thick in the air, amid takeoff.

At the moment, everything is peaceful. Special thanks to Bose and their noise canceling headset. More so for the clean and socially respectful gentlemen I’ve found myself between on this tube of recycled air. That and the little upgrade to business class helped remove me from those in the back of the plane. My first thought is to bash everyone seated behind me, in some attempt to join the magnetic flow of hate red for things viewed lessor? Possible. Maybe it’s because on the flight to this connecting flight, I had a very large, rotund, woman get up throughout the last flight and as a result, she would slide in front of my aisle pointing her large upper vagina area in my face and she smelled. She smelled like you would if you just didn’t shower and kept gassing your seat. This , I must mention, is as horrible experiencing it as reading about it. Who am I though. I just controlled my expression and reduced body movements to a minimum and let life happen until it passed.  I learned that from my time in the Marines. Not to “be” tough, rather to allow the bad shit in life to run its course and to remove your emotions. They’ll tell you I’m crazy.... all are plausible.

Cruising at 30,000 feet.

The tension between the two gentlemen on either side of me is lessoning. This time I didn’t provide any anecdotal events to oust newly found three hour snuggle session as I’d normally provide. I simply sat down, tucked my elbows in and started capturing our delightful moments together. If I’m correct in thinking all that we see and hear, rather all information that our senses pickup, when I die, I will undoubtedly see them again; briefly. I would like to think this is true, considering that this is how  I force myself to be.

Do I feel or not feel? Timing is the question.

As I cycle out of persona to persona, I’ve taken notice to the varied categories hat provide constant appearance. I’m aware of my discomforts. I don’t try to avoid them all, I remove myself from the physicality of it in attempts to further understand it. Do you do something similar? No!? Fine... geesh.

...First Class

I’ve had the privilege of getting 1st class on my flight back to the US from Amsterdam. Let me say, holy shit people. What are you doing spending $10,000 per seat? Wtf.

Domestically, 1st Class is really business class with a curtain. I’m now in the row directly behind the “temporary elite”. I want to argue against them, against the self-righteous. But my words lose their momentum when leaving and fall short from coming out.  I get it, if I had enough money, I’d be isolated too. I am isolated. Even if I had the funds to do so, I wonder if I’d actually take the plunge and spend it. If I’m ok with myself, than it shouldn’t matter who I’m next to. That’s the better persona talking. The other says to fuck them and move up! You decide. I wonder if I weren’t wearing an $80.00 polo, would they’ve given me this seat? Who knows, I’m also very attractive and that weighs more than gold at times.

Writing removes the pervasive thoughts of suicide. I pray for the plane to go down, for the pain to cease. For God to be kind. It’s true that there’s no Athiest in a foxhole. Well, I’m in something and I don’t see myself getting out.