And well, Let’s see what happens…

(This is from an aborted collection that I was pasting together. I decided on going with smaller books that were cheaper to get the word out, see my past posts for further details on those super cool books. I always liked this introduction and conclusion  and string of words and so I just wanted to post it. Cool. Bye.)

Introduction by Andrew H. Kuharevicz

And that’s the way that it goes. Ever feel like there’s something holding you back, but you can’t find what’s inside of your head, the actual trigger that is the lever to what is clouding your vision? Well sometimes I feel like that, and I still, even after living almost thirty one years on this planet, still I can’t put my finger on it.

I’ve written maybe millions of words and I’ve never really kept track of what I’ve said, and sometimes I’ve contradicted myself, and this is all fine, but what have I found? And have I grown? Have I just said some million words without really understanding anything? Have I forgotten about what I’ve been looking for the whole time? Have I just gone in circles and figure eights, like trends in histories and fashions? The answer is that I’m not sure anymore.

So many dreams that are full with ideas, doodles and journals, and at the height of my power I’ve come damn close to something new, maybe not, just something new to me. But when the high has worn off I’ve come back to my confused state of being. Why? I’m not sure.

I graduated from college with a focus in sociology, philosophy, and criminal justice, with close to two hundred American undergraduate credits. They had to tell me to either go to graduate school or leave. I wanted to stay there forever, but when I started graduate school I dropped out, for reasons I’m still not sure of.

And I’ve always considered myself a sociologist, with just one set of open eyes who watches the watchers. The sociologist is a person that must hide in the academic universities of this land. I’ve chosen, or rather have been fated to do my research within what people refer to as the real world.

But is it my fault that I gush with what my education has taught me? Has the need for truth lessoned the blow of the years that have led up to a year that is now-now-now? Questions. No Answers.

My face looks so much younger than I really am. Maybe I see the person that I’m not. Confusion. Questions. The self and others. Society. Earth. Honesty and so much more….

Confusion is alright, but when you look at the clouds that paint bridges over the blue skies you must search and try to see what is there, and there is so many chaotic decisions that are only up to you within the spectrum of what is real. But still, the allowed anarchy has done nothing to lessen the blow of the realization that once again you are falling back into the smooth relapse of the natural aspects of life that are just there, just there.

This is what I have discovered. This is all that I am. I’m just there, and I’m not in control, and I don’t want to be, and I don’t know what I want. This is what I have sought out. Confusion. Honesty. Human Revolt, in the face of collective denial.

The abstract. The Social. The scientific. The-thing-in-itself. Humanity, and snow on branches that creek in winter, and the smell of grilled cheese. Is this what I want?

Yes, in a way. These are mere words of peace and war and human, all too easy to just say. Conceptions of truth follow political motivations, but really, it’s just as hard to manipulate your own beliefs as it is others.

The thing is, for so long I’ve written with long winds, thoughts that angle my perceptions, visions that miss the point and position my mind on beliefs that tell me that I’m onto something, and maybe I am, probably not.

The point is cold and warm at the same time. Is the point confusion? Is the point human? I think so. I’m not sure. Everything only is, well, confusing.

 Maybe I’m not figuring a damn thing out. Maybe there is no peace. Maybe there is no truth. Maybe there is nothing. Still, I only see everything. Still, these open letters and rambling trains of thoughts are nothing more than just thoughts that come from someone much like you. They come from just another human being.

Soil and a life and a science, and oh yeah some say a life after death; these questions have dwindled as the years have passed like depressions and dollars spent; passed like truth, and this is the truth that I will never find, and well, the truth of confusion has never calmed my nerves.

The only thing that has calmed my days and allowed me to sleep at night has been love, the easiness of everything that comes so natural for me.

Long walks and long talks and long laughs, this is what comes so easy for me. Being there when people want me to be there, less talking and more listening, well this has never come easy for me. I’m trying, always will. I’m good at trying. Succeeding? I don’t even know what that means anymore.

Listening to music and writing and smoking smokes and laughing at what I’ve written, this has always come so easy to me. Thinking about the greatness of the human species and smelling books and book stores and listening to the lectured throats and entangled microphone jokes in universities, this has always come so natural for me.

This is the why. This is why I have to get my work out there. I need to place period here, and there, with this collection of past work; just a period, in order to move on.

This chapter must come to a close, for it can go no further. I have looked at these words over and over, been alone to think and walked around in crazy but always geometrical patterns.

I’ve talked about philosophy and all kinds of religions, all kinds of theories. I’ve went for short sentences and long sentences and short stories and science fact and science fiction. I’ve found my voice and then lost my voice and right now, well yeah, I have so many voices inside of my head. And it’s not psychological, and it’s not a problem, it’s just the way it is, just what I had to listen to, in order to get closer to my birth, not death, because I was happy when I was born.

People say you learn to live in order to learn to die. Philosophers and artists have said this. I don’t think this is necessarily right or wrong. Maybe you learn to be born with fresh eyes that have been old for a very long time.

At my birth, just a hunch, but I think that I was smiling. For sure, I know that I was crying. I was naked. I was human. Maybe, maybe not, but maybe I should try again. Go at it from a different angle. From the black hole out. Maybe this is what I strive to get back to? Huh…Maybe it’s a joke, and if it is, well that’s fine with me.

I’m laughing. I’m bleeding. I’m growing. I’m a tree. I’m an ageless and temperamental gust of wind. And none of this is noble. This is not a way of life. This is not a revolution. This is not what should be defined as free speech, has nothing to do with conceptions and perceptions, idealizations of free choice. This is not free will. This is, well it is, just what it is.

As a fellow man with hair that was out of control, as the writer Kurt Vonnegut said, “and so it goes”. And oh how it does go, and on and on and sometimes it stops, but usually it does go, well, except when the carnie’s fall asleep or get arrested.

Usually it does go (life that is) and oh how I have gone. I’ve met so many people and seen so many different sun sets, seen so many young people grow up. I’ve seen my home die and be reborn, and I’ve got lost in a type of static electricity that is universal.

I’ve seen the world and the country become the country and the world, a world, a society, a humanity that we together maybe or maybe haven’t dreamed about.

But it has happened. Everything has happened. History and life has happened. And so it goes…

And for me, well this is all I can do. After I’ve reflected upon my writing and thoughts, well just seeing, just seeing this life, seeing everything, observing life is enough for me.

It’s a weird feeling when you have these felts, past feelings of nostalgic dreaming, feelings of being young and old at the same time. It’s weird feeling immature and wise at the same time. It’s odd feeling human. I think this is the point. Maybe…And what is good in life? Is this good? I know, that no matter what language you speak, that the written word is good. The smiles on the faces of billions of people within peace being just human with one another; merely striving for peace is good, and this is why life is just good, at least sometimes. And what is goodness? Goodness is just being.

Life is tiresome on so many of those and these days. At the same time life and living and being is plainly, well, well it’s just funny. And the funny thing is that I feel kinda weird all of the time. No, not in a bad way, but in a normal way, and this is why I can shake my head and bang and tap my knees as I write like I’m playing the drums. I can do this because life is a musical score that sweeps you through the years, and sometimes you’re a leaf floating through the air, and sometimes you are the snow that will melt on your tongue. Sometimes you are you, just a person, and yeah, that’s got to be good enough. But some days it’s not. Another point? I guess it could be…

Often you’re lost, but if you focus hard enough on something that is actually there, those times when your eyes can focus and your soul can laugh, well during these points in life you will find you’re happy, you are being, you are you. You are merely just you when you calm down and think about it.

Many times I lost focus, and many times I became angry, but so many times I was just there, just writing the good things in life down.

For now there is another sun set and my eyes blur, because it’s about time for the snap of the neck and the walk to where I will find the next words already waiting for me. And I will laugh. I will be. I will be happy.

Now, well I hope all of you that ever come across my words will do the same. Just look with fresh eyes that you don’t really know if they are real or not, not you, not your inside-your head-voice, your reading voice; your face, I mean, you’ve never really seen your face before. As in, have you ever seen your face without a mirror? Nope. Neither have I. No Big deal. Anyway…

If you are from the human species, you will know what to do, sometimes you won’t. And it might be survival we’re talking about. Maybe it’s just art. But anything you can doubt should be good enough to remind you that you are living.

You can trust yourself if you are YOU! Whoever the heck you are. And what are you? You are human. I think…

Twelve 

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