Washed Out

old prose from the vault, 2/17/13….

i wonder. to find god in an empty room when its been so long since i’ve set foot in a holy house, i doubt one would remember my name.i think theres something i’ve searched for, been searching for a long time but i’d be remiss to tell you i had any sort of finite grasp on what exactly “it” is. i’d settle just to say there is something missing. there must be more to this. in all my thought i’ve come across more questions, and questions rise to questions. in this world, faith is a dangerous word i’ve questioned mine for all time and lost it in the process. now i can sit here over the low lit crackling burn of this cigarette and promise you that this inherent faith of mine lies somewhere in the great unknown, i only hope that when the smoke clears and the ashes strung out in front sting the ground that i’ll find some sign in all of it, my cavalier christ. maybe i’m asking too much, but hell..no one knows much of anything anyway when speaking in terms of the capacity for forgiveness and the big picture and you never know what might come out in conversations with strangers in the dark. you could learn more about yourself in five awkward minutes than a lifetime of creature comforts and picturesque made beds. i like to dream that there are still some originals out there. its hard to see, hard to hope its not a hoax. harder still to tell whats real and what feels coming around any corner with the snowfall of false truths and idols on the firing line. the best thing to do is take it all in stride, say always whats on your mind. move on, and keep moving on in these streets of old gold storefronts and twenty-something teenage icons that line the curbs. right here for the taking, right next to all our faded jeans and washed out american dreams.

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