Red White and Burbank- part 2- The maze at birth- the maze that made it all.

Its never been a quiet world for me.

Ive prayed my whole life, even after I found out god was a farce, that the things around me would eventually make sense.

Ive idly waited like a fool.

Ive been handed one thing and seen an infinite amount of other things. All the same object- but every time a new shape.

Any time I was able to wrap a nervous and excited palm around the fabric of a "concrete" concept, it re liquified and changed. Became greater. Became terrifying. Became less. Became impossible. Became the un-breaking shoulder of atlas, Became the knot in his spine that echoed into eternity.

There was a time when I saw my life as an ode to impermanence.

It was beautiful and free.

And then I realized- Im going to be here for a while.

                             Red White and Burbank- The Maze that Made it all

"Mom , whats the white part of that stick called?" I asked, referring to a road side reflector.  I understood at the time what the shinny orange circle was called, but the canvas it had been thrust upon must have had a name.

"Its a..." She replied, expecting to have an answer for a child- A juke box full of simple questions and corresponding answers. "Umm.." she hesitated. I was un-shaken as I didn't understand the significance of a stuttering pause. "Well it's a post."

I looked on as endless rows passed me by. I cant honestly say if I knew she was wrong, or ill informed, or just trying to offer some answer to a question that to most, had no meaning.But to this child would linger until adulthood. 

I was 18 sitting in a cold attic with an old friend the first time I heard the Velvet Underground.

I was 18 sitting in a cold attic with an ex girlfriend the first time a smoked pot.

I was 18 sitting in a cold attic when I realized the questions I asked as a child, the questions I stopped asking outwardly as a teenager, and the questions Im still asking today weren't just nonsense. I also realized they weren't questions everyone asked.

I began to lose my mind.

Im not sure how I was able to hold on so tightly to something I quickly and violently realized was in its liquid form. My mind was un-frozen at birth yet somehow as a child I was able to cup my hands and carry it around as a fragile burden without anyone seeing.

"What is this?" my teacher, Mrs. Gahleger asked thrusting an off white rectangle I had scribbled gibberish on.

' Thats...my homework?' I didnt reply

"Does your son have trouble reading Mrs. Baker?" She asked my mother, releasing the paper.

My mother looked down at the sheet of state approved parchment she had been handed. She looked confused.

What did I do wrong.

"Well, he can read but-" She started, looking back down to the paper.

When I was in Kindergarten, as homework we were given a sheet of cheap paper with a space at the bottom to write a sentence and a much larger space at the top ( About 75% of the page) to draw a picture. Now I cant give little me credit for this level of deductive reasoning but Im fairly certain i perceived the larger space as the more important one.

In the space provided for the drawing I drew a man stacking bricks, A wheelbarrow, Clouds, tools piled on the ground, the sun, the mortar betwix the bricks, the mans overalls, the dirt on the man from his labors, the already constructed chimney, and a makeshift border the frame the scene.

In the space provided for the sentence, I replied to the prompt I was given: "A Man building a house". I was supposed to draw what I read in the prompt and re-write the prompt itself.

"ADNM BAILDUNG EE OUSEH" I had written. Just as they had asked. Clear as day.

That was the day I started to having to answer questions I didn't know the answers to.

Time passed.

I clawed my way through elementary school and found my self at the gates of the next obstacle:"Jordan Middle School".

This is where I learned what "They" say might not always be right.