A generation of sensory overload. The standard existence of todays youth.

We can't deal with anything so we try and take on everything while actually doing nothing.

We have perfected this concept, recreated it an then perfected it once more.

So please, credit where its due, thanks.

It's obvious that there are some exceptions to the rule.

Some managed to jump on the other life boat, the one that went the correct route back to shore.

These people avoid the rest of us.

They hide in libraries and go hiking on their weekends.

While we are trying to chemically alter the reality we live and reach a new level of misanthropic being, they are exploring the wonders of history, nature and space.

I've tried this once.

It required too much drive and in return gave very little in the field of immediate reward.

That's they key.

The song from Charlie And The Chocolate Factory once again rears its head;

"I want the world, I want the whole world".

Silver platter and all!

BUT i don't particularly want to lift a finger.

So if you don't mind just passing it over to me kthankyou, then I wont cause a ruckus when my time comes to walk through those fiery gates.

Oi! Larry! God! Mohammed or who ever the hell you are! Give me some kind of break here champ! I'm clutching at straws but each one keeps shrinking!

I'm not sure this is what i signed up for.

What's the number for the ombudsman of life? I've got 10 bucks that says it's not a toll-free 1800 number, which means my credit-less phone is once again rendered useless against this horridly cruel situation.

I guess every one has their search.

Their inner quest for knowledge or chocolate or oil or whatever they please.

Without these lifetime long journeys we would not be human.

The people who disregard this pure fact of life are nothing but confused and fearful souls.

It’s not about where you land but the way you flew, fell and glided there.

It's about those small exchanges of simple words with a stranger on the street.

It's the glow that fills your body when you make a new friend.

These silent pleasures are what shape us and make us all unique and strange.

I know it's going to be okay.

I know I'll find the oil-lamp destine to light my path.

I know this because I still enjoy these small, special pleasures of life.

With my jail cell bedroom, straight jacket blanket and dill sergeant TV screen, it's a battle to just get out of the house.

"Sleep is my drug, My bed is my dealer and the alarm clock is the police".

I'll keep marching on, left foot right foot, till I cease to exist.

I mean hey, isn't that the story of life?

I remember ... no, actually I don't. At least not all of it. It's strange how you recall the start of something agonizing and then, just the aftermath.

The two-wheeler machine, the Enfield Bullet, looked mean, and growled meaner. At seventeen, that sight, and sound, rattles every molecule in a young man's anatomy, except perhaps, the brain which, it completely mushes.

"Want a ride?" Ravi asked the small group of friends shooting the breeze at a local cafe.

"Sure!" I jumped up before anyone else could. After all, there was seat for one pillion only.

No sooner than I sat astride the bike than it shot forward like, well, a bullet. The law of inertia is a bitch. My torso snapped back and the head hit the tarmac hard. "Fade to Black" would've looked cool on a screenplay. For me, it was like losing my mind, literally.

For unknown hours, I was in a world of unknowns. I could not recognize any of my friends. I couldn't recognize the neighbourhood, the cafe. All unknown.

I woke up with the head being pounded by a hammer. My best friend, Sunny, looked worried. "Hey buddy, how are you feeling?"

"I... where am I?"

The frown on his face said "Fuck!"

"You are, right now, in my house." He said verbally, "That must've hurt!"

"Yes, but I don't recall anything, and frankly, I don't really recognize you!"

"My name is Sunny," He tried, "We were lazing at that cafe down the road, Uncle's Cafe, when Ravi offered you a ride on his new Bullet."

"Oh. Y'know? I don't think I can go home because I don't know the way anymore-"

"Don't worry about that," Sunny was reassuring, "I'll take you home."

"Thanks."

For the next hour or so, Sunny proceeded to bring me up-to-speed on everything from my home, family, and the last girl I had crush on.

With some effort, I walked to the window of his apartment, three or four floors high, and peered out. "What time is it? More important, what day is it?"

"It's the same day. Just that you were knocked out for several hours."

"No, no, I mean, what's the date today?" I insisted.

"It's the 12th of September... why?"

"Man," I lamented, "I have a Science test tomorrow and I'm sure I've forgotten everything I had crammed!"

Sunny cracked up with relief. "Bugger, at least you remember that!"

Mirror Mirror, on the wall

Can you wait while I answer the call?

Will my MC take the bait

Or will he play it safe and wait?

Have I paid all the pending bills

How quantum particles jump over hills?

What's for lunch? And for dinner?

Powerball's due. Will I be a winner?

Mirror mirror, you reflect and I do too

Just let me see this project through

Then a promo may be on the cards

A game of sticks and juicy rewards.

Once done, I may relax and sigh

Taking time to ask how and why

Should my MC work around the hitch

And stop the villain, the troll, and the witch!

Someday I will reveal it to the world

The clever tale I spun; all unfurled

Then I can go back to my real life

To bills, to jobs, and chores; the usual strife.

There are nights that don't end with a dawn

It's the night I'm now trying to pass.

The heavy slab of sorrow, plunges my heart to drown

Into the depths of the ocean; a deep crevasse.

Tell me, the eternal stars who look down on me:

What's my fate? Where's my destiny?

My constant burning did not illuminate

A pathway for anyone or help ignite

Passion that would invigorate;

I lost the battle without a fight.

I chase the dreams and the demons

But end up running from them

With not enough excuses or reasons

And the feeling that I'm not at helm.

So tell me, the eternal stars with all you can see:

What's my fate? Where's my destiny?

Do not be afraid

Of any review made

To Sound like it's bad

Even malicious a tad

Not everyone is clear

Of prejudice, of fear

And envy for what you write;

They review out of spite

Maybe the weather was crap

Or they had had a bad rap

And wanted just to vent

As their day was spent.

For me, such reviews are fine

That one star? it's all mine.

It warms me too, all said and done

Like the one star, our glorious Sun.

I wonder as I scan the caged faces on Zoom

Is it, perhaps, the Stockholm syndrome?

All around the smiles, all ready to bloom

Hiding the uncomfortable, the humdrum.

Are we really "super excited" for everything?

Are the no regrets, and ways forward just for PC?

What did happen to our true and honest being?

Questions, I have questions, don't you see?

I am sure there's pain, and there's some sorrow

In each of our lives that needs to be seen

And heard, not always put on mute for tomorrow;

The camera turned off, hiding how I've truly been.

For when we ask "how are you", we don't want to know

For real, and if they did tell, would we even care?

So, all we do is let our best backgrounds glow

Blur them a bit and touch up some more: seems fair.

I look around the room, and I wonder

If everybody here is somebody, somebody

Like a whimper unheard amidst a roaring thunder

I feel I'm a stranger, an absolute nobody.

Just a tiny me is all I ever embody

I feel I'm a stranger, an absolute nobody.

I've worked the days and lived the night

Of this rich, famous, brave new world

Where they ignore me with all their might

But it's not for me. I'm small and unfurled;

A dying, withering bud left to its own folly

Just a tiny me is all I ever embody

I feel I'm a stranger, an absolute nobody.

I took a walk at night.

I turned my music off

This time

And noticed.

The birds playing their game of tag in

the trees

silhouetted black against the darkening blue sky.

Noticed

the canvas of watercolor painted by the sun as it sank beneath the horizon.

Noticed

the amplified echoes of children playing

as they held onto the last remnants of the day

of their childhood

before they’re handed access to everything in the world and it all

changes.

Will they miss this?

Will they even know?

If they look up at night, they will see stars.

Will they?

If they listen, they'll hear the wind.

Will they?

Will it even be here?

Will they?

They say it's never too late to start a new career, but I'm not so sure. A second act may not be in store for me. I'm stuck. It's not a new feeling. Inertia has plagued me for much of my life.

Being a teacher is a weird thing. We do it because... why do we do it? We care, that's definitely true. We wouldn't do it if we didn't, or if we hadn't at some point. But's hard to keep caring when it seems like no one else does.

Most days I come home feeling like I didn't do much. The to-do list never ends, and I rarely get the satisfaction of checking something off the list because the students and their needs come before everything. The to-do list can wait.

So what did I actually do today?

I listened to a young girl, who is normally happy and gives me book recommendations, tell me she was on the verge of a breakdown and that's why she'd been avoiding her work. She'd turn it in by the end of the day, she promised. I told her she needed to take care of herself. It's okay to shut down from time to time, as long as we come back. Maybe I made her feel better. Maybe I didn't. I'll likely never know.

I wrote a college recommendation letter for a student hoping to get into an Ivy League college. As easy as it would be to recycle a past letter, I started this from scratch and put my heart into it, recalling stories from the time he was in my class, hoping that if this letter actually is read by the people who matter, it will tip the scales in his favor. If history is any indication, I'll never know.

I gently encouraged a student to wake up and finish his work because if he doesn't, he'll fail my class and won't graduate. As I approached him the smell of weed became stronger until I felt I could get a contact high in his presence. I can't even blame him because I know what his life is like. He's spoken of gunshots in his neighborhood and bodies lying dead on the streets. He's lost cousins, uncles, friends. I don't begrudge him this habit that gets him through the day. I hope he'll make it out of this place and break the cycle. I'll never know.

I gave band-aids, advice, feedback, grades, tips, strategies, information, lessons, assignments, love, encouragement, my all.

I hope it'll make a difference. I'll never know.