A thought stream.

It is the month of April and I am about to sleep.  The future is uncertain and bleak which is fine.  At least it is uncertain. I participated in an instant message conversation. The other participant asked if I had any film ideas stored somewhere in my head.  I replied, "I am no longer a filmmaker." I am no longer that person and I am not better. I spent an hour browsing profiles of past acquaintances on facebook to compare their lives to my own. I guess I was really just looking for someone who was a real fuck up. So I could tell myself; See? You are not that person! Now that person. That is a REAL fuck up. I met an old out-of-town-now-living-in-ny friend at the local library. It was an awkward reunion. I am sensing that my old friends don't think much about me. I don't really blame them. I wish there was a way I could tell them that the charade is no longer needed. These days, I am thinking more about the idea of an afterlife. It would be nice if it was a bar and the year was 2000. It is silly. I don't necessarily believe in a fantasy realm of positive vibes and good times. I know I am nothing more than a brain executing a program. But if I know that, then why am I constantly having mental conversations with God? Why me? I ask. Why do I exist in a place where nothing happens. At this place there is no left or right.  Just a persistent halt. I watched my nephew's little league baseball game. It was a windy fifty degrees outside. The kids were more interested in shivering than playing. My other nephew turned 18. I am getting old. I would be more at peace if I knew heaven was a bar and the year was 2000 and the music was from the nineties. I despise the city that I live in for being the city that I grew up in. When I look at other cars on the highway, all I see are people that I might have went to school with, who might be laughing at me. All the time. Like they have nothing better to do with their time than to constantly think about me and laugh. I had dreams as a kid and those dreams are just as close to becoming a reality now as they were then. In the end, all that really matters is that something tangible existed at some point in time. I am not crazy. Hopelessly broken, maybe. Is it too late to pursue a dream? Are these artificial boundaries made real by the clock of mortality?