Welcome

I suppose I should preface here why I named this blog "Breakfast at the Midnight Cafe". For those of you who know me, I am somewhat of an insomniac. Actually, I prefer to call it being nocturnal, or to be more precise crepuscular. It's not that I don't sleep, I do, I love to sleep just as much as the next guy. It's just that I have a different circadian rhythm, one that sets me apart from the norm of a diurnal society. I guess I am the evening equivalent of the "morning person". The moon doing for me what the sun does for reptiles and most green leafy plants. 

I can't explain it, I just feel more alive during the night, especially during twilight hours. I may be physically tired from a day's work, but I find that my mental acuity is at its peak when night falls.  I attain a level of focus and awareness at night that is otherwise elusive when the sun is out. The clarity is refreshing, and things that are left on the back burner during the day are smelling pretty good by night. The way I explain it to people, its like the sun floods everything with light, so much so that it is hard to really look at individual items. Everything is bright, and equally catching. Then comes the night, and the moon is like this giant spot light that hones in on whatever you aim it at. It may be a narrower beam with a softer glow, but it does its job of contrasting things for me. 

So there you have it, I love the night, it is welcoming. There is something about it, a quality of intimacy that encourages people to shed their daily masks and reveal their truth selves. At least I have always found the conversations that lasted way into the night more enlightening. I guess it has to do with the fact that there is little distraction. Most diurnal people function on a minute-to-minute-hour-to-hour mentality, where things are planned on the hour, quarter hour and half hour, and intervals (in minutes) expressed in units divisible by 5. Comes the night, and that mentality is reduced, the need to move on abated.  It allows the mind to wander and reflect, as if it's saying "Hey, the night is young and I've got nowhere that I need to be." 

Another thing I like about the night is all-night diners that serves breakfast anytime. The staff and patrons at these diners are people after my own heart. They understand what it is like to be nocturnal, and they buy into the philosophy that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I know the stuff they serve you at these diners may not be healthy per se, but it is often very satisfying. Talk with any great conversationalist, and they will tell you one of the best way to keep a conversation alive is a full stomach. 

So it is with this in mind that  I created this blog. I hope I can combine the effects of a hearty meal and timeless agenda to create a welcoming atmosphere. I hope you can join me from time to time, when your daily work is done, and you want to share thoughts and stories. Grab a mug and come hither. 

Crying

You know how sometimes you drank too much and the room starts to spin, and the next thing you know you are worshipping at the altar of the porcelain god? Well, that's how I think of crying, it's like the throwing up of all the bad things from your soul that would otherwise give you a bad hangover.

Here's how I see it, the stress in our daily lives is very much like alcohol. There are those of us who have higher tolerance for it, whether by constant exposure, or just being genetically predisposed to handle it. Then, there are those of us who aren't. Regardless, in the right amount, stress provides us with the "buzz"; but should we start to take on more and more, bypassing our limits... BOOOORRRRRAUUUUGH!.

This is how it happens, kind of like at a bar, you drink too much either because you don't know your limits or you keep accepting the drink's that other people buys you. You feel like you can take on the stress, or that it would be poor form to refuse burdens of those close to you. Pretty soon, you are wasted. The world begins to spin, and it doesn't matter if you have a friend nearby, the designated driver per se. It's all internal, the sudden onset vertigo, the need to throw up. Some of you will try and hold it back, because you have a strong will power and don't want to be embarrassed before people. Chances are, you may succeed. You say goodbye to your friends, leaves the bar, go to your own place, and sleep it out. Perhaps getting a nasty hang-over the next day. This, by the way, is call depression, that hangover feeling. When you are hungover, you don't feel like doing anything accept mop around, nursing in darkness. The day goes by, and you feel like you have wasted it. When your friends call you to hang out at the bar, you would say to yourself, "forget it, I am not going through that again." I will tell you however, had you thrown up, chances are you will feel much better. Chances are, you would have hop right back in, hang out.

It feels weird, to be talking about crying this way, but that's the thing, crying is good. It relieves us of all the pent up emotions that have us on a loop. It clears the mind, and rids the system of unnecessary junk. I am not saying you should become a life bulimic. I am not also recommending a life at the bar. I am just saying, crying from time to time can be a good thing.

And, now for our next topic: DIARRHEA OF THE SOUL...

The Life Imagined

Have you ever thought about what you life would be like? You know, sort of like how girls dream about their wedding days? I know it sounds like a silly exercise, daydreaming about things before their time, but I have heard also that one way to success is envision success. And so it is that I find myself drifting off to space from time to time, imagining the life that could be mine. 

I guess for me that entails writing imaginary love letters to a girl whom I have yet to meet, fall madly in love with, get married and grow old together. I guess it involves me pretending to be a loving father to rambunctious children who in turn plays noisily in the yard, calls home from college to share their troubles. I suppose I can tell you with remarkable detail the house that I will be living in; the front porch swing, the old fashioned kitchen, and a back patio that opens onto the lake. I can even read to you excerpts from an acceptance speech that I am in the midst of writing, especially listing out the names of people to whom I owe my success. Chances are you will even recognize a lot of them, maybe it's even you. I can show you the stack of unwritten correspondences between me and many inspiring individuals; their letters, most of which I am sure, will someday make their way to museums. 

I know this all sounds amazingly corny, and stupid to do. I got to tell you though, even if it is for the briefest of moments, even if it is all imaginary, and might never have the chance of being actualized, I lived a dream, my dream. I have caught a glimpse of it; tasted and smell what it could be like. If tomorrow never comes for me, don't be too sad on my account. I have dreamed the dream, and lived it the next possible way. I have read my non-existing biography, and I like where it can go. I can't tell you how I will die, but I can regale you how I will live. You should try it sometime, who knows, you may be wondering if you are somebody's dream. I know I do, and that you are. =>_^=

Let me tell you

Let me tell you why I wake each morning,
it is the hope of seeing you.

Let me tell you what keeps me up each night,
it is the fear that if I closed me eye, memories of you would fade away.

Let me tell you what guides me to peaceful slumber,
it is the quiet confidence that comes from knowing our love is made from stuff of dreams.

Tired

Exhaustion course through my being like wind through a tunnel, once started, a resounding howl that can not be suppressed. I had relished in my labor, not wanting to stop. Yet, when all has been said and done, I feel an emptiness so oppressing. Perhaps this is the way flowers feel at night, when after a day's basking in bees' adulation, succoring their needs, the bees to their hives return. The flowers are left behind, spent and alone. Still, I seek to bow towards the sun; but, G-d willing, let the day be far in which I bow too low.

It's like this...

It's like this between you and I, we are rails of a track, always parallel never touching. The sun and moon may eclipse one another, but our shadows will never meet. How cruel a fate that we share, destined to be close but never close enough. 

It's like this between you and I. My lips like a canyon yearning for your succulence. See how in your absence, my soul a gorge divide, my being eroded and dried. Lush green valleys that could have been reduced to nothing more but mere wasteland- barren, cold, wild and wide. 

It's like this between you and I, vines that never intertwine. We are a kiss from eternal happiness, if only our lips touched. Yet, a moment like that was ephemeral, all else became surreal. Now we stood apart, a rainbow dead in its prime. 

It's like this between you and I, companions of the mind, Judas of our hearts. Faithful friends, loyal companions; an epic love story unfulfilled. Is it tragic? Isn't it romantic? This excruciating ecstasy of an affair that can never be. 

It's like this between you and I, constellations joint by imagination, unified for inspiration. A product of sleepers, of dreamers and idealists who wants nothing more than to believe there is more than random chance. We are towers of their bridge to hope.