# Some of My Own Writing



## kokomojoe (May 20, 2017)

Lately I've just been in the mood to write, nothing in particular but more so getting my thoughts out there. I do it a lot when I do the captions on my moniker however, there's not much of an opportunity to write stuff long enough to the extent I desire. So here's some random shit from my mind. I apologize in advance if it veers into a more wingnutty sort of rambling in some parts. Anyways, here it is.

I was raised to believe my life was impenetrable, that I was in control of my own destiny and external forces were obsolete in determining who the individual was that I manifested into. Positive reinforcement was sprinkled throughout my upbringing yet the review of my choices was always the same; that i could've done better, it was always good but not quite enough. The reiteration of this time after time became a broken record within my psyche. It was the catalyst of my rebellion, the pursuit of self-identity, and the bitterness that keeps me motivated to this day.

I came to realize I wasn't put on this planet to please every individual around me, whether it was friends, family, loved ones, teachers, bosses or any kind of authority figure. I came into this planet alone and although there have been several instances where I have been grateful, loving, and appreciative of my surroundings, turmoil and discontent have been the anchor spiraled within the constant. I never learned how to pull this anchor aboard or how to maneuver within the boundaries of what I've been told is a successful and prospering life.

The only option I could perceive was to break this highly regulated mentality. These social constructs never stood a chance against the will for self identity. When I began to analyze them as clearly as I could, the only conclusion I could come to was that these social constructs were nothing but shadows cast by a blinded form that was incapable of perceiving itself or it's affects on the world around it. This became just as confusing as it was aggravating. "Why are things this way, how can we call this a living?" were some of the many questions echoing throughout my mind. Nothing could shake the feeling and slowly I grew to learn that this feeling, and these questions, had a purpose to guide me.

I expressed my emotions in the form of art, as most individuals with brains overflowed with ideology tend to do. The canvas I chose was rolling steal, my medium a solid paint marker. The name I wrote was given to me by a man I respect to this day. His blood runs through me and his outlook on the world was adopted by me as well. He could read people on a first impression like a headline on a newspaper yet to be printed. The house he lived and worked out of was in southern part of the state, with train tracks angling through the front yard and a thin line of brush dividing the property from the tracks. This was the place I experienced trains, sure I had sat in the car at crossings and gazed distantly as they rolled by but this was different. I could stand on the driveway and feel the vibrations come through the ground up through my body to my ears having the horn blast and engine flow through my senses.

I would watch these metal beasts roll throughout the night and day and dreamt of where they were going. Several years passed and that house where my grandma and grandpa had lived had been cleared out and sold to a new owner. Their spirits pursuing a new path while simultaneously having their presence felt at that house. I learned the railroad going past their house was the same one that went by mine a hundred miles away. I started doing monikers under the name Kokomo Joe, he would always ask me the rhetorical question as a child, "Whatchya know Kokomo Joe?" The monikers I started and continue to do to this day roll by his old house, hopefully with his and my grandma's spirit watching with a grin on their faces.

I learned a lot about trains and where they went in my early years and rode from Indiana to out west, experiencing scenery that could jump start your will to live. Lately I've been navigating the maze of discontent trying to fulfill my own desires and balancing those of others. The monikers keep me sane, give me roots, a purpose, and connection to constant motion. Not sure how much longer I'll try to cruise through this rat race or what the catalyst will be to get me back on the road, but I'll prevail and reject whatever takes a jab at me. Maybe I don't need much to be happy days, however I might need to acquire less.


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## tennesseejed (May 20, 2017)

This was the first thing I read this morning, and I'm glad it was! I've seen KokomoJoe all over the place too haha.


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## Eng JR Lupo RV323 (May 23, 2017)

I really enjoyed this and I sincerely hope you write more when you feel inspired to. I wish I could write the way you do. You're able to capture the way you feel or felt, and I think that's such a strong part of writing. When I read my shit, it comes off(at least to me) sort of like listening to someone read, but not a good reader yanno? Like there's no doubt whatsoever that they're reading. I feel like that's how my shit reads. It doesn't show the soul, it's just words followed by more words. I like your story, a lot. Thanks for sharing, Kokomo Joe.


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## kokomojoe (May 27, 2017)

Here's some more from tonight, feel like this is a good outlet to put it:

One thousand ounces of beer into the psyche of an individual, The things inspired by one can be interpreted as violent, yet direct. The consumption rate is obsolete when compared to the fuel that encloses the bitterness, the absolute of resistance, the total personality of said individual. A brick wall with the momentum of a hurricane, destruction on the fringes of indifference is no match to the ideology of one who feels so strongly against injustice that is bred to be tolerated. There are no winners, only fighters.


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## kokomojoe (Jul 19, 2017)

havent really been keeping this up so heres some from tonight 

While I look at the stars and think of what might be hope, I can’t help but feel I’m trapped in this cycle. There’s no way to get better without suffering a life of penance from the choices I’ve made. I could sacrifice my entire life for something better and still come short only to fall back into the ways that got me here in the first place. Being able to acknowledge the catalyst of my self-destruction and being incapable of doing anything to stop it is as frustrating as it is inevitable. It’s like trying to teach a fish how to live on land, just as sad as it is pointless. I know what will be the death of me and as much as I hate it I can find nothing more in my motives but to have another drink and wait for the final sun to go beyond the horizon. While I occupy my time with court dates, dreams and memories, along with jobs I barely cope with; I can either let the walls close in or run until this past catches up to me again. While suicide is always an option, it remains in the bottom of the deck. If anything it’d just be a pathetic statement saying, I can’t wait long enough to let my other choices kill me. It’s the back and forth questioning of rather: do I want to get sober and live my life depressed, or do I want to drink until I let it kill me.


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## ntdxc1878 (Jul 19, 2017)

Eng JR Lupo RV323 said:


> I really enjoyed this and I sincerely hope you write more when you feel inspired to. I wish I could write the way you do. You're able to capture the way you feel or felt, and I think that's such a strong part of writing. When I read my shit, it comes off(at least to me) sort of like listening to someone read, but not a good reader yanno? Like there's no doubt whatsoever that they're reading. I feel like that's how my shit reads. It doesn't show the soul, it's just words followed by more words. I like your story, a lot. Thanks for sharing, Kokomo Joe.


I struggle with this too, I think you just have to keep writing, you eventually improve. Also I think reading books helps you learn different writing styles and stuff like that.


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