| | I lay awake and stretch my legs against the itchy fabric of my sheets. It feels good, like an army of microscopic cats are kneading my legs, giving me a sense of community. I'm not on anything at this moment, no chemicals are sending my synapses firing like mad and then halting, in perpetuity. But I can't sleep. Correction, I could sleep, if I willed it. My mind is the master at this moment, and I have lost the reins to my being. All you can do at this point is sit back and enjoy the show, I suppose.
I'm daunted by the bad decisions I've made, as if each step is taking me further and further down the wrong direction, but I've no compass to navigate me to the light. Some have god, others have their careers, or family. These people rush forward to a known place, or so it seems, and their slipstream just fucks me up. But there I go again, blaming others. My path is hidden to me, but its no one's fault, save my blinded eyes.
And thus I can't sleep, stripped to the waist (i.e., waste), sweating because the cold air that blows over me does nothing to quell the fire in my belly. Once coals, it now wishes to consume me, the embers are the devastation that is sucking my conscious mind away. But that's neither here nor there.
Maybe I'm putting too much thought into it all. Maybe I just need to go buy that typewriter, slap it down on my desk, and nail my feet to the floor. I run away from that which would give my life meaning, I claim I can't understand it. I tell myself I'm a sham, a conglomeration of all that I've absorbed in my life, and the well can only produce for so long. What if its all a joke, and I'm the only one who hasn't gotten it yet? Maybe.
I've lost my patience being stationary. I'm up and moving, dressed, and ready to evacuate. If my mind won't leave me be, I'll take it out on my body. My headphones pump the medicine I need. When the moon is round and full, gonna teach you tricks that will blow your mongrel mind.
The morning is so much like dusk I can pretend I'm not some sleep deprived hooligan, that I've the whole night still ahead of me to toss and turn and think. Its oddly comforting, and I reflect that I've always enjoyed my self-made torment. Others keep themselves occupied by fucking up their relationships or sabotaging their jobs, but I've never needed co-conspirators. I can destroy things all well and good and by myself, thank you very much. I start out slow, but before I know it I'm racing down the sidewalk, stopping at each set of stairs I can find to race up, then down, over and over, and then continue.
The albums pass through me like water in cupped hands. It soothing, like a box no one can see, and no one can penetrate. My breath comes in bursts, and my heart keeps pace. It was miraculous, to discover I had this power within me. I'd never seen myself as strong before. Yet it all seems for naught. I'm never going to get by on anything but my wits; not my looks, not my possessions, I operate in a world that has little use for someone like me. The women will never fawn over me, not by themselves, I will never command a room without the thunder in my head. It seems pointless, the challenge breathtaking, and I have not a lick of sense as to where to begin. And the clock just keeps on ticking, unconcerned.
Surely, I think to myself, after my body is beaten, I will sleep. The long walk home is a reminder that my bed is to be found, just take a few more steps. A shower, a smoke, a nice book, better then all the warm milk could do. But I'm still evasive, and even as the day lightens around me, I'm no nearer to sleep then I was before. But at least I made my point, goddammit. I'm never alone in my own mind, and escape is unnecessary. Its my agony that must eventually surrender to the ecstasy. Seems only fair.
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| | Posted 7/8/2008 10:02 PM - 21 Views - 0 eProps - 0 comments
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