Thursday, May 14, 2009
goodbye
hm
The clouds were this patchwork canopy, low, and moving quickly southeast, covering the entire sky and all light blue under the blazing moonlight. And when the moon was between clouds, it was this solid white beaming down, and when the clouds passed over it, it would dim a bit and there would be this prismatic halo all around with red on the outside, brightening to white on the inside.
The clouds and the air were moving all around, and the way the clouds were, it seemed like the entire sky was moving, and the motion of the earth under my feet was something to feel instead of imagine. There were these bare black trees behind me, swaying in the wind, branches rubbing and slapping against eachother like toneless wind chimes.
For a while after that I just kind of leaned and stared up and blinked very slowly, and felt like there was this ineffable romance in me and that I had all these intimacies to share but that noone in the world could understand.
The Cosby Show
Like I said
The scope of my ambitions can never be contained with words. Nor can my actions ever catch it.
Thinking of all the time I wasted, I go crazy. I've only got forward to look. Backwards is always just so.
Time passed is opportunity wasted. Every decision is the denial of choice. Every action is the annhilation of the freedom to act. Ticking clocks chase tapping shoes along the path toward the future where something looms, and despite all my ambitions it seems far far away.
So far away.
Sometimes I wish I could thrust myself forward in time. Fast forward, or rewind. Undo and do everything. Live a perfect life. What does that mean? Didn't it take every action and inaction to make me into myself? Do I prefer it this way? Who would survive the rearranging of my life; it would not be me.
I had a friend request. It was from someone named Deirdre. It wasn't anyone I ever knew and I denied it. But it made me laugh or just smile. Some sick joke or coincidence. Just like everything it's a roll of the dice every moment. You can only position your chips. Sometimes you are only the spectator. Sometimes you can't even see the whole game. Are we pressing for knowledge? Are we just trying to get to the other end of the craps table? It's all the same random chance there as it is here.
Hah. Screw the cynicism and the obtuse conjectural bullcrap. What I mean is this: I want everything in the world, and now I have to go get it.
![]() | You'll try, harder and harder, to make yourself happy. Yet food will have no taste, touch will have no sensation, there will be no warmth or any sort of feeling. The only feeling that seems real is hate. Everything. You. If you try hard enough, the despair will all turn to anger. You get angry at every failed remedy, and everything else. But mostly, you won't feel anything. And the worst is the lack of direction. As though if you just knew the way out, you could grope your way in that direction through the dark. But instead, you just sit. You're doing something that should make you happy. You're tired. Your body sags all around you. It's as though you're not even alive. "Depressive realism is the proposition that people with depression have a more accurate view of reality." -Wikipedia "We are no longer the same, you wiser but not sadder, and I sadder but not wiser, for wiser I could hardly become without grave personal inconvenience, whereas sorrow is a thing you can keep adding to all your life long, is it not, like a stamp or an egg collection, without feeling very much the worse for it, is it not." - Samuel Beckett "ignorance more frequently begets confidence than does knowledge" -Charles Darwin Eventually, you give up. In letting go you free yourself to truly despair. In despair you embrace the only feelings that have been real to you. Your hate, turned inward, becomes something more, and compounds itself. You fall. You move down into the earth. You despair, and yet, as soon as it is acknowledged, truly known and truly believed, it becomes ridiculous. You smile. You laugh. You think, 'what was all the fuss about?' If only I believed it. |