Friday, December 13, 2013

Monochrome.

The day is today. The time is yesterday. Moving on from the day before, it has always been a day removed from the man i want to be. Days are for dreaming of doing. Before i knew what doing was (or is), that's what i did every single day. I check in to the day, it does not matter when but i am always aware that nothing has changed. I carry an unchanging weight that is always equal to the situation of my surroundings. There is waves and clouds in the day, there is stars and breezes at night. I think of this and say, equal. There are but one and the same, much like the shattering glass that refused to startle me. 

I think of the monotony and then i think of what may be opposite it. Perhaps its sex. The wave of tingling has begun on the left side of my scalp, and I am waiting for it to come back (please come back). There are days and there are days. There are bad days and then there are bad days. The days are punctuated by me looking to escape from the day, but in reality I burrow further into it. So much for saying: not today, like the day before.

Then Id say; fuck this shit. When ever i say that, i don't feel like killing myself. that anger, that little blind spark, even that can move me.  I believe that no amount of strong emotion, whether good or bad, will lead me to kill myself. which makes me logically conclude that i don't feel anything right now. A reprieve from stone. A gap in the stream. A block on the road. Something, anything to make it stop. No, not stop. Anything to make it different.

When i see myself in the mirror, i lift my hand and hold it out to myself. I want to see the vision of me reaching. Reaching for something, anything. Am i gone? Am I still here? Am i still relevant? Beating and alive? The machinations of my mind have been explored to the end, now, the explorer pilots the doomed ship he boarded out of curiosity.

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