DESCRIBING WINTER
A blanket of white has crept o’er the heavens.
Was the sky ever blue; did the sun ever shine?
Or were both of these visions
Naught but mere deceptions?
Boldly, leafless trees stand against the ashen sky.
A solemn beauty could it be,
But for the rawness
which beckons from outside.
Despite the lack of rain,
The humidity is rife.
There are droplets on my bicycle;
Toleration begins to wane.
My fingers burn like ice,
As I grip the handlebars.
As the cold envelops us,
Five layers no longer suffice.
He says; as we ride by the fog, cars and trees,
“Only crazy people ride their bikes in Winter”
I laugh.
But as we pedal on,
I can’t help but agree.
I like it.
I had a habit of misplacing things. I’d lose pens, phone numbers, car keys, cars. It was all manageable while the things I was losing were physical constructs. Then I started losing sleep and my train of thought.
I’d misplace minutes, hours, even weeks at a time. For the life of me I can’t remember what I did with last August. I lost my job after I lost my way out of the apartment. One morning I woke up to find it all gone.
My mother would often quip,
“It’s always in the last place you look”
Didn’t help.
What am I when my personal identity is expressed through a profile page on a website?
Who have I become when anyone can tell who I am at the press of a button?
A seemingly clear understanding of my personality which reveals nothing of who I am.
It’s a shame.
No one truly knows who you are except yourself; No one can unlock who I am quite as succinctly as I can.
Why is it that I look forward more to sleep than awareness, yet am constantly eluded by it.
I am not clairvoyant but I can accurately predict my life:
I follow the motions, I commit no crimes; live life as predicted following social conventions which have been in place for hundreds of years. I abide by the rules.
Ultimately: Birth and Death.
In my unconsciousness I am truly alive. I can be whoever I want to be, do whatever, see anything, smell, taste, hear, experience.
Live.
In my un-awareness I am truly aware.
Why then?
Why do I look forward to being awake? Why do I wake up? To rinse and repeat what I do each day? Why can’t I stay in the dream; Stay in a world where I am alive.
I aspire to stay in the dream.
I want to stay in the paradoxical state of aware un-awareness.
What am I when my personal identity is expressed through a profile page on a website?
Nothing.
What do I become when I escape this?
Everything.
Please,
Let me live.
just thought i’d put it out there
but
is it possible to fall in love with the girl of your dreams?
well of course, you say, of course you can.
but
i don’t mean it like that.
i don’t mean a real girl who becomes your dream
and
i don’t mean a girl who fits your dream criteria
(neat, likes peanuts, hates sharks?)
no.
i mean like a girl from your dreams
a dream
a manifestation of your imagination
or
a girl you dreamt-up.
is it possible? because i think i’m in trouble…
Somedays I wake up and it feels like I’ve been asleep for six hundred days and everything seems to be on delay.
It feels like I’m missing out on two much.
Then everything slides out of fockus and I find myself falling.
Or I have fallen.
Or I fell.
The tense doesn’t always make sense.
All I know is that I fell into a sea of faces in only my jeans and a hat…and someone stole my hat…
It’s all discombobulated from there.
A mash-up of phantoms trying to serve me peas and adverbs for dinner.
Then it really hits home.
In gigalitres and megalitres…
Because it’s pouring rain in Argentina…and I left my umbrella in my other pants.
Then I wake up again.
The whole world tastes like rust…and I vow to stop eating so much pizza before bed…
