be all end all

Twin telescreens of death stare unblinking at your bleary listless eyes.  Four o’clock on a day of daylight supposedly saved, but actually just an extra hour wasted in a box inside of a box inside of a grimy concrete and asphalt wrapping.  An hour saved, an hour squandered.  I’m so worn down by the angles, the geometry of what surrounds me, what stares me rigid in the face.  I’m tired of the traps, the ones I walk into every day knowing they are there, and knowing they will snare me once again.  Day in, day out, I disappoint myself…my raging imagination like a balloon full of nitrous I suck on just enough to keep me standing up (and sitting down).  It’s a cheap high, and the euphoria of what whets my synapses carries me along, as the concavity of my soul deepens.  Further degradation in my psyche occurs, my social development a crumbling stone wall snaking back through the years behind me, each day pounded into smaller pieces, ’til no longer can I see through the cloud of rock dust to even know there’s someone on the other side.  There’s no alarm system triggered, no preventive maintenance performed, no evasive action taken.  I am unsupervised….out roaming the barren plains, shuffling and stumbling over minor events while veering away from major catastrophes.  I am giddy and lightheaded with a belly full of lead shot.  I want to run and never stop.  I wrote once that stasis has its merits but even then I knew motion was the skeleton key.  When you’re limb-locked and dusty, there is no other cure.

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1 Comment

  1. I'm always surprised at how frequently your posts mirror things I've been thinking or feeling. This one is particularly fantastic, despite its grimness.

    Reply

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