The moment you think you’re an asshole, it’s probably true. I’ve buried more bad moments in my life than I can recall. But they’re still there; In the deep abyss of my true self, just below the persona I wear like a winter jacket. Its cozy when its cold, but the authenticity gap irritates the skin, similar to those wool sweaters my parents gave me when I was a little boy. My head is always spinning a constant replay, a mixture bath of faces, expressions, and the twirling glimmer of dark flash points. Is your mind close enough to your body so they didn’t notice you were somewhere else?
I’m walking up the street now, my physical self is yours for the moment. My other feet are on the ground, my heart is beating with each step as I proceed to a place that is nowhere. The freedom stirring my body heat, my face stone, the color palette rich, but foggy as my mind. You’re sitting across from me, the person I wear in public, but I’m four blocks into nakedness. The air is cooler where I am, there’s no one, it’s just me, but the physical structures, city grid, and sounds of life are ever-present. Why am I walking in the city? Why did I go here and not some wonderful meadow or ocean view? I don’t like people, so why walk in a metropolis? I keep walking then turn the corner, there’s a railing leading down the subway, the lights flickering in its depths. I pass it, there’s honking but no one, there’s chatter, crackling of plastic, water droplets, shouting from down jet black alleys ways, but they look like drawn squares. I scream but my face is not mine, mouth closed, I’m there, but I can’t see myself. Why not the meadow or the ocean view, why not serenity for the inner self? I run, but I’m walking, I chew gum without teeth, the wind picks up sharply, then music begins to play. The scene zooms past me, the mix is happening. The green is coming, the birds, the yellow flowers. I don’t see anything, I don’t hear anything. But I’m there, I know I’m there. Where am I when you’re around me? Why can’t I be present when I’m physically here? I love the idea of people. But seldom do I truly enjoy them. I see no one, I see nothing, I feel everything, I feel everyone. I don’t like myself but I hope I find the me who does.
I shed friends like bad habits, I’m not addicted to anyone or anything but thinking about it. There’s a voice that doesn’t allow me to let the center piece of annoyance go. I’m willing to turn my head from a lot of nuanced bullshit. I’m willing to listen to your myopic telling of some television show, or how you bought new pants at Target. I sponge the boring for the sake of sanity. I sponge insanity because you’re boring. But deep down I see our death, collectively, and wonder, why are we doing these rituals of negligence?
The carts are moving, we are pushing them. They are shuffling, stocking, buying, and contributed to our every second. The pillars of Monday cannot hide these realities, but they seek to steal our fire for feeling, in the moment we truly feel it. The mind is a daydream of graffiti, fruiting like sex spawning the fawn. The paradox of you dresses and walks, exists, talks and sends signals. The occurring evolution in us all is the throwback of our original animal language. The body a physical expressions, the silent hush in lavish matter. We no longer speak truth, but we yell in the quiet loud. Are you fragile enough to lie but honest enough to feel?
Like the western world, I am positioned in the luxury of bought guarantee. My home, my kin, my wife, we’re all secure. The bordering fences, the lavish gardens, the thick dead bolts, incessantly checked after the drinking of sleepy time teas. We are all too covered up in our own ideas of safety. Whether inherit threats or those that rest in the “what ifs” of our minds, or a false sense of time, we cannot control anything. The tethers of speed limits, and red lights give us a sense of an entity out there to save us from ourselves. The rules are the truth about people. The laws tell us who we are without them, who we’ve been in the past. Yes, theres love, culture, and reasons to be happy. I overdose on all of them daily. I fight time to create, I fight time to touch the shock cord of emotion.