Is anyone actually still out there?
Oblivion is a powerful tool of adaptation to reality because it destroys, little by little, the surviving past in us that is constantly in contradiction with it...
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Why am I not dying?
This life is too busy for me. I can't keep up with all of these events. There's too much going on. Too much to cram in my little head. Too much that I don't comprehend.
I've tried to write more, but it hasn't worked out. It all turns out the same. The same themes. The same obscurity. The same "ghosts." But I don't know what these ghosts are. Well, that's not exactly true. I do know. I just can't describe them.
That's a lie, too. I can. I just don't want to. At least, not right now.
I doubt anyone reads this. Well, maybe it'll provide good entertainment on those early morning crises that I seem to have so frequently. Because I'm so fucking pretentious.
Oh, well.
This is my life, and it's ending one minute at a time.
I've tried to write more, but it hasn't worked out. It all turns out the same. The same themes. The same obscurity. The same "ghosts." But I don't know what these ghosts are. Well, that's not exactly true. I do know. I just can't describe them.
That's a lie, too. I can. I just don't want to. At least, not right now.
I doubt anyone reads this. Well, maybe it'll provide good entertainment on those early morning crises that I seem to have so frequently. Because I'm so fucking pretentious.
Oh, well.
This is my life, and it's ending one minute at a time.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Glimmer.
It's unnaturally frigid outside for this time of year.
I wish things would stop. If only for one night.
I lay in the grass, watching the stars twinkling out some cryptic message.
It's so cold tonight...
These ghosts that have haunted me for too long are learning how to breathe. One glides down and lands beside me, light as a feather, but thickening. That voice. That incessant whisper in my ear that has followed me for far too long. And the eyes.
The eyes. So...brilliant. Like fireflies in a jar. But changed, somehow. Two gleaming pearls. Two scintillating whirlpools, sucking any scrap of warmth that might have remained in my body. I shivered as a gust of wind shook the night and buffeted the grass.
Neighborhood attempts to dream, while all around them, silently, my ghosts glimmer and shake.
The figure floats on the breeze, eyes rippling, trapped in limbo; not quite yet solid, but still ghostly. Ghastly existence.
It's a beautiful, flickering sight.
And with the first crack of the breaking dawn, I, like a specter, drifted into the night.
I wish things would stop. If only for one night.
I lay in the grass, watching the stars twinkling out some cryptic message.
It's so cold tonight...
These ghosts that have haunted me for too long are learning how to breathe. One glides down and lands beside me, light as a feather, but thickening. That voice. That incessant whisper in my ear that has followed me for far too long. And the eyes.
The eyes. So...brilliant. Like fireflies in a jar. But changed, somehow. Two gleaming pearls. Two scintillating whirlpools, sucking any scrap of warmth that might have remained in my body. I shivered as a gust of wind shook the night and buffeted the grass.
Neighborhood attempts to dream, while all around them, silently, my ghosts glimmer and shake.
The figure floats on the breeze, eyes rippling, trapped in limbo; not quite yet solid, but still ghostly. Ghastly existence.
It's a beautiful, flickering sight.
And with the first crack of the breaking dawn, I, like a specter, drifted into the night.
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