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Free Writing - Take 25

5:35AM. I've been up for two hours now after roughly 90 minutes of sleep. I awoke, atop the sheets, sweat pouring down my head. It wasn't the drink. Four beers, that is all.  The room smelled of heat. A musky scent that I deplore. My own body, burning. The feeling that overcame me earlier; Envy. I don't like it. Not envious of materialistic things, but of simplicity. It dawned on me today, through little signs, that my life will never be complete in the way that I want it. I'm not trying to be cryptic, but the things we assume will happen, never will.  The things we all crave and eventually achieve, through accidents, happenstance or just being in the right place at the right time, escape my grasp. I know not what to do to change it.  Fate is an odd  thing. It is not given enough credit in my book. We all think we work hard and are rewarded by some celestial being, yet those I know and have known who have worked the hardest, have not had fate shine kindly upon them.  What just, omnipotent presence would do such a thing to those who strive for nothing more than contentment.  We all come to a fork in the road at different times in our lives and how ironic, that two fork, not in a road, resonated so loudly with me. A laugh, a scream, a simple question.  Made me realize there is an emptiness. I saw it filled by different things, by different people. I heard sounds and saw subtle nuances in their pleasure and realized I have none.  I reached out, the kind words came back, but it was as if it were scripted. A late night movie, alone with coffee and my thoughts.  Is this it? Is this my path? Envious of a situation most would see as dead end.  Envious of the smells, the touch, the laughter. Bring me October, so I can continue the masquerade from the truth.

Comments

  1. UnknownJune 23, 2013 at 11:04 AM

    I just got sprung from the clink after two days in a Bronx holding cell for beating my roomates ass after he started with me. I lost my apartment, and possibly 90% of my belongings because there is an order of protection against me and I cannot return to retrieve them. Notebooks from the 90's filled with my writing. Paintings I did several years ago during a particularly bleak alcoholic phase which I'm nevertheless quite fond of. All the material stuff is replaceable. These things, destined for the trash are not. I'm forced to stay at 2 Joyce, which I despise, while I to figure my next step.
    My point? This a reason to finally write something new, paint something new, get creative again finally. If I've learned anything from an otherwise useless philosophy/lit. degree, and from life itself, is that you never know what tomorrow holds. How incredibly great it can get again after the darkest times in a persons life. One never knows what the morrow will bring. And I'm not talking about 'hope'. Fuck hope. I'm talking reality.
    Just wanted to share that, buddy.

    ReplyDelete

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