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"The Hollows" - Why? |
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I was looking at someone I used to have a vague, weird sort of connection to and noticing once more, with the same old worn out chagrin, how similar we are. Now, as then, it unnerved me, though there's no particularly good reason for it to do so these days. In addition to the familiar recognition of similarity, the same nuances of disgust also registered. He seems to have led bits of a life something like I've wished to have had, though I think know like to think I know I would've done better with it. Instead, I've got these trappings that refuse to let go of me and I willfully obey their impediments to my liberty (if you're reading this --no, not you. you. -- it's not the ones you're thinking of). I feel like reaching out, but I don't think I can allow myself to be the initiator.
Prison boxes sure do hurt. I cannot much longer bear the measuring of my life in ticks and tocks. I remember the days that lasted without end, the seasons of immortality that mostly happened in my youth, like they do for everyone of course. Then stop. Quiet death. Cataclysm. Absence. No breath. Impossible. Can't make anyone understand. Malignant life mindlife. There was interruption. Many. Then they started again and almost all was good. Crunch, jangle, then a metal crush; they stopped. Again. I wish they were here again but instead the hegemony of timeclocks wins the day.
I look and I witness with so much jealousy the easy camaraderies.
I saw something a friend of mine wrote about not liking large social groups because he ends up fearing that he's lost himself, or his awareness of who he "really is". That fear does not exist for me. I have an unshakably firm immovable awareness of my identity. Social groups do not subtract from my cognizance of self. I never lose that. I am no involuntary chameleon. Sometimes I am an actor. For survival purposes, really. Doesn't happen in social groups.
I Shermaned pretty much my entire adult life to be with you.
I'm tired of this slump. Time to reclaim vitality. But I need a windfall, not this vortex of indecision and regret and surrender. I've hardly ever met anyone who I think could keep up with me. I hate having contempt for all these aliens, but barely one of them has ever felt at home when they stepped inside my eyes and had a look around the place. It's annoying that so many people have to stop being human as soon as they take their eyes off a page or turn their mind away from their music. I wish people would turn inside out.
Some of these aliens would really excite me and warm me and I would love them, but they kind of disgust me now you're not around. We'd have a big party otherwise. Some of it is just their nature. But some of it is that trepidation of introduction. Sharing of the histories, decoding of the personalities. So much trouble for someone who's just going to disappoint. We disappointed each other. That malignance disappointed us.
Mrs. Butterworth, you could have your choice of men, but I could never love again.
I tire of survival by acting though. I think it's killing me. Us all. And I'm tired of this Harvey Dent coat -- one side rock-god-anarcho-freeman, one side iconoclastic-wage-slave-hip-boy.
Economic geography will be the death of many geographic economies. _ _ _ _ is all you _ _ _ _. That's true.
Hot damn, I wonder if those days will ever happen again.
Oh, to know the art of finding people.
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