I Passed By The Building.
Tick tick tick click click. Inch closer, pull away. Can't stop it. I passed by today, and in that moment, it was divine. Then it set in. So that's how it is. Knee-jerk reaction. Polished, pure. Unrefined, yet oh-so-sweet. Picture perfect. Losing my way, but so willing to be lost; in that purest moment all is fine. Shattered and stolen away. Without that key, I cannot find it. There is a place. So focused on that key. Stagnating and restless with it. Persuing, perusing. That chasm in the highway. Standing at the edge, peering down into it. Bright red lights assault me, and I am drawn to them. Unwavering confidence, until you arrive. Then it's all shattered. Straight-faced lying. But in that place, it is useless. There, I am unable to hide anything. You see it all. You. Fractured, bleeding; it doesn't matter, you see it all. Let me hide it away, just this once. Let me hide it away and forget about it. Forgetting may be the key, but at the same time I fear it to throw that key even further, into the river. That river, so deep, and with my fears, I could never tread that water, not in my wildest dreams. The water. Oh, the water. Deeper every time I look at it, without fail. Looking at my reflection, it all make sense, but then it fractalizes, transforming into things I don't wish to see, to think about; into things that I hope never come true. If I can just tread that water, I'll be fine. But I back away; if not for myself then for others. Back to the chasm, peering once more, hoping to see a glint of that key, but never finding it. Further and further I bend over, but never quite falling in. Maybe if I did. Maybe I would find my answers at the bottom. If there is a bottom. I fear there isn't; I fear it would just keep going and going, flowing and flowing, just like that river. Again, I back away. To the window, tracing my fingertips over the glass. No dust left here. Curious, considering it hasn't been cleaned in months, if not years. I pick up the rock, weighing it in my hand. Heavy, jagged stone. I walk back to the chasm, still weighing the rock. Placing it at the edge, turning my back, walking away.
Walking away. There's a sound coming from the sky. From the sky itself. A deep bellow. No, a harsh screech. Somewhere in between? Who knows. Or cares, for that matter. Almost like a heavy sigh. Sit under the tree. Think about what you've done, what you've created. It is your creation, after all. You bred this monster in your own mind, and now you can't unmake it. It festers, and every slight action or reaction triggers its growth just a fraction more. The doubt and fear and paranoia is going to kill you. You know it will, yet you let it fester still. Laying on the grass, staring at the leaves, feeling uncomfortable. The sky looks disjointed, severed; again, a fractalized version of all you've envisioned. Reaching upwards to touch. But you know you shouldn't, it only makes things worse. So you withdraw. Another heavy sigh. As if in unsion, the wind blows. All the leaves turn colors and fall off, surrounding you, but not one actually touching you. Is this how it always was, or did something change? Maybe it's both. The leaves dance around you, then in front of you, spiraling away until they're out of sight. Some fall into the chasm, others catch in the river. Pulling out blades of grass, crumpling them in your insecure hands. Dirt under your fingernails, moist and dark. Filling that little bit of space in a way that only dirt can. Digging your hands deeper into the grass, into the very dirt, pulling out clots of grassroot and rocks.
Close your eyes. This isn't the way it should be. In your mind it's still perfect. Nothing can shatter that which is in your mind. There it is still golden, untouchable. Perfect. But only in your mind. Anywhere else, and it all becomes far too apparent. Or maybe you only think it's far too apparent. You're probably hallucinating. There is no reason to think this way, if you stop and relax and breathe then you know the exact way to act and react, how to keep everything normal. But it's impossible to be rational with those goddamned leaves, and that chasm, and that ever-deeper river. Recreate that old facade, things were better that way. Except, you know you can't; too much has been revealed, there isn't a shadow or a mask or a tree to hide behind anymore. The chasm seems to widen, or are my eyes just playing tricks again? My mind playing tricks again, my thoughts playing tricks again, you playing tricks again. The sun sets, the moon rises, you are asleep. But those thoughts ever linger, and pain you, and bring tears to your eyes. Just as they are now. Never quite leaving from their own chasm, but just on the verge of overflowing. Adding to that river. Ever-deepening. Ever-fearing. Some day, I will take that plunge. The sooner, the better. Maybe tomorrow. But probably not.
Walking away. There's a sound coming from the sky. From the sky itself. A deep bellow. No, a harsh screech. Somewhere in between? Who knows. Or cares, for that matter. Almost like a heavy sigh. Sit under the tree. Think about what you've done, what you've created. It is your creation, after all. You bred this monster in your own mind, and now you can't unmake it. It festers, and every slight action or reaction triggers its growth just a fraction more. The doubt and fear and paranoia is going to kill you. You know it will, yet you let it fester still. Laying on the grass, staring at the leaves, feeling uncomfortable. The sky looks disjointed, severed; again, a fractalized version of all you've envisioned. Reaching upwards to touch. But you know you shouldn't, it only makes things worse. So you withdraw. Another heavy sigh. As if in unsion, the wind blows. All the leaves turn colors and fall off, surrounding you, but not one actually touching you. Is this how it always was, or did something change? Maybe it's both. The leaves dance around you, then in front of you, spiraling away until they're out of sight. Some fall into the chasm, others catch in the river. Pulling out blades of grass, crumpling them in your insecure hands. Dirt under your fingernails, moist and dark. Filling that little bit of space in a way that only dirt can. Digging your hands deeper into the grass, into the very dirt, pulling out clots of grassroot and rocks.
Close your eyes. This isn't the way it should be. In your mind it's still perfect. Nothing can shatter that which is in your mind. There it is still golden, untouchable. Perfect. But only in your mind. Anywhere else, and it all becomes far too apparent. Or maybe you only think it's far too apparent. You're probably hallucinating. There is no reason to think this way, if you stop and relax and breathe then you know the exact way to act and react, how to keep everything normal. But it's impossible to be rational with those goddamned leaves, and that chasm, and that ever-deeper river. Recreate that old facade, things were better that way. Except, you know you can't; too much has been revealed, there isn't a shadow or a mask or a tree to hide behind anymore. The chasm seems to widen, or are my eyes just playing tricks again? My mind playing tricks again, my thoughts playing tricks again, you playing tricks again. The sun sets, the moon rises, you are asleep. But those thoughts ever linger, and pain you, and bring tears to your eyes. Just as they are now. Never quite leaving from their own chasm, but just on the verge of overflowing. Adding to that river. Ever-deepening. Ever-fearing. Some day, I will take that plunge. The sooner, the better. Maybe tomorrow. But probably not.
posted by Uncle Funky Pants at 2:27 AM
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