Strange Hour

Sometimes, on rare occasions... REALLY rare occasions... EXTREMELY rare occasions, something makes me think I should get a life... a new one. One that does NOT include my past...

Its not like that feeling you get when you're helpless. It's kinda like feeling... knowing... feeling/knowing you don't belong where you've been your entire life... like knowing you're supposed to walk the path you're on because it doesn't belong to you; it's not your path; like you should be walking down another path, a different one, but you have no choice. Like being stuck. Like having a mid-life crisis at 24. It's that unshakeable feeling of an oblivion-type of existance you just can't get rid of.

My present is different, though. Quite different. I enjoy living my present. It's got its ups and downs but it's still an enjoyable one. I got no problem with it... except that it comes with a past. That past. That past, that on rare occasions... REALLY rare occasions... EXTREMELY rare occasions comes back to bite you in the ass.

* * *

Him: "He looks serious. You should hang-on to him"
Her: "He is serious... three-years-serious"
Him: "You seem happy"
Her: "I'm not... I'm in love..."
Him: "Yeah... wonder what that's like"
Her: "You ARE cut-out for it... for love I mean... you just need to let go..."
Him: "And get tangled-up in that 'love' business? Now, that would'n be like me, would it?"
Her: "And... are you like yourself just how you are now?"
Him: "I get by..."
Her: "And you still feel trapped"
Him: "Only on week-days"
Her: "You still got your sense of humor... you're not THAT lost of a cause"
Him: "I'm glad you're happy..."
Her: "I'm not. I'm--"
Him: "'In love'... I know... Take care, kiddo... I'm really sorry about... what happened"
Her: "Well... of course you are... I'm sorry too... you were just being you"
Him: "...bye..."

* * *

"im sick of dour faces staring at me from the tv tower
i want roses in my garden bower, dig?
royal babies, rubies must now replace aborted strangers in the mud
these mutants blood meal, the plant thats ploughed"

* * *



* * *

You begin to hate all your habits, good or bad; your clothes; you routine; your activities; your very own way of complaining about all there is to complain about... then you complain some more... and hate it all the while... You try to find a good memory. Maybe a happy one. One that you have no complaints about. But your memory fails in doing so. You can't find that type of memory. Then you get frustrated. And complain about it. Then a very long vicious circle begins...

* * *

"On the good days, I can see myself going to places, meeting people, taking pictures of whatever I find interesting, eating. On the bad days I can't see myself at all..."

* * *

After a while, you realize how pointless it is to complain. You stop. Take a deep breath. Complain for the last time about it, then... you find something to distract yourself with. An activity. Any type of activity. And you do it. Trying to channel that negative energy through that activity, hoping it turns into something positive. Then, you take a deep breath... and, go back to square one... More complaining comming up.

* * *

"death makes angels of us all and gives us wings
where we had shoulders smooth as ravens claws"

* * *

Eventually you get tired of all that and you give it a rest. You set it aside. Forget about it... Nothing really got solved... except for that complaining problem. It's all worked-out now. Finally, you're able to sleep... once again... finally...