8.16.2001

working and it is monotonous and there is little work to be done and i am busy not being pissed off and not spending my time, not spending my youth wisely, and it is raining outside while the ferris wheel continues its climb and descent and the *nsync stage is tumbling heavenward in the rain and the workers are crawling all over it and i am wondering who exactly pays them to put the monolith together, piece by piece and climbing and cranes are knocking the air and threatening the ants crawling like workers in hardhats like exoskeletons with tool belts like crime-fighters while the crime-fighters, the criminal-catchers, are busy out front directing fair traffic like their lives depended on it and are busy tormenting the fair traffic-goers, will later probably torment the concert-goers, and all this time i am contemplating the nature of my life, how much time is wasted how much good skin and nice outfits are wasted being at work and i don't even need the job and i don't even need to be here, but i need the money, so i sit and wait for the phone to ring and don't know what to do when it does and i am wishing i were sitting outside in the rain and i am wishing i had a cigarette though i quit smoking supposedly and though i am tired and nauseated, all the while i am hoping that the sun loves me and i am hoping that my energy will return to me and i am hoping that my body will let me do the things that my mind is wanting to do - all the while i am returning to myself years ago and sitting atop roofs during school hours all the while i am returning to myself in childhood what thoughts i had and how they formed me and all the while i am returning to myself days before this when the thought caught my soul on fire and it illuminated me and i felt illuminated and visible and real and all the while i am returning to myself, i am finding that my past has not only heartache and illusion, but insight and all the while i am returning to myself and i am unable to put into words that which i have felt and that which i will feel and that which i am feeling and all the while i am returning to myself as i was, i am returning to myself as i am typing and not finding answers and i am returning to myself finding answers in sunbeams, hidden in raindrops, conveyed in the corpses of the unfamiliar and all the while and all the while i am returning to myself on television as i have not seen me, i am returning to myself in dreams, and while i am sleeping i am returning to myself, i am grounding myself in me, in my thoughts as they dance me and make me and punish and conform me to shapes and i am returning to myself to find myself.

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home