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She's so pretty, that's the only thought I wrought from my mind. It's so much easier just to look at her and say nothing, just float down the river of her lights and flows. Heaven knows nothing of this kind of bright. She wields that beauty like lightning.
Someone yelled asscat and the dance floor erupted in violence. Fists flew and people shifted into murder mode. It got worse and worse over the course of 10 seconds. I'm positive someone even had a laser weapon of some sort because I remember seeing bright lights, mists of blood and flying body parts. After a minute of chaos the weak had been slaughtered and the few left seemed blood sated. Then someone yelled asscat once again and the murder playoffs kicked off.
Chipping away at rock for years. Stop for a moment to look. See how many more years it will take you before Crazy Horse is freed from the mountain side. Steel your resolve and put hope in the people who will do the chipping once you've croaked out. Continue chipping.
What am I trying to do here?
Dangerous distractions, life sapping interference from pointless preoccupations and preposterous web pages that propagate improper processes of the mind and melt immeasurable moments of miraculous life into puddles of nothing.
The cancer that grows goes unimpeded by your future wish that you would've done more with your life. You can't recant what you do with the time you have and there is never anytime like the present. I'm not just talking to you I'm talking to me, see I'm sitting here jotting down the words while pain sits in my stomach and brain and I don't know what to do so I panic and do something, anything. Then a thing takes over and off I go down the path to this post on a page no one reads but that's not the point. All I'll have left behind is these moments where I spent my time breaking open moments and pasting them onto the page. So little time, so much unknown, so little shown through the art I claim to be a keeper of.
When will I want something enough to do anything about it?
It has to be now, even if it's not true I've wasted more time than should be allowed. I've disavowed those loud nothing moments and must look as if I've known the score all along. Please don't let it be too late.
Wasting time with shit.
There's so much going on but I'm processing so little of it.
Practically endless pages on the internet but none worth reading.
Billions of videos but none worth watching.
Centuries of porn and none worth beating it to.
I feel sort of bad. I've got unpleasant thoughts dragging my mind over asphalt. There's not enough focus in me to keep my eye on the prize. My body starts to feel weak and wants to start shutting down. Breaths get deeper but take in less air. I feel worse. My brain cant keep the ship floating so it contemplates hitting the escape button but there isn't one. All along it had been duped by the fantasy of a getaway plan but now that everything is going to hell all it found is an fake button painted onto a wall. It might as well read "haha you stupid fuck."
The brain panics, but it cant move. It scrambles itself thinking of a way out of this mess. Make the arms flail, something may come of that. The arms stay still but the legs start to kick and the brain screams "that's good enough" and up the body goes headed to the door of my hotel room. There's no time to check if I have everything, actions must be taken to prevent everything from being scuttled. We will take our chances outside.
Each step echoes through the hallways of this old building. The floorboards creak and the walls thud. If this wasn't an emergency I would've altered the way my feet fell onto the floor, no time to hate the sound they make, just keep going. Down the stairs where I took the tumble, out the door with the shitty lock, just make it outside and hope the sunlight has some sort of magic effect on the oncoming darkness.
It does, mercifully, even after all the times I had cursed it for killing off the rain clouds. Lovely light, maybe everything would be ok after all.
And it was. For a time at least, then I'd get down and come back up. I'd become thrilled with writing, with the prospect of getting the stories out, with seeing a new country, then I'd hate the internet, hate the people and the extinction of critical thinking all around me. But that's how it goes. That is the normal state and it's only because there were too many blessings to count for so long that it made us think that life is supposed to be a parade of contentment and complacency. It's not the greatest, but it's so far from the worse that nobody would ever stop to think that there's so much better out there.
There's so many ways to express what life is, and right now I don't have it pinned down with the right combination of words to do it any justice and maybe I never will, but right now life seems to be a simultaneous beautiful but inelegant dance on two floors at once, the moments of bliss and awareness and then painful time spent in the bathroom. But just for right now, it can all change. /end nonfunny.
