October 27, 2008

Running on Empty

(I wrote this a while ago, but it's one of the pieces I like. I used to feel this way at one point.)

Some days you wake up wondering where you are. Time, space, alarm and music juggle your neurons, making you disoriented. At times like this you feel like you dropped from the sky, where you were soaring on diaphanous wings a minute back. Reality kills oh so slowly.

You stumble through the routine, mind wandering through endless mazes. Eat, brush, bathe, shit, it all goes on, ruthlessly, every single day. You are forced to do these things, all of them. If you don't want to, you are harassed and ostracized by the mere definition of normal in most minds. You wear your clothes, put on the smile and walk out into the deafening sunlight.

You meet those people who call you friend. Casually wonder what they think, how they really feel inside. Listen well, and you can hear the hurt and the pain, the yearning to be heard, the effect of years of indifference and misunderstanding. It doesn't affect you anymore. It used to, though. Everyone learns sooner or later. You care too much, and one day they will choke you. So become cold, at least that way you do it yourself.

Lunch, classes, teachers, just people, all the same, all the same. Even you, you are the same, just like them. We are the same, little ants running around in an anthill. Never knowing their lives are a mess, a futility, a defined period of time before being smashed under a toddler's foot.

Go meet the boyfriend. Make out. Ruminate on whether he really wants you. It's not like it used to be before. Does he still love you? Really? It's not for your body, is it? Is it? Does he know you? Atleast a little bit? You don't think so. You barely know yourself, with all your horrifying thoughts, how would he know what it would be to be you? To walk in your skin and face the shit. All the shit, every stinking little piece of it. You are sure he wants to leave. Who wouldn't. You can't even stand yourself.

Back for dinner. You see the same old faces, wiser by the passing of a few hours. This second that you will not get back, not this one, not the next. Each cell is older, weaker, more ready to give up. Why does everyone seem so blah and unreal. You hate their expressions. You just want to run away. Get away from the looks and the thousand little subtilities. The traditions, the robotic crap, the phoniness, everything. Even the pretending that empathy exists.

You lay awake, staring at the stains on the ceiling. No point to the day, not like there ever is. You will fade into unconsciousness soon. Dead, but not rotting just as yet. The brief hours you feel less animalistic and nearly alive. You feel one whole day closer to eternal rest. I'm running on empty. But life is beautiful...


yatinb said...

Wondering where you ve been. Then I noticed yur name is off my friends list. So I guess here I am searching for the bestest blogs I ever read. And I stumbled upon your blogspot domain - it is too good. I'd really like you to be on club jam too - I really miss your stuff - if you do not mind of course. yatin@jammag.com

BasioMeusPuga said...

From what little I understand of these things (I'm fairly certain I've never been loved for my body), I can tell you that the only things that really matter won't crack, won't wither and won't mean anything apart from what they did that precious moment ago; you know... from when you weren't thinking about them. When all was well and blissful.

Hang in there, young grasshopper. I'm fairly certain God kills a kitten everytime a pretty girl cries. And we know we don't want that.

Also, the damsel in distress thing has been invoked. All will crumble to our righteous wrath soon. :)

Anonymous said...

Awww that was sweet ;). Can you believe this was BEFORE I watched Fight Club?

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