Track
I'm not sure what it is. Reading old memories with the soft, cool breeze outside and the glow of lofty Christmas lights, watching words. This is my lifetime of concern and consequence.
There's some feeling there, some utter consecration, some high-bold pattern of seemingly touchable eloquence lounging in the air, anxious heartbeat heart beat heart beat heart beat. That tingle of memory, of fancy.
Where exactly has life led me down? It's easy, it's led me here, present day, Day X, some particle on a time line from 0 to infinity, some point when laid between 0 and 60 is barely seen when the line is scribbled on a corner of some math note. That is Today, tonight, this morning, some borrowed time (from some phantom figure?) after a cigarette, before a sleep.
But I just sit there in the same wood chair. I expect to see something, think it, some illumination to what predicament I can't see. Looking to the east with no question in mind and no answer.
Maybe it's not quite healthy yet to read journals of old friends. It just reminds me of... something? Some presence that's not there. Despite these people being flesh and blood it's as if they died a long time ago and left only words. I consider them and wonder, when it's not healthy to care anymore.
My brother said to me a few days ago during an argument I was having with someone else that he was surprised I hadn't exploded. I handled it too calmly, something not like me. I said back to him that he hasn't seen me in a position to anger easily for a long time, and with so many things thrown at me I've changed in a lot of ways. It's hard for me to get upset anymore, to care, about anything I find so unimportant as arguing with someone over something that doesn't really matter to either of us.
Maybe age is just slowly combining learning more about people then you want to and caring about the things you deem important?
Maybe youth is just learning what to find important in life, and adulthood is caring about them.
I'd say I'm struggling pretty often to care about anything, actually. There's that driving force hidden behind my apathy, to be a something, to not be the guy with no talent living in nothingness. Is it what I really want, to try to achieve some greatness? If it were true would I hinder myself so easily? Would I not have drive and a lust for it?
Some... day, back in some May, when green fields were vivid sun-lit dreams and nights were breezy fog driven imaginations, did something happen? The sound of music from a neighbor? Words on a paper? Some little clash of thunder too much for my ignorance to take. Then destruction of clear cut easiness, and the blooming of some rushed need for change. And I'm stuck between them. Stuck in the quasi-madness of driven apathy, like a toy boat going upstream but always falling back when it stops caring.
And all the problems communicating that I've imagined to some degree. All the people sports, drops of conversation and "My my old times old times indeed yes back when these things existed and times were differently old back yes deed when time old" and other musings that don't mean anything without the backing of the current reason to chatter.
But it's comfortable. It's too comfortable.
Life is this: I was joy riding, thinking of going to a lot of places. My car broke down, and I sat around for a bit complaining and helpless instead of taking care of it, which I ended up doing, but then decided that to go somewhere was needless and instead I sat down and read a good book in the passenger seat. Now that want to start driving again is hitting, but I'm fearful of going anywhere - I might miss the beautiful day.
Thinking about it, when I had more of a constant intermingling with friends, life was simple. It was distracting, worth being measured in conversation and easiness. "Was today a waste? Nah, I talked with friends." The only thing I've had to deal with in the last 8 months is the complexity of not having constant distractions and people to communicate with. I've replaced the simplicity with my own distractions and simplicities.
Surely I am not a person that can be defeated by complication, right? It's a different data set, some other algorithm. In the last few months I've gotten a lot more used to the new. The old model no longer seems to apply or fit when, in readiness, this new set is more applicable to how I want things to be.
And that is what I mean by I'm happy. That and seeing love again, in a lot of ways, some old and some new.
a call herk
And with some angel voice I'm brought back to reality. One last cigarette then sleep. Maybe there's some writing left in me, and as such I will take a chance and try to pluck such things from the air eh?
As a side note, I just realized that I've been smoking a pack a day for quite a while. I am in competition with Smoker X.