((
))
Holes in their soles, they march ever onwards. Driven
forward by some grotesque duty to life and land, the rubber insulating them
from the earth wears the stones bare. The same paths and tracks that hold their
eyes lead them down into the city, around and around. The screams and scrapes
of the engines barreling past, scattering dust and mist alike, drone past them
into the distance. Errant steps are not rewarded here, everything following the
metronome of the second hand. From beyond the clouds it may seem an empty
routine. From across the street it may seem like greener grass is to be found. From
beyond the dirty glass in a basement apartment, I am envious.
It’s not as if the grind were appealing. The schedule did
not bend for me, as I often reinforced its supports with brick and mortar of my
dedication. It rewarded me monetarily. It gave me purpose for waking up each
day. The act of moving towards something was always something I could march
along with. It saved me from having to look at the outside world. It was my
savior from possibilities. Many of us would rather fall short distances and I
am oh so afraid of heights. But in my thankful termination I do find that the
prospect of maybe something happening…something that I’ve dreamed of…the chance
to stretch out my arm and, if not find sure purchase with my fingertips, at
least grasp a trailing feather, a keepsake to prove that I was close…that
soothes in terror behind my eyes.
So here we are on Day 1. It’s 9:39 a.m. and I’ve managed to
brush my teeth and not open a beer. The shades are open and the dull
encompassing light of the overcast morning is slowly oozing onto my skin. Dark
towers loom in the distance and remind me of that structured life. There’s a
slight pull, only slight. The muscle memory is still there. Previous day’s
bottles and cans rise up as their own dark towers on the counter, the cabinets,
the desk, the shelf. A pull exists. Neither one is exactly what I want. Not in
the doses that I find myself taking. A little structure, sure. A lil buzz,
absolutely. It seems that I’ve been getting carried away…carrying myself away.
This should never have been my destination, but alas, my wandering feet, apathetic
mind and hampered thoughts have delivered me here to my bed.
I will lie to myself.
It’s a wondrous thing to be cut free from your bonds and to
be able to soar along the hills and valleys of your own mind. To be able to
swoop down and visit your thoughts instead of having your attention diverted by
menial tasks and cells and calculations is truly a gift. Such possibilities
that the idle mind has always hoped for are finally laid out for the steadfast
farmer to reap and collect and profit from. Security is overrated, and to fly
we must jump, damn the physics and the logic and the fucking pragmatism. Slow
breath.
It’s not so bad.
I’ll always have something to fall back on if the whole ‘starving’
thing doesn’t work out.
Too many token tasks to set my head to to let my grip loosen
at the moment.
Things to do.
Things to do.
Things to do.
