2005.12.05

VagueInsanity.com

        Introduction             Current Series         Archived Series           Links/Contact      
 

Series 4: Scrawl on the Wall

          First                     Prev                     Index                     Next                     Last          
 

Scrawl on the Wall 022

There's just too much reality around here, on this little ball of earth and water and pain and misery and joy and hatred, and love and oral sex.

I'm sitting here, hunched up, thinking to myself, traveling deep inside my mind, and then I imagine every place I have ever been.

When I was born I lived in an ugly yellow apartment building filled with alcoholics and feral cats. Then it burnt down so I moved on to a grey apartment by the river, filled with people let out of halfway homes and the rats would come when the river banks overflowed.

Then we moved on from there to a tiny apartment where the slugs would crawl in when it was cold. I would sit and watch endless cop shows as my mother slept off another long night of drinking, and we moved when this stalker from Egypt tracked us down... again.

Then I lived in this huge apartment complex, ugly, yellow and brown, filled with old people waiting to die and insects.

Then I went to a tiny house next to a halfway house, and since we left there it's been converted to a halfway home for recently released sex offenders.

Then I lived in a nice big house. Lots of prostitutes in the alley behind the place and tons of petty crime and home burglaries... but not a bad place really.

And I think of those places, and they are all still there. Standing, breathing, living, right now.

At this very moment, events are happening there, people living there. Which events and which people, I probably don't want to know.

But every place I've ever been in my whole life is still happening.

That lonely cafe in Paris, the happy coffeehouses of Amsterdam, even the ancient and destroyed city of Pompeii is filled with tourists and people and laughter.

All existing, all the time, without me. Carrying on.

And I'm here in these four walls. Carrying on.

I wonder if the last person to sit here wonders whatever became of this place.

It's seen better days.

Maybe I should take up smoking.

Yeah.

Express train to cancer, here I come.

 

Site design by Israel Brown   -   All written material Copyright © Charles Daniels