Everything around us is like an explosive. Everything quivers when something else moves - a movement here means a movement there, and it spreads out like a dying wave across white sand. Yet nothing changes. Nothing is altered in any way - no purchase is found on any handhold.
We are all waiting for something. Looking around us, the scenery shivers, and we know that behind the horizon is something amazing. It thrills us to anticipate that unknown thing and we expect to see it soon, if not now. Yet it never comes.
It never comes because it is lodged within us. We are the mountain and the shade. We are the bell that never rings. We are the mouth that never sings. Nothing happens in this world because we are too afraid to act - if we act, then we change and we die. It is our fear of death that makes us indifferent to life. All of life is death and dying, everything exists for only a moment. The person that we are now is not the person that we were a moment ago, and somewhere on a very spiritual level we understand this fact. It seethes under covers.
I look across the sea and smoke cigarettes and let the ash fall into small tails that linger on the legs of my pants. I watch the water lap gentle, full of everything but grace, and I wonder whether my life is just as plain, just as certain as the bottom of the sea.
These last few weeks have been hellishly difficult for me to deal with, in the sense that I don't particularly give a good goddamn about anything. Life is an expanding concentric circle. It plays a rainbow melody, even when I can only hear the reds and the blacks. I am certain that after my trip to Milan I will be recharged. I am certain that I will be different. I wish that I could be the same.
-Rich
tomorrow washes stars in black brigades
No comments:
Post a Comment