there is a subtle turmoil in the air. It seems to be condensing to a thick vapor as the hours pass. seeping down the walls, forming to a mold.
Spores of malcontent.
My brain plays calming tunes, a defense mechanism, I suspect. Behind
docile rythmes, a whisper catches my better senses. "You have seen this before", it beckons.
Indeed I have.
I wait in silence for another revolution. Perhaps I will escape it, if only I keep listening to the music, but my instinct to join in the festivities may prove too strong.
Time will tell. He is a sneaky one, time. I keep one eye on him. Lest he attempts to dupe me again. He is not to be trusted.
The player in me wants to scream advice, but the observer in me demands silence.
And so for now, I wait.
It has been awhile.
Time eludes me. Nothing new there. It always has.
It sets me up for the general understanding that it will keep moving, regardless of whether or not i choose to keep up. I get distracted, you see. By shining objects or pretty colors.
By words. I am easy prey for words. They take me captive at times, throw hours and days into what seems only seconds, minutes at best. My head wraps around them, reliving them until the moment I realize that slippery concept of time is several blocks up now. And ive been dawdling at a store window. Sure i got some great outfit ideas, some new shoes to dream about, but what did i miss while time was weaving thru the crowds?
What windows will I miss now that i have to run to catch up?
Time, space, reality. These are things I know only of in textbook form. They exist, im sure of it, but the deatails of that existance are not aligned with my own perceptions.
It isn't really a complaint, just another mild observation that hit me as i sipped my vodka ladden drink. I threw in some fruit too. A mock-Sangria. Plus, I'll get some vitamins while my liver deteriorates.
Maybe I dawdle too much. But I don't think so. Id like to think I dawdle just enough, or maybe, even, not quite enough. But too much? Such a thing seems silly. Like being told you've been looking too long at one particular piece of art.
I don't mean at all that time escapes me as in the hours and days slip by too quickly. THAT concept of time i get. 60 minutes makes an hour, 24 hours make a day, 7 days make a week...on and on.
I mean more that I find myself drifting backwards. Or sideways, even.
My cat is seeking attention, chewing at papers around the house as he knows it drives me crazy, makes me look up from my musings to call his name. He'll play cute, but then when i go back to my typing, he continues.
I kept this around, just in case. The blog, I mean, not my cat. Because every now and again I fall back to my writing. When the painting I took up as a substitute doesn't quite silence the buzzing of my thoughts, and i know it isn't going to go anywhere until I subdue it with it's preferred method of expression. Until then, it will not be satiated.
When i was much younger than I am now, just a child, I used to always be on the run. And actually, that applies to more of my life than just my youth. But for the purpose of this memory, i was a child. My mother would lose track of me frequently. One blink and i was gone, not even time to see the blur. Up in a tree, or running down the street with my clothes already off. I don't remember exactly what was always catching my eye, but I imaggine that the way i ran then is not all that dissimilar from how time runs from me now.
Maybe that is what I was chasing after.
Maybe time prefers to be naked too.
Time eludes me. Nothing new there. It always has.
It sets me up for the general understanding that it will keep moving, regardless of whether or not i choose to keep up. I get distracted, you see. By shining objects or pretty colors.
By words. I am easy prey for words. They take me captive at times, throw hours and days into what seems only seconds, minutes at best. My head wraps around them, reliving them until the moment I realize that slippery concept of time is several blocks up now. And ive been dawdling at a store window. Sure i got some great outfit ideas, some new shoes to dream about, but what did i miss while time was weaving thru the crowds?
What windows will I miss now that i have to run to catch up?
Time, space, reality. These are things I know only of in textbook form. They exist, im sure of it, but the deatails of that existance are not aligned with my own perceptions.
It isn't really a complaint, just another mild observation that hit me as i sipped my vodka ladden drink. I threw in some fruit too. A mock-Sangria. Plus, I'll get some vitamins while my liver deteriorates.
Maybe I dawdle too much. But I don't think so. Id like to think I dawdle just enough, or maybe, even, not quite enough. But too much? Such a thing seems silly. Like being told you've been looking too long at one particular piece of art.
I don't mean at all that time escapes me as in the hours and days slip by too quickly. THAT concept of time i get. 60 minutes makes an hour, 24 hours make a day, 7 days make a week...on and on.
I mean more that I find myself drifting backwards. Or sideways, even.
My cat is seeking attention, chewing at papers around the house as he knows it drives me crazy, makes me look up from my musings to call his name. He'll play cute, but then when i go back to my typing, he continues.
I kept this around, just in case. The blog, I mean, not my cat. Because every now and again I fall back to my writing. When the painting I took up as a substitute doesn't quite silence the buzzing of my thoughts, and i know it isn't going to go anywhere until I subdue it with it's preferred method of expression. Until then, it will not be satiated.
When i was much younger than I am now, just a child, I used to always be on the run. And actually, that applies to more of my life than just my youth. But for the purpose of this memory, i was a child. My mother would lose track of me frequently. One blink and i was gone, not even time to see the blur. Up in a tree, or running down the street with my clothes already off. I don't remember exactly what was always catching my eye, but I imaggine that the way i ran then is not all that dissimilar from how time runs from me now.
Maybe that is what I was chasing after.
Maybe time prefers to be naked too.
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