Sunday, August 7, 2011

Peculiar Children



thick, muggy air collapses the bubble of my personal space and tries, with it's great majesty, to put me to sleep in the city streets that surround me, endlessly. my earbuds are pushing dismal tricky, trip hop overtones into the deepest parts of my brain as my heavy feet pound away at pavement that i know and loathe so well. this is a tradition of sorts: me, music and the night; mingling like awkward high school prom dates, too afraid to just fuck and get it over with. we speak in tongues without saying a single word to each other.


a human death dance that is lined in "two left feet" calligraphy. the artistic intentions of comatose cripples.


sluggishly i mope thru the empty streets that were constructed like a labyrinth, in tones of brain matter grey and 60 watt yellow. something isn't right, or at least it feels that way when the subtle bass lines hum in perfect collision with faint breezes between lifeless buildings. a graveyard full of bodies that haven't quite given in to their ends. i stand alone and unbroken beneath the moonless sky that stands over me just like a catholic school nun.


being that alone in a living world is beauty at it's best. it's the same feeling that an optimist gets when seeing the speckled traces of tumor growths on the MRI results they didn't think would disprove their sunny disposition. it's an obscene irony lost on the living and best admired by the long since dead.


the cell phone in my pocket begins to buzz against my thigh, reminding me that it's now 4AM and i should've been asleep hours ago. my chest gets tight and i laugh a little before lighting another cigarette and start on making my way back to my car. these outings are the closest thing to therapy i can afford, the closest thing to sanity i can admit to having. it's always the same out there beyond the fold of the stiffling dwelling that pushes me into the wall and refuses to allow me breathing room.


so tonight, just like all the rest, i walk the dead streets of my own post apocolyptic wasteland, my little movie back-drop that soothes me with it's lack of life, it's abundant scenery unspoiled by pretentious phone conversations and it's seraphim-esque calm serenity.


in the event these shoes never reach their destination:
kiss the sun for me while gliding on your wings of frailty and wax.

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