Saving Daylight and Other Fables
This whole changing the clocks thing screws with my system. My body clock had no idea what time it was when I woke up this morning, and now I'm sitting here at... what? 5:30 am and I haven't been to sleep, nor am I even tired. I'm smoking a little weed and listening to Zero 7 trying to lull my body into a state of exhaustion, but I'm starting to see little point. Why go to sleep at all? I mean, it's not like there is anything dire waiting for me on the other side of slumber. Most people go to sleep at night to re-energize their batteries so they can be fresh the next day... for what? ...work, school, family, society, life. But I have no pressing appointments, except those of my own making and I arrange those to suit my needs. I'm a big fan of flexibility.
I'm actually thinking about making a pot of coffee. It might seem I'm just trying to be contrary now, but something warm sounds good and it is no time for cocoa. Cocoa is for days spent sledding with pink noses and frozen toes, not for nights filled with menthol cigarettes and self doubt.
It's been a very strange year. I now know the meaning of traveling without moving, and I'm a bit exhausted from the trip. I still have quite a while to go, but I'm hoping I've at least learned to read the map. Well, maybe not, but at least I know its no longer upside down. Its funny how things can change in an instant. There isn't a single person who is the same as they were before. Everyone is different, like seeing ghosts of people from another life, they are almost transparent. There, but somehow not, camouflaged against the background.
I've been thinking about the disappearing boy. He's never really that far away. I've put him a book where he will become a bedtime story for my children's children even if I bare no offspring. A fable about a prince who lived beneath a waterfall at the edge of the world in a beautiful castle made of ice. I had a dream once that I met him underneath a single street lamp. It was raining and the light created a wavering mirage like effect on the wet asphalt. We just stood there in the beam of the lone light in silence watching each others faces. I'm losing that face. If I could draw I'd sketch it on a million pieces of paper.
If time doesn't matter, and all memories eventually turn to ash, maybe if I send a message in a bottle a miracle will carry it upstream. I want to find you before I shed my skin again. Are you listening? You deserve to be more than a ghost, more than fiction. Maybe you weren't even real. Only a figment of a psyche stretched too thin. I have no proof of your existence. But I honestly don't have faith in my own imagination to create something so unique. Was it you that was crazy, or was it I? I no longer remember.
I'm actually thinking about making a pot of coffee. It might seem I'm just trying to be contrary now, but something warm sounds good and it is no time for cocoa. Cocoa is for days spent sledding with pink noses and frozen toes, not for nights filled with menthol cigarettes and self doubt.
It's been a very strange year. I now know the meaning of traveling without moving, and I'm a bit exhausted from the trip. I still have quite a while to go, but I'm hoping I've at least learned to read the map. Well, maybe not, but at least I know its no longer upside down. Its funny how things can change in an instant. There isn't a single person who is the same as they were before. Everyone is different, like seeing ghosts of people from another life, they are almost transparent. There, but somehow not, camouflaged against the background.
I've been thinking about the disappearing boy. He's never really that far away. I've put him a book where he will become a bedtime story for my children's children even if I bare no offspring. A fable about a prince who lived beneath a waterfall at the edge of the world in a beautiful castle made of ice. I had a dream once that I met him underneath a single street lamp. It was raining and the light created a wavering mirage like effect on the wet asphalt. We just stood there in the beam of the lone light in silence watching each others faces. I'm losing that face. If I could draw I'd sketch it on a million pieces of paper.
If time doesn't matter, and all memories eventually turn to ash, maybe if I send a message in a bottle a miracle will carry it upstream. I want to find you before I shed my skin again. Are you listening? You deserve to be more than a ghost, more than fiction. Maybe you weren't even real. Only a figment of a psyche stretched too thin. I have no proof of your existence. But I honestly don't have faith in my own imagination to create something so unique. Was it you that was crazy, or was it I? I no longer remember.
posted by Ninja Toes at 5:27 AM
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