i kinda feel it. this amalgam, jumble of thoughts. wings on my feet and wishing for a safer tomorrow. in a world that makes increasingly less sense by the minute, the need to know is vast, and often misunderstood. the narrow, suffocated constrictions of not knowing misunderstand, often, the multiplicities of what if. but hey-ho, what can you do.
i admit there's a terrible beauty in absence, but i don't think you'll find much hope in it, when life calls on you. and what is life, if not the frantic scrambling for something to give you hope in dark, terrible nights?
between you and me, for all the terrible things, i think i liked it better when we were angels.
obviously. i'm safe and far enough away to gloss over the fact that it was either delusion or manipulation that said it. still.
i liked it better when we did it as angels.
someone put it to me they were old, though looking now on this past tangent, they couldn't have been that old. someone put it to me young people had no patience. are we guilty of wanting it all and too fast, and how do i wrap up that conversation in three minutes or under?
how much of my future is it safe to want now? was one question for yesterday, and for those chronically non-committal like i. i try not to take more alms than i can carry in the words of people older than myself, on sheer account of mistrusting nostalgia, and the things down the years, they've forgotten how to say.
i'm worried if enough well-meaning people tell me i got time, it'll cure me eventually of this gnawing fear that i secretly don't. i'll lose momentum, and forget how to gallop. or is lust for life more like riding a bicycle, really?
am i just another late-coming teenager, stumbling over myself?
think on it a second, because i never think about things for more, and decide i agree. but at the same time, i don't live in the ordinary world. i've never had people just in one boat or the other, and i've never run with people my own age, but rather transcending ages, have seen patience in various forms of completion. i like to think it's given me a better view of hills.
that i am not bound by the pangs and twinges of my own timeline and impending mortality.
i lie. trick and twist myself. lie down on a bed of mud. i decide if it'll swallow me whole or teach me flow.
i bought finally the book, but struggle with foreign words still. i fall often for thick, round glasses, a look, a line, then am left to bear the brunt of it disproportionately.
this morning, i heard a man talk about how we were all still quite stuffed, but how now we're talking more about it, and maybe that makes it a bit better because that means we know. or does awareness secretly just make it all worse?
men with big guns. big gods. god's man on earth. heaven on earth. hearths stuffed with guns. angels wielding ak47s. strangle-hope children propping up the pianola. belief. belief?
maybe aliens have met us already, hated what we were wearing, and jim carried us.