Half-life, half-living, in the imaginary cakewalk where the music never stops. Or musical chairs where there is no music and the chairs disappear whenever you try and sit.
Always testing the waters, searching for the next trapdoor and pitfall. It's like I'm constantly extending my hand out to the snow covered ground, to see what's out there and if it will support me.
I feel like I am ignorant and unable, stymied, if you will, by normal, everyday conversations....but I speak eloquently and voraciously in riddles and visual imagery. Inside my head, my brain talks in pictures...but people don't. Hence the discrepancy and difficulty in conversing.
My words live in foggy clouds, in a room off back and to the right. Every now and then I go there.....and ponder, amazed and aghast at these foreign forms suspended in the air. Sometimes I can reach them and rarely do I grasp.
So I live within...this...this self-made protoplasm that keeps me separate, safe and eternally confused. Life is a very personal experience. Not sure that even I can pick out words to describe and share. ...what it's like..in here. "I'm Only Broken if I step out of here!" I shout to no one but me.
I can see the pieces..these days. It just makes me want to stay within even more.
I would describe my self as a wet noodle, highly malleable, easily dented and effected. I know that I have taken many manymany blows. Oh, boy, don't I know it!
Sometimes I feel like I'm lying on a big rock, a few steps in to an enormous ocean, waves washing by, and seagulls descend and eat me away..see, I'm visual, I See this....or maybe it's already happened and no one informed me.
I sit up, on the rock, in the ocean....and stare at the dense forest from which I dwelt...feeling the warmth of the safe sun on my back...no one can hurt me..here....or touch me...so I must be dead.
I lay back on the rock, allowing my arms the thrill of gravity. Half-dangling, half-half-heatedly holding on....I drift away, on the rock.
Ahh, life is grand....a grand fiasco, a grand game of human checkers and mammoth errors. Hop, skip, jump, fall on face, start again, hop, skip.....you get the picture.
I'd go and fly a kite cept it'd be futile...it wouldn't carry me away to a better place. And what is a better place anyway? Isn't my home, now and forever in my head?
I question the "value" of being "out" and interacting with the world. It, mostly, doesn't make me feel better or "offer" me anything more positive than negative.
I question the value and meaning of life....but it gets me nowhere other than I am supposed to triumph over the evil, victimized past, heal the scars, bandage the wounds and pretend to give a shit.
The outside world offers me little...it's hard to find an open hand without a dagger.
I'm accomplishing "goals", you know, those small, little everyday things one must do for functionalities sake, eating, drinking, butt wiping.
Yeah, I know...I'm one if those people who could fall off the earth tomorrow and no one would notice.
Self-effacing, deprecating behavior is my middle name...or the one I've lived with so long...I don't know.
The road stretches out in front of me. I'm debating taking a step. My steps, like my dreams...are known only to me...whether I walk softly or with loud bangs. It doesn't matter what shakes, quakes, breaks and falls off, as I walk...the sound bothers no one but I.
I stare at my empty hands....just a nother day....just a nother.
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