Loneliness is a passing fad. Or, at least that’s what I told myself. I had just watched Waking Life for the second time. After, I did all that the things that people waiting patiently do. I lay back with my hands in my hair and blurred the lights with my eyes. Turned on some music and sang along. I got up and paced around the dimly lit room. Whistled. My mother always kept the lamps low and it made me feel at home. I took off my socks, laid down, got off and drifted to dreams I can’t remember. I checked my e-mail and opened a book and stared at the pages. Checked my phone. No response. I knew which answer my band-aid self wanted and the answer my so-called “rational” self wanted. But, the rational part of me tends to get me into the most trouble. Probably because life is irrational. Part of me wonders if loneliness is my deus ex machina, but permanent. It’s what compels me but it’s an ever swallowing shadow chasing my physical consciousness down, but every time I turn around to accuse it of its’ crimes it disappears and the moon comes up and wind flows cashmere over my rippled skin of imperfections. I feel life pounding at the door but can’t be bothered. This documentary is mildly interesting, plus it’s cold outside. I’d need a jacket and mine has holes in the pockets. My shadow sits complacently beneath my panties on my bed and strokes my crooked spine. Sitting, quite literally, on my compulsion. Through the window, trees, and the possibility of trouble and boredom and the moon coming up…too much to bear. If I’m missing it I don’t seem too troubled, that’s all outside anyway. Cat-curl and remembering when I took a chance and crawled out the window into the star-sky and got burned by the ever presence of Helio. It wasn’t really the pain so much as the thought that I was being out there, in a star field, and yet the fad wasn’t passing. When I went home the possibilities ruined my sense of the god machine moving me forward. It was just underneath my clothes. Lay down, salt my pillow, go lucid. It’s all the same. Every once in a while I have an experience to have something to write about but meeting new people isn’t like running through a star-field. You don’t get burned but you do get bored and cloudy and the shadow under your tights begins to fall out and drags behind your saddle shoes like toilet paper. It’s pretty obvious what compels you. Loneliness is a fad like the ink in my skin. It’s passing, but more slowly than I anticipated.
- the archives
