Wednesday, December 17, 2008

The Twenty-eighth: Revelation, or Something

I realised that recently, as recently and currently as the last week, perhaps farther back, I've been doing this thing. It's this thing that goes something like watching a lot of TV and being a slug and indulging in several other vices on a regular basis. I realised this while taking a really long, not particularly invigorating bath - one of the vices by the way. It was awful. Its quite a shitty feeling to realise you've been cheated of time and by your own self at that! It's not so much time though, as one can argue we have both an infinite and extremely finite supply of that, but it's happiness and fulfillment that I've been robbed of. Now I find myself in a hole. Granted it's not that deep, could be deeper, but it'll not be fun to pull my ass out. I have to wake up to living now and part of me still doesn't wanna. There are a myriad of excuses, all good if I want them to be, to just say the course and die contentedly blind having hummed along in relative comfort, never having stopped to open my eyes.
What a delicious proposition, to forfeit life. I think people only fear suicide because it prevents them from seeing how all the stories end. Instead everyone murders themselves just enough to stay numb, but remain just enough to keep their minds on the stories. The stories of the people they know, the stories of nations, celebrities, and good samaritans. The stories of the world keep people tuned in, but not turned on.
It is painful to be at the bottom of this hole I've dug, however shallow. My body doesn't know where to start. It's just getting over the shock of having to stop digging.
At the impasses of life the roads are always shifting and the signs turn themselves around for fun. I need to go to bed before I get to serous for my own good and all the poetic thinking makes me vomit.

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