After that funeral . . .
The Old Man's Brother was so different from the Old Man. One was earnest, determined and persistent. The other clever, playful and just as persistent. Strange. Whatever.
Confused, bitter, tired--I went back to the smoke-filled coffee shop. Existence was relegated to the sea, and its surface, comprised of thoughts, smoke and text:
Swimming in a sea of text and smoke, coming up for air (on occassion) to imbibe laughter and drink; treading water amidst the current of change--no, vertigo; lost in a world of endless and meaningless ideas; surfing the waves of the surface all of us share, and soaking up the sun when, and when it does not, shine. I don't want to exist here anymore--not on the deserted island, lost at sea on a small rock in the ocean--no this is worse. Lost at sea, relegated to existing at the interplay of the endless currents, breezes and climate of that cold, alluring water. No rock. Nothing solid. My limbs are tired from treading. My breath is gone. My chest burns.
Yet, I am drawn here. The Old Man and his brother both--they both knew. They were drawn here too. I want to leave--but where else is there to go? I want to escape, but every time I open my mouth--speak--I'm brought right back and faced with the futile mission of moving past.
. . . Smoke and laughter, those will have to do for now.
The Old Man's Brother was so different from the Old Man. One was earnest, determined and persistent. The other clever, playful and just as persistent. Strange. Whatever.
Confused, bitter, tired--I went back to the smoke-filled coffee shop. Existence was relegated to the sea, and its surface, comprised of thoughts, smoke and text:
Swimming in a sea of text and smoke, coming up for air (on occassion) to imbibe laughter and drink; treading water amidst the current of change--no, vertigo; lost in a world of endless and meaningless ideas; surfing the waves of the surface all of us share, and soaking up the sun when, and when it does not, shine. I don't want to exist here anymore--not on the deserted island, lost at sea on a small rock in the ocean--no this is worse. Lost at sea, relegated to existing at the interplay of the endless currents, breezes and climate of that cold, alluring water. No rock. Nothing solid. My limbs are tired from treading. My breath is gone. My chest burns.
Yet, I am drawn here. The Old Man and his brother both--they both knew. They were drawn here too. I want to leave--but where else is there to go? I want to escape, but every time I open my mouth--speak--I'm brought right back and faced with the futile mission of moving past.
. . . Smoke and laughter, those will have to do for now.
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