on dead end illusions and allusions
its like falling asleep in some decade you never expect to escape and then waking up at 6:45 am with a bad tv show blaring in the background. And even if you had been dreaming, which you really dont think you were, you don't remember what you were thinking in the first place and then you just wonder how you got there and how the bruises got there and if they'll hurt again once you wake up for real. And then there are waves and they are violent and they are just doing the best they can to keep you from hearing your own thoughts. which at the time are good but eventually turn to dead end assumptions about a salty-aired life you can always taste and vaguely feel, but maybe never have. and its really warm where you are sleeping. and even when you are perfectly still the warm knows how to sit on top of you and hold you down. and its only when you start moving that it gets really cold. unbearably and uncontrollably cold. its a cold day and a cold bus ride and a cold urgency rushing inside of you to escape the trap you set for yourself. and the irony of it is the fact that back when you KNEW EVERYTHING , it was really only because you HAD NOTHING and soon enough you want everything and you feel like theres not a damn thing you know for sure. and when it comes down to it you should probably just stand in the middle of a crowded street and scream STOP at the top of your lungs and even though it won't do an ounce of good, at least you will remind yourself that you are alive enough to take control over the things you are so afraid of and let go of everything that doesn't matter. because all that really seems to matter is that warm place you briefly lay your head in anticipation of the speedy delivery of the rest of your self proclaimed reality and the endless, weightless feeling that loves to tease the corners of your eyes and leaves the promise of return resting on your bare, tired shoulders.