Last Stop "This Town"
I am on my third attempt at making a post worth writing to the general populous about. The other two ended up private posts. I don't know what it is I want to say. I just want to say something. And if I am going to say anything I might as well make it worth while to read. And there in lies the problem. I am under the assumption that punchy and vivid descriptions of slightly out worldly things will grab attention, and justify someone spending time reading it. But I have nothing like that...Oh wait I did see both trains get stopped today on my way to the doctors office. A team of ten police per train came through looking for a suspect in a crime that I did not know. Whatever it was that person did must have been interesting. Eventually the police gave up after realizing the doors to both trains where wide open, and the person could have just walked away at any time. Ah Chicago Police I <3 you!
There I guess it was something a little better, and less personal than the latter two posts. But there is no substence to this story. What about that story that was truly worth it? Was there a message that applied to your lives? It is an intersting story, but it lacks depth. Maybe if I said that they pulled a man sitting next to me off the train and interogated him on the platform, it would make a difference. However true that maybe, it only extends the original point by exactly one sentence.
You see I had a dream about a situation just like my current dilema the other night. Let me tell you about it then I will tell why I think now and then are the same:
I didn't want to be here. The streets looked clean and freshly paved. The building ahead wasn't my eye's companion either. The tall modern looking buttresses did a swoosh up from the ground and back into the building around its Frank Lloyd Wright rip off midpoint. It too was new, and had an edge that I could not get around. Give me some cracks, some bumps, something I can relate to. Newness to me is a sign of naivety, and foolishness. Clean and fresh to me seems like a fascade. Though there was something there I needed to get to. I could not remember what it was...or who...or why; but somewhere here was a puzzle piece that would make my life one step closer to completeness.
People where in front of the building lined along the sides of the pedway that flowed down to the street's end. Though they were not many I still couldn't count them all. They all looked like they shopped at the same store, and coordinated with each other to make sure they all had something different on. What ever store it was, it resembled the worst in scenester fad fasions. They made me more uneasy than the streets, or the building. The people moved; the structures didn't. It was a place I could walk away from, never think about again, and be better off for it. This was their home. Maybe they lived here for that explicit reason. I did not relate good things to this at all.
I passed several of them trying not exchange glances. But I knew they were staring at me, and they knew that I was noticing it. My back tensed up. I would react instantly and defensively aggressive to anything. I have done it before. It comes from having a tough life. I would make an effort at diplomacy. It just seemed right. I needed to find this thing I forgot about.
I looked and looked but nothing here seemed to trigger my memory. All I got was the occasional stare and turn. I wanted to leave, but had to keep myself planted until I figured out what so important that I need to be here. I began asking myself questions that make a memory spark. Is it something new? No. Is it something I lost? Yes. Is it something that will help me remember? Yes. But what remember what? I forgot that part too. I did not know how I knew these things. I just did and with out without question. There was something from here I needed; something I could not accept I needed to look at it. I knew whatever it was there was a good chance it wouldn't be a friendly lesson.
And this was my dream. I have the same feeling now as I did then. It feels like an amputees phantom pain. But it isn't pain. It is just an empty vacuum that I am aware of. At least the promise of discovery holds comfort after all is said and done. And here I am writing to find out this thing I wanted to say; just like I was dreaming about an object that I could not find. Both cases I did not know what it was I would find, but I wanted to find it none the less. Something is not here the way it should be. It is not making the whole eskew. It is just reminding me that I need to find aomething. It is essential to lasting happiness. This much I know:
I will find it. I will say it someday. But at least today I got this committed to writing.
HiL out.
There I guess it was something a little better, and less personal than the latter two posts. But there is no substence to this story. What about that story that was truly worth it? Was there a message that applied to your lives? It is an intersting story, but it lacks depth. Maybe if I said that they pulled a man sitting next to me off the train and interogated him on the platform, it would make a difference. However true that maybe, it only extends the original point by exactly one sentence.
You see I had a dream about a situation just like my current dilema the other night. Let me tell you about it then I will tell why I think now and then are the same:
I didn't want to be here. The streets looked clean and freshly paved. The building ahead wasn't my eye's companion either. The tall modern looking buttresses did a swoosh up from the ground and back into the building around its Frank Lloyd Wright rip off midpoint. It too was new, and had an edge that I could not get around. Give me some cracks, some bumps, something I can relate to. Newness to me is a sign of naivety, and foolishness. Clean and fresh to me seems like a fascade. Though there was something there I needed to get to. I could not remember what it was...or who...or why; but somewhere here was a puzzle piece that would make my life one step closer to completeness.
People where in front of the building lined along the sides of the pedway that flowed down to the street's end. Though they were not many I still couldn't count them all. They all looked like they shopped at the same store, and coordinated with each other to make sure they all had something different on. What ever store it was, it resembled the worst in scenester fad fasions. They made me more uneasy than the streets, or the building. The people moved; the structures didn't. It was a place I could walk away from, never think about again, and be better off for it. This was their home. Maybe they lived here for that explicit reason. I did not relate good things to this at all.
I passed several of them trying not exchange glances. But I knew they were staring at me, and they knew that I was noticing it. My back tensed up. I would react instantly and defensively aggressive to anything. I have done it before. It comes from having a tough life. I would make an effort at diplomacy. It just seemed right. I needed to find this thing I forgot about.
I looked and looked but nothing here seemed to trigger my memory. All I got was the occasional stare and turn. I wanted to leave, but had to keep myself planted until I figured out what so important that I need to be here. I began asking myself questions that make a memory spark. Is it something new? No. Is it something I lost? Yes. Is it something that will help me remember? Yes. But what remember what? I forgot that part too. I did not know how I knew these things. I just did and with out without question. There was something from here I needed; something I could not accept I needed to look at it. I knew whatever it was there was a good chance it wouldn't be a friendly lesson.
And this was my dream. I have the same feeling now as I did then. It feels like an amputees phantom pain. But it isn't pain. It is just an empty vacuum that I am aware of. At least the promise of discovery holds comfort after all is said and done. And here I am writing to find out this thing I wanted to say; just like I was dreaming about an object that I could not find. Both cases I did not know what it was I would find, but I wanted to find it none the less. Something is not here the way it should be. It is not making the whole eskew. It is just reminding me that I need to find aomething. It is essential to lasting happiness. This much I know:
I will find it. I will say it someday. But at least today I got this committed to writing.
HiL out.