Listening to Nothing Loudly
One month has gone by and I still haven't gone to get my car inspected. I keep telling myself that I'll wait for the warmer weather, so that I can make sure that it passes--replacing, tightening, refilling, etcetera. Whenever I'm driving I realize and admitt that I might not be going because it might fail inspection. Well, who am I kidding? It is going to fail. The expenses that follow aren't in my best interest, and I figure that if I keep driving and stay out of trouble, it won't be a problem anymore. My "Miracle" will do just fine, it doesn't need to be probed and proded.
As much as I love my car though, It's a hump of junk. The windows don't work, I have to hump the passenger door for it to close, at night I'm always driving with a cock-eyed headlight eyes--which people must gawk at-- and to top it off I know there is something wrong with the gas-line, I might not admitt it personally, but it's there and easy to percieve. Miracle gets me where I need though, and there's a certain style that we both share, unintentionally.
The more I think about, we share too much in common, Miracle and I. Besides battery problems, I've never really had trouble with her, she just keeps going--hence her name, along with other, stranger reasons. If the problems don't arise, they aren't there, luck has nothing to do with it. I mean, of course something may happen, but that's just as bad as saying that nothing will happen--can't really know until something does happen. I just don't want to have someone diagnose me with something and tell me what I need.
Part of me just wants to run free. I can never fully take off though. It always seems like there's endless conflict in even the things that we create in our minds. Nothing. When did nothing, emptiness, void, black whole, disapear from being something, something to be. Where did the frontier go? As I grow a new skin I become even more uneasy with the one I have now, waiting for the day that things will be and seem as they are. There is no wind blowing the sail of my existance anywhere. I Drift, waiting to float ashore, where I can shed this skin and begin again.
For now I'll keep riding with Miracle, well in Miracle--can't really go anywhere without her--she'll cut the wind just as good as anyone, but better. In dead silence, she'll keep the snow from toching my face while I listen to nothing loudly, watching each melting flake. But for the most part, I'll be Alone, noticing all the colors of the night skys, all the lights shinning as bright lights shine, needing to be noticed, needing to exist.
As much as I love my car though, It's a hump of junk. The windows don't work, I have to hump the passenger door for it to close, at night I'm always driving with a cock-eyed headlight eyes--which people must gawk at-- and to top it off I know there is something wrong with the gas-line, I might not admitt it personally, but it's there and easy to percieve. Miracle gets me where I need though, and there's a certain style that we both share, unintentionally.
The more I think about, we share too much in common, Miracle and I. Besides battery problems, I've never really had trouble with her, she just keeps going--hence her name, along with other, stranger reasons. If the problems don't arise, they aren't there, luck has nothing to do with it. I mean, of course something may happen, but that's just as bad as saying that nothing will happen--can't really know until something does happen. I just don't want to have someone diagnose me with something and tell me what I need.
Part of me just wants to run free. I can never fully take off though. It always seems like there's endless conflict in even the things that we create in our minds. Nothing. When did nothing, emptiness, void, black whole, disapear from being something, something to be. Where did the frontier go? As I grow a new skin I become even more uneasy with the one I have now, waiting for the day that things will be and seem as they are. There is no wind blowing the sail of my existance anywhere. I Drift, waiting to float ashore, where I can shed this skin and begin again.
For now I'll keep riding with Miracle, well in Miracle--can't really go anywhere without her--she'll cut the wind just as good as anyone, but better. In dead silence, she'll keep the snow from toching my face while I listen to nothing loudly, watching each melting flake. But for the most part, I'll be Alone, noticing all the colors of the night skys, all the lights shinning as bright lights shine, needing to be noticed, needing to exist.