Do you remember Imperfection? How it touched them so? (...this heavy handed metaphor)
I'd love to see it but it's something you just feel
There was something about her eyes that spelled out "asphyxiation." It wasn't there all of the time; usually you could only see cheer or enthusiasm, but if she tilted her head just right, that murderous soul would sneak through, and it would meet my eyes like a devil extending his hand to shake. I'm not sure why I agreed, maybe it was something she said (I'll be there, someday, or maybe you'll be alright), but it's been a long time since I've seen an angel, and I don't think she has as much of a hold anymore.
When you feel the darkness shining through
As I drove home from the theatre today, I scanned NW 23rd, and then later, Burnside. Where was she? Where was that winged beauty portending the coming dawn? My fingers tapped on the steering wheel as I looked for her on the sidewalks, sought her in the faces of humanity, finding only stoic strangers, dreary-eyed women and sleeping men. Failure.
Not finding her outside, I delved into the depths of my own mind, desperate. Swimming through memories and floating past thoughts. I couldn't tell one from the other anymore, but I came upon a sunken ship. Diving into the wreck, I saw a warm glow coming from the captain's cabin. What was it that hid itself this far down in the depths of my head? What secrets was my self keeping from me?
Failure. It was not an angel. He had only begun to come into focus when I began to scream in fury and fear. This was not a conversation. This was an assault. These were not words tinted with bitter laughs, hinting at self-deprecation. No, these were spears, hurled with unimaginable anger, piercing the heart of my self and him. They flew out of my mouth like the tar that ejected itself from the deep recesses of Grandma's lungs, five years after she had quit smoking.
I don't know if you've been witness to a smoker coughing up that sort of tar, the kind that has been hibernating in their lungs for 10 or so years, but it is unstoppable. The pressure builds up inside their lungs until it explodes outwards in staccato spasms. And it will not stop until there is nothing left.
Silence. My throat is hoarse and jagged, my ears are raw, and my knuckles are bleeding. As I look into the rearview mirror, there is something there that wasn't before, something only in my eyes. A small candle, perhaps, or maybe a lighter, flickering in an unfelt wind. I take a deep breath, and the smoke burns my lungs. I've stopped looking for her. But, I've stopped looking for him, too.
A friend once told me that inside our own minds, we all have a tiny little man inside our heads, and all of his words are knives. I can feel him there, itching to sink his claws deep into my brainpan, but every time I take a breath, the smoke keeps him at bay. Failure. I can't help but imagine for him, that life he'll never have, those ideas he'll never create. I've found the healthiest, most satisfying thought to think; one that comes in every breath, and lingers with every exhale. I am not him, I am not her. I am angry, and I am glad. Success.
There was something about her eyes that spelled out "asphyxiation." It wasn't there all of the time; usually you could only see cheer or enthusiasm, but if she tilted her head just right, that murderous soul would sneak through, and it would meet my eyes like a devil extending his hand to shake. I'm not sure why I agreed, maybe it was something she said (I'll be there, someday, or maybe you'll be alright), but it's been a long time since I've seen an angel, and I don't think she has as much of a hold anymore.
When you feel the darkness shining through
As I drove home from the theatre today, I scanned NW 23rd, and then later, Burnside. Where was she? Where was that winged beauty portending the coming dawn? My fingers tapped on the steering wheel as I looked for her on the sidewalks, sought her in the faces of humanity, finding only stoic strangers, dreary-eyed women and sleeping men. Failure.
Not finding her outside, I delved into the depths of my own mind, desperate. Swimming through memories and floating past thoughts. I couldn't tell one from the other anymore, but I came upon a sunken ship. Diving into the wreck, I saw a warm glow coming from the captain's cabin. What was it that hid itself this far down in the depths of my head? What secrets was my self keeping from me?
Failure. It was not an angel. He had only begun to come into focus when I began to scream in fury and fear. This was not a conversation. This was an assault. These were not words tinted with bitter laughs, hinting at self-deprecation. No, these were spears, hurled with unimaginable anger, piercing the heart of my self and him. They flew out of my mouth like the tar that ejected itself from the deep recesses of Grandma's lungs, five years after she had quit smoking.
I don't know if you've been witness to a smoker coughing up that sort of tar, the kind that has been hibernating in their lungs for 10 or so years, but it is unstoppable. The pressure builds up inside their lungs until it explodes outwards in staccato spasms. And it will not stop until there is nothing left.
Silence. My throat is hoarse and jagged, my ears are raw, and my knuckles are bleeding. As I look into the rearview mirror, there is something there that wasn't before, something only in my eyes. A small candle, perhaps, or maybe a lighter, flickering in an unfelt wind. I take a deep breath, and the smoke burns my lungs. I've stopped looking for her. But, I've stopped looking for him, too.
A friend once told me that inside our own minds, we all have a tiny little man inside our heads, and all of his words are knives. I can feel him there, itching to sink his claws deep into my brainpan, but every time I take a breath, the smoke keeps him at bay. Failure. I can't help but imagine for him, that life he'll never have, those ideas he'll never create. I've found the healthiest, most satisfying thought to think; one that comes in every breath, and lingers with every exhale. I am not him, I am not her. I am angry, and I am glad. Success.