Mar 01, 2005 01:38
At some point I gave up. I resigned to becoming normal, bland, uninteresting, flat. I stopped wishing, caring, trying, daring. I don't know when this happened, when I threw in the towel. Only there was no towel. Maybe my arm made the motion of throwing down this proverbial/imaginary/unseen towel after I let my hand fall after brushing my hair out from behind my ears. I probably looked down at this moment, then gradually raised my head, eyes slowly following, to a new world old to many who signed their resignation. I now have the eyes of the walking dead and share the same view of the opppressive, opaque landscape seen by the dead of times past and present. There is no variation in view for the dead. Only those alive see the details, make changes, participate, travel longitudes and latitudes. We, however, traverse an obscure landscape in which forward seems like the only way to go, or maybe is just the thoughtless direction followed.
Without thought, action, voice, feeling, is one alive? No, one is dead. Or may as well be.