Existence is what I am afraid of.
I can understand why people such as Donna drink all the time. Politics and bureaucracy make me feel dirty and conflicted. I'd rather not think about it or deal with it. I'd rather drink myself into nostalgia. Drown myself in the company of native speakers so I can try and taste the fleeting memories of a once glorious time. Existence is what I am afraid of. I dread the present because I have to face the future with the past as a burden to bear. Instead, I'd rather float across spatial constraints and be back in Da Lat or the Mekong River.
Here I feel overwhelmed. So many people yet so much loneliness. A rush to drown ourselves in preserved and everlasting anguish. Flooded with false hopes, transcendent realities, and untouchables. What does it mean to own something? To touch something?
I don't know what it means to be real. What do I have? I can't tell. It seems that real cannot possibly exist. Cardboard scenery. Yellow. Salty. Stings my eyes and nostrils.
My mood? Inanimate transcience. Existence neither negated or affirmed.
I can't seem to escape, wrapped up in chaos neither here nor there.
Here I feel overwhelmed. So many people yet so much loneliness. A rush to drown ourselves in preserved and everlasting anguish. Flooded with false hopes, transcendent realities, and untouchables. What does it mean to own something? To touch something?
I don't know what it means to be real. What do I have? I can't tell. It seems that real cannot possibly exist. Cardboard scenery. Yellow. Salty. Stings my eyes and nostrils.
My mood? Inanimate transcience. Existence neither negated or affirmed.
I can't seem to escape, wrapped up in chaos neither here nor there.