Pal Non (neohippie23) wrote,
Pal Non
neohippie23

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A summation of sorts

An episode like this, the world spinning beneath feet, no progress, and me, fighting vainly against it. Sure, I can beat it. so many miles per hour. me hanging on in bursts of energy thought long failed. but beating. heart beat perpetual. this is where you are where everyone has been. My dad might have cancer. two days to see. Maybe my panic is for nothing. maybe for something that will just go right. once. again. save me from being an adult. not that i'm not, just if it happens, if it happens, everyone knows. it might it might. but that's too much. there is no might. it won't. period if you can't see the punctuation. that's not how it goes. not for me. dented sure, sure i'll say that much. this is too much though. it won't happen. it's almost summer. renewal, revival.
there are other problems too. paled. false. in perspective now. still there. months, literal months of silence, and now this. piece of shit. broken down fuck machine. stupid goddamn fleshy robot. failing. this happens. it was supposed to be expected. slow smiles. jokes! jokes about fucking death! impossible. not right. not coherent. not much of anything. i'll just wait. it'll be alright. ya know. sometimes things are just, ya know, alright.
then there's that and this and everything else. it's fine. i only needed ten minutes. then it was back on the floor. back to the cow-eyed masses. looking for salvation in the clearance aisle. marked down nonsense no one will buy, not for 50 cents. but they'll look sure. what a deal. no problem, but we don't need it. who does?
and others going. going. it's good, everyone happy. isn't everyone happy? they should be. find a reason to be unhappy, and i'll show you a reason you gave too much creedance to (until it happens to me). and no matter what is said i chuckle, nod, wink, stare. an older lady at walgreen's looks at me, bloodshot eyes (mine). "It's alright. Life is good, not for us, but life is good" How can i fight a grin, so natural. I've been living my life in jokes, quips, sarcasm, i can relate. but i didn't laugh. I didn't think of a joke. I didn't even come up with a spur-of-the-moment eulogy, something i always expected of myself. it was just powerless, unwieldy. I was left to corners, avoiding eyes. deciding i was irrational. worked. worked all day. knowing knowing something wasn't right. knowing there was a possibility that, if all goes wrong then...
And what do i do with all that? i write. I drink, then i write. i drink and drink and drink, then write. as if it will be better. as if an aesthetic i find lost in the rabble, in my disjointed sentences will tell me something. true, solid, an actual thing instead of a something. it's there, maybe. the thing that will make me okay. hidden in code. morse code spacing. something. if i look hard enough. bust up every syllable the truth will be standing cold and afraid.
you can't imagine the nonsense on the rack pulling all sides. then again maybe you can, maybe you have, maybe this is all just melodramatic. i am afraid every disposition i assume at any given moment is inadequate somehow. i am missing something basic and human. but i might be OK. there's a chance. no matter what happens there is a chance i will be OK. that is as far as my hopes will allow me to go. all the way to maybe.
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