life had replaced logic
every hour spent alone in my home is a step toward maddening confusion. it starts with a page and a pen and a reasonable glass of wine to sip on. it starts with a quick question about the obligation of existence or the impossibility of absolute understanding. another glass is poured, and with it flows a stream of doubt in my abilities and regrets about how time has been spent so far. i begin to despise successful people and the fact that i’ll never win in their system. i think about what they do win and whether or not they sit and wonder like this about what is right or wrong and whether we have a say in it.
soon the cork is nowhere to be found and the glass unnecessary because there is no purpose and nothing to work towards. i realize that my efforts are futile and crawl into bed, only to lay there staring at nothing all night. i get up and walk around the neighborhood and sneer at the homeowners for their disregard for the pointless trap of being and the lack of answers in a universe that constantly threatens to crush us. i panic with all the city noise, even in the dead of night, and i run home through the park and find no resolve in my lonely room. at work in the morning i’m anxious and unresponsive, looking for a way out.
and then, on another day, i’ll return home from an unplanned bike ride through thick fog, godspeed you black emperor in my memory’s ears. or from a night of making music with friends and giving hugs and handshakes to people who i’ve happened into situations of joy and pain and lightness with. or from driving up the coast to pick someone up who ran out of gas and forgetting about an email i was supposed to send. i come home and i put all the dishes away and then settle into my bed and fall fast asleep, unsure and unconcerned with what the morning will bring, or whether it will come at all.