New Demons
"There's so much I need to say to you,
So many reasons why;
You're the only one who really knew me at all" - Phil Collins
Some days were meant for solitude. The chill in the fall air, and the sparse precipitation issuing a fine misty spray from the powdery grey clouds. Once again I walk alone with the pilloried playground I call my mind. The world is a precarious little thing. A bug on the cosmic windshield. The whims of the people festering on this flying rock are of even less concern in the grand scheme of things. The fact that nothing really matters can be either a great solace or a grave consideration to the general populous.
Actually, the general populous is too busy watching "The Golden Girls" to weigh in on such meta-physical meandering. But tonight I sit with a frank stare across a dull blue-grey room. An operatic hum fills the room, arias reaching into the dense night sky. They do not move me. The most basic concept of a smile eludes me. My face is frozen and contorted into a melancholic frown. The truth surrounds me. Thoughts left half undone in my mind sit on the ballast as I try and steer this ship back to sea."We are all ships looking for a harbour"- Me, to Comrade Chicken Oct. 2004
How can I be so content, so happy, and yet so sad, all at the same time? What causes this caustic conflagration of comical calamity to incite such a multiplicity of emotion? Why do I have to feel all of it? Can I just not be swayed by one predominant set of reactions? Something to cloud my judgment and objectivity? Why can't I just be like everyone else I know? It is open to debate, but I seem to have lost my ability to be angry. In my effort to become more understanding, a curious side effect is the obliteration of anger. The path of logic leads to understanding. Knowledge feeds itself in a vigorous pursuit of discovery.
Back to square one.
Sometimes things make sense in the fog.
So many reasons why;
You're the only one who really knew me at all" - Phil Collins
Some days were meant for solitude. The chill in the fall air, and the sparse precipitation issuing a fine misty spray from the powdery grey clouds. Once again I walk alone with the pilloried playground I call my mind. The world is a precarious little thing. A bug on the cosmic windshield. The whims of the people festering on this flying rock are of even less concern in the grand scheme of things. The fact that nothing really matters can be either a great solace or a grave consideration to the general populous.
Actually, the general populous is too busy watching "The Golden Girls" to weigh in on such meta-physical meandering. But tonight I sit with a frank stare across a dull blue-grey room. An operatic hum fills the room, arias reaching into the dense night sky. They do not move me. The most basic concept of a smile eludes me. My face is frozen and contorted into a melancholic frown. The truth surrounds me. Thoughts left half undone in my mind sit on the ballast as I try and steer this ship back to sea."We are all ships looking for a harbour"- Me, to Comrade Chicken Oct. 2004
How can I be so content, so happy, and yet so sad, all at the same time? What causes this caustic conflagration of comical calamity to incite such a multiplicity of emotion? Why do I have to feel all of it? Can I just not be swayed by one predominant set of reactions? Something to cloud my judgment and objectivity? Why can't I just be like everyone else I know? It is open to debate, but I seem to have lost my ability to be angry. In my effort to become more understanding, a curious side effect is the obliteration of anger. The path of logic leads to understanding. Knowledge feeds itself in a vigorous pursuit of discovery.
Back to square one.
Sometimes things make sense in the fog.
7 Comments:
I don't think you realize how like everyone else you are.
By
Anonymous, At
2:41 PM
I love that last line, "sometimes things make sense in the fog." But I'm with Mouse on this one. I too find myself, on a daily basis, in a sea of mixed emotions. It's frustrating, strange, and somehow comforting that we can feel so many things at the same time. The juxtaposition of "sad" and "happy," realizing the similarities of the two. I think it's part of what makes us human.
By
Bex, At
5:53 PM
You obviously didn't see the very and introspective episode where we entered a song-writing competition for Miami and came in second.
It was deep. Very deep.
I might have to sick Rose and Blanche on your ass.
Love,
Dorothy
By
/hg, At
9:34 AM
If nothing really mattered, than nothing really would; and there would be no fear and nothing to understand; and then there would be no questions, and no art.
If it's a question of scale, the size of what concerns us, perspective is important. Draw yourself up to the size of a god to see where you're going, but travel the minutes of your days the size of an ant; the world is so much more mysterious, and grand.
Don't get lost on the sea of quddity, you have too many stars to guide you.
By
M. Spider, At
10:51 AM
There's truth, happiness, sadness, depth in the Golden Girls!
"Sophia: In Sicily, we never went to the doctor. We went to the Widow Scarpelli. Whatever you had, she had a cure for it. She was most famous for her green salve to cure earaches. One day, she gave some to Salvadore, the village idiot. He misunderstood the directions and put in on his pasta instead.
Dorothy: Well, I guess if you're an idiot with a hearing problem, you do things like that.
Sophia: Actually, it turned out ok. The stuff tasted great, so Salvadore decided to market it. At first, things didn't go so well. Ear Salve on Pasta wasn't very appetizing-but once he changed the name to pesto sauce, it sold like hot cakes!
Dorothy: Ma, you're making this up!
Sophia: So what? I'm old, I'm supposed to be colorful."
By
Unknown, At
11:42 AM
Thank you Eric. I owe you one giggling fit of laughter next time out.
By
Rye, At
6:58 PM
You are starting to find yourself and are reaching the right path.
By
Anonymous, At
6:03 AM
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