this morning i woke up on the wrong side of bed and didn’t get out of it until my body had already left the house.
“This is a difficult time for us. Your reception to things is going to get a little odd. “
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll find out.”
i hardly blinked on the tube today because my head was so full of thoughts. i only knew this when a tear welled and fell from my eye. i didn’t even even feel it sting at first. isn’t that just the way it always goes though? i’m doing weird things again, like pretending i’m drunk when i’m not because it absolves me of responsibility – no one expects anything of you. no one asks what’s wrong, or asks questions you don’t want to answer and then storms off declaring with a look that you’re being difficult. no one gives you that insufferable face of tireless sympathy because they want to help. it’s much better being stupid. infinitely so. the bruises come before the blow. i looked at your face this morning and it occurred to me how much you look like the person i used to know. and then i thought about the conversation i had with another sort of you, the one where, yet again, i got kicked around the room with the best of intentions – stabbed with a smile and punched with a hug. the broken tart with a broken heart slipped through the earth and i barely noticed, until i found myself reaching out for him – clutching hold of him, half conscious of what was happening. as for the flesh that sprouted through the earth in the first place, i couldn’t care less. i have no history here. they are all dreams made real. why do dreams hurt? why are the most savage weapons intangible? mirrors and cycles, and the spinning apes who stare into themselves, the nature of what it is to be human. I am sick of it. I am become flesh. what is there in this dizzying spinning ball of neuroses and self-obsession, clinging to the nearest ball of light in an endless place of darkness and cold? what is there here that is real?
