Saturday, January 28, 2006

Sprained thoughts in the clavicle of a Saturday Night

The future is stretched out in front of me like a guitarist's long-fingered hand. I began at the wrist, years ago, an image of myself shorter and hairless, wondering about the abyssmal future coming into shaded perspective, like blinking quickly at passersby on a speeding metro. I could barely see it, these fractured slides in an ADD slideshow. These fingers, so very long, are like a perilously damaged bridge. When do you decide to cross it?

I have chosen a certain finger, that is for sure. I must cross over the first knuckle, the folds of which pretending to be more than just simple speed bumps in that lost parking lot where I learned to drive. The overused cliche of "finding oneself" in Prague is all too true.

The formula for this is easier that you might think: displacement + confusion + encounters with fresh bodies + drastic weather + dramatic weight loss= Staring Down at The Time-Fingers of an Unknown But Suspiciously Familiar Hand.

A question, then: Do you elect to change the path or do you allow it to carry you to uncertain futures? The Tao would recommend both, and neither. The blessing of this philosophy carries with it a short torch. It will provide you light just long enough to burn you severely. My armour is not quite what is used to be, but I'm thankful that I don't really need it.

Who are these randoms appearing in this city stuffed with history and pain and hunger? I've met too many people from Phoenix, Arizona.

I long to be friends with myself again. Would this be self-reciprocation? Or self-deprication?

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