punktured's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Again I remember now. So much for "if you have nothing, make something to look forward to". It's like trying to pull some long forgotten trick out of a bag and not being too sure if you can even pull it off anymore. Even if I try to flash other things across my mind to focus on anything but that rising resentment, it's not enough to put it away. It's that deep seated feeling rooted in me. A picture, a sentence, a name. It's enough fuel injected into me to burn it all to the ground. Even if it takes me with it. I've reached all my dead ends. I can't cut through it, I can't scream through it. What do I have on hand? Liquid courage. It doesn't take a drop to numb it. For some reason, it only seems to sharpen all this hate. I don't pretend it's not there. It always is and will be for as long as we are. And that's the part that seems like infinity. They say that we are afraid of the unknown, or incapable of understanding. That's what it feels like. We can't understand how something always was and always will be. When it comes to this, it's that uncertainty that's the only other reality. What would it be like? Life after - Every day, waking up to the thorn on my side that reminds me of the questions, What will happen, what else will go wrong? These aren't questions, but a proposition. There's nothing I can do but find out. And when it happens, it's like deluvian rains all coming down at me at the same time. All the niceties and affection and patience gets washed away to some primal rage. And if I can't scream it all out, its remnants stay with me to be carried in my heart. I don't want to communicate if you are going to compromise your word. And all I promised is subject to whimsy? If you think about anything long enough, you can think of reasons to justify it. That is the antimatter of my time invested. I can't pinpoint what's anchoring me. It's like watching my own dream being deconstructed in front of me. With each piece being torn away from me, it's laid on top of another to make me less and them more real. Look who has all the time in the world all of a sudden to search through the past. Look who has time now to rub two brain cells for some witty remark. 10:41 p.m. - Tuesday, Jul. 28, 2009 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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