Fate

i was digging for inspiration, looking for something to push me forward and make me spit out some more words.

in my digging, i opened up an old file on my computer and found some fragments and musings that i figured would be interesting to share. here is the first:

...the trick then isn't to remain changeless and rigid, to let the things around you change with your awareness but without your reaction. let us also not confuse this amateurish stoicism for the ignorance of denial, for one is a pity and one is a plague. the idea would be to apply some temperance to the fate of man, for fate alone moves without conscience; but, the fate of man, That imbues itself with a sense of his own unknown capability and thust isn't without some humanity; it cannot be stopped, but it can be moved.

more to come...

Dull and Boring

it may be that a constant shroud of grey dew and mist has parked itself conveniently above our island. or, it could be that the windows from which i must always peer are in a constant state of never-clean; limescale, grit, and other unknown sludge compounds -- whose origins are from the city's maw and the foul rear-ends of its cars no doubt -- tirelessly fling themselves at even the faintest hint of clarity.

it might have only just struck me last night, as i rode the clickety clacking subway car home from a long sunday's worth of work. and, there, across from me and about 20 paces to my right stood a man, sucking and puckering and feeling for the memory of his teeth with his chapped lips and sallow cheeks. cheekbones like isosceles triangles and wide-set, pinhole eyes that glinted in the sterile lamplight. he was talking. above the din and growl of the six train he shouted in lisps and light whistles at his reflection in the dark glass. it was murky, like the rest of the bespeckled panels throughout our town.

at least he could see what he was shouting at, despite its distortion.

around me there seems to be a general 'dull and boring' permeating my surroundings, with only low points as accents to the otherwise sloth-like monotony. each one trying to creep lower than the previous--toothless men plagued by dementia, blind beggers, disfigured families...

and i just keep wandering through it. so do most of us, i think. it comes out best in the mornings, when the zombies march to their train stations and sit or stand in silence, complacently -- vacantly -- staring. i always wonder if they're looking for something, even a murky reflection.

i'm looking for something, just can't figure out what it is. and, while i keep looking, i keep wandering. and the filth and the mire and the sludge keeps piling up. i get the feeling that if i wait too long i'll find myself in quicksand.

maybe i'll just go eat some thai food. that usually makes things better.