Oct 2015
I was zipping up the over-stuffed suit case forcing the zippers from both sides to meet in the middle and it was apparent that it wouldn't go all the way but I kept tugging anyhow.
I realized I had packed for two people and that I didn't need to carry it all with me any longer.
I smiled as I reviewed the articles I removed from the luggage. How silly I was to think that I needed this or that.
And now the baggage is managable.
Love and consumerism are two sides of the same ever-flipping coin. A gamble that lasts for eternity. Always a 50/50 shot. Suspended in mid-air spilling no secrets as to which way your fate is spun. Just spinning and spinning and spinning. Just trying to fill the hole, but on the whole, it can't be done. You're fighting a war that can't be one. It's double or nothing, even once you've won. You let it ride, or you try to run, but either way it all adds up to the same sum. It lasts evermore until the day your life is done.
Some would say that only death would fill the hole to its fullest. That that's all we're chasing. And what better way to achieve it than to find someone to smother us peacefully in our sleep, or to be buried beneath a mound of useless artifacts? Those things that are in fact nothing but false idols. You pray that they help you remember the good times, and you throw them away in order to forget the bad ones. That's why people destroy the gifts given to them by previous partners. It's disorienting to look at them. You get intoxicated by the spinning. Always spinning. Watching the light catch the face of a dead man and shoot it back to your retina in the way that produces a phantom colored orb floating in place of the sun you just stared at, but then the man's face is slowly swallowed by shadow, and you can't help but let the nostalgia be eclipsed by all the **** that was fed to you that was too hard to swallow, so you follow up on your inclination to destroy and you open up the hole again, only to discover that it's a cavity that's been hollow this whole time because you filled it in a rush with meaningless junk. There was a pocket filled with stale air and dust that prevented you from being full.
Buy, sell, trade. Someone wants your old things. One man's trash is another man's treasure, and someone may just keep it forever. But, not you. You don't need it. You don't want it. You can't afford to feed it, but it's difficult to block it out from your thoughts and you keep thinking maybe it's the *** and you ought to stop, but you won't because it really hits the spot. The spot right between the two. It's love that you buy. It's love that you can consume. You feel as though you've earned it; that you deserve it. "Free love maaan", but nothin is free in America. And that mentality costs a lot. It's just as much selling out as it is buying in. You're drinking someone else's Kool-aid and they're exploiting your reactions. Human interaction is great for the sake of interaction but when you start to yearn for a deeper satisfaction it's probably best to mine it from within your self, not putting a person in a jar and raising them up to their spot on the designated shelf. Not buying a plastic hero forever encased in its wrapping to immortalize your ideals and your dreams.
I need a release. Set me free. Not love though. I'm a slave to my heart, always have been. I'm not speaking about any of those has-beens. I'm the one who's washed up, but now I'm finally getting clean. But is it the end to the means? Is it enough to force me to see what's been unseen from the other end of the shining sea? Catch and release. Catch and release. Do not exceed the daily limits. Don't hook yourself in the back of the head. And remember: Patience. We're all just fishing after all.
I realized I had packed for two people and that I didn't need to carry it all with me any longer.
I smiled as I reviewed the articles I removed from the luggage. How silly I was to think that I needed this or that.
And now the baggage is managable.
Love and consumerism are two sides of the same ever-flipping coin. A gamble that lasts for eternity. Always a 50/50 shot. Suspended in mid-air spilling no secrets as to which way your fate is spun. Just spinning and spinning and spinning. Just trying to fill the hole, but on the whole, it can't be done. You're fighting a war that can't be one. It's double or nothing, even once you've won. You let it ride, or you try to run, but either way it all adds up to the same sum. It lasts evermore until the day your life is done.
Some would say that only death would fill the hole to its fullest. That that's all we're chasing. And what better way to achieve it than to find someone to smother us peacefully in our sleep, or to be buried beneath a mound of useless artifacts? Those things that are in fact nothing but false idols. You pray that they help you remember the good times, and you throw them away in order to forget the bad ones. That's why people destroy the gifts given to them by previous partners. It's disorienting to look at them. You get intoxicated by the spinning. Always spinning. Watching the light catch the face of a dead man and shoot it back to your retina in the way that produces a phantom colored orb floating in place of the sun you just stared at, but then the man's face is slowly swallowed by shadow, and you can't help but let the nostalgia be eclipsed by all the **** that was fed to you that was too hard to swallow, so you follow up on your inclination to destroy and you open up the hole again, only to discover that it's a cavity that's been hollow this whole time because you filled it in a rush with meaningless junk. There was a pocket filled with stale air and dust that prevented you from being full.
Buy, sell, trade. Someone wants your old things. One man's trash is another man's treasure, and someone may just keep it forever. But, not you. You don't need it. You don't want it. You can't afford to feed it, but it's difficult to block it out from your thoughts and you keep thinking maybe it's the *** and you ought to stop, but you won't because it really hits the spot. The spot right between the two. It's love that you buy. It's love that you can consume. You feel as though you've earned it; that you deserve it. "Free love maaan", but nothin is free in America. And that mentality costs a lot. It's just as much selling out as it is buying in. You're drinking someone else's Kool-aid and they're exploiting your reactions. Human interaction is great for the sake of interaction but when you start to yearn for a deeper satisfaction it's probably best to mine it from within your self, not putting a person in a jar and raising them up to their spot on the designated shelf. Not buying a plastic hero forever encased in its wrapping to immortalize your ideals and your dreams.
I need a release. Set me free. Not love though. I'm a slave to my heart, always have been. I'm not speaking about any of those has-beens. I'm the one who's washed up, but now I'm finally getting clean. But is it the end to the means? Is it enough to force me to see what's been unseen from the other end of the shining sea? Catch and release. Catch and release. Do not exceed the daily limits. Don't hook yourself in the back of the head. And remember: Patience. We're all just fishing after all.
