Growing wings.

May 28, 2013 § 2 Comments


English: Restless Flycatcher (Myiagra inquieta...

English: Restless Flycatcher (Myiagra inquieta), commonly known as the “Scissor Grinder” due to the unique rasping call the bird makes whilst hovering. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“Freedom isn’t free; neither is apathy.” – Desaparecidos – Anonymous 

It’s warm and it’s numb and it’s settling. It’s unpleasant and restless and insecure. It’s twisting and whirling and falling while it drags it’s fingers down that old backboard at the back of the crowded room. It’s how we wake up. It’s how we go to sleep. It’s every second in middle. It’s our lives. It burns. It stings. We find ourselves scribbling escape plans on scraps of paper, stolen cars, jumped boarders. Try as I have my whole life, I am yet to grow wings. Yet to take off. Yet to achieve my true and full potential. Yet to do so much.

We are many. We are dead end jobs. We are the tired in the day and the restless at night. We are the wasted potential. We are the graduates propping up minimum wage. We are that scene in Fight Club. We bite our tongues and we wonder how our bosses take pride in their jobs. We drink like writers. They screw like bankers, it’s all practical and passionless. They go to sleep on time. They are happy in there little worlds. It doesn’t get on top of them. It’s just goes by. School, job, wife, baby, grandchildren, death. That’s it for them. But they get happy. They get happy the whole time. Maybe it’s naive to think their happy all the time. Maybe I’m just lost again. I think that’s it.

She rattles off retro rick like she’s Robin Hood. She spits and spreads here stance. Wide. Powerful. But I can see in her eyes she’s desperate. Desperate like me. Desperate to find home. Desperate to find happy. Desperate to find it all at once. That cocktail of youth, adventure lust and crazy. Sat up on ice. Telling everyone exactly what she wants to be true. Spitting it out like she’s trying to shout it down. She’s read the books, the Hemmingway, the Thompson.On the Road peeks out from here jeans pocket. She won’t finish. I wonder how the next few years will treat me. I trail off and I think of something else. When you start to think like this it starts to be all loose ends. You struggle to find how to tie it all together. You loose that. It just sort of becomes ticker tape madness for a bit. I guess that’s just life. I’m not really sure. Hell, I’m never sure of anything. What do I know? Do you even know why you’re here? Right here? This page? Why? It’s not that I’m not grateful, it’s not that I don’t enjoy your company (because without it this would be 100% madness, instead of just 98%) . Why?

 

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