Sometimes I just want to vanish, to leave everything and forget the world exists. It’s those times I detest what I do, how I do it, and for whom it’s being done. I find myself swirling well outside incarnations of self-pity or remorse and, rather, find myself staring in anger at my lack of control and my lack of self-determination.
Fuck it all. I’ll see you on the other side.
“What,” I ask, “must I do to open my arms freely in my liberation? Is there something beyond this mind-numbing routine of shit that rolls down my brain onto the chair now caressing my ass?” My current hellish and mundane task of sitting in a box and waiting for the clock to turn is too much to bear. I must be free.
I wonder if the horses I pass on the way to my self-imposed incarceration feel the same way. Do they hate the cage they’ve been placed in? Or have they surrendered to their plight of being kept from running free on mountain trails by the barbed wires of enslavement just hoping to be fed again?
Who the fuck knows? What matters is I detest the wire, detest the grass you feed me and hate the fact I need you for the water that keeps me living.
To Be Free
It’s time to disconnect. I need to vanish. It’s time I hop the fence.
I’ve had this thought before. Many times, in fact. It comes in the realization that I’ve done little of what I’ve dreamed. I’ve certainly built wealth for others, but what does a man whose dream it is to write until his fingers grow old do with such a dream? What can a person who can’t stop diving deep within himself do when he just wants to run free? Is there recompense for a man who feels so much pain around him that he can’t escape the pain he feels within him?
Likely no. Escape for those chosen ones remain elusive, even if the door has been left open. We have responsibilities far beyond our selves. There are people who depend on us and who see us for the examples we are. I will not leave them even as I pray for relief. My back is to the wall and my solitude will have to wait until I finally have had enough.
Then I will disconnect. I will vanish. I will destroy this cage.
Numbness
Thoughts that I hold deep within will fall out of me like a raging torrent without much interference. I will finish my novels and publish my essays without much more to do with my days save the things that keep me alive. Truly alive. I will kiss the face of moving streams and touch the dirt that gazes unforgivingly at the houses down below. Then I will write more and try to forget I did anything but create that magic.
I don’t wish to be numb to my fate while surrendering myself to destiny. It’s the numbness that leads me to this place of rage. It is in moments of comfort that I forget what really brings me joy. I can lay silently in the sun, forgetting about the words bouncing within my soul,and let all manner of creation disperse wastefully to the ether. I need discomfort and the numbness. Despite the allusion to the lack of feeling numbness brings, it hurts me to no small measure and drives me mad with boredom.
I need more than just existence and this numbness suggests an existence mundane in all it’s boringness. The numbness that drove me to near death is a curse I wish to exile into hell, and action is the means by which I do the exiling. When my hands grow numb all I need is movement to bring them back to life. I need to move, to create and to bind myself to the winged creatures I envy.
For now, I will seethe in my discomfort and bide my time to liberation. I will crouch low in the tall grass like a lion stalking his prey and when the time is right I will spring forth to end this hunger. The growls will come and will serve as a reminder of what needs to be done. You cannot feed your soul on dreams, and you cannot end the numbness by remaining in the position that made you numb. Complacency feeds nothing. It’s time to move.
