Thursday, November 25, 2010

Part 1

I'm wide awake to the glistening moment. We're given two spoonfuls of medicine. One is blue and contains all the cold solitude in the lovely world. The other is gold and guarantees you pain and connection to existence. So you nibble on the blue and then wish it well, seduced and perfected by it's silence, but already bored to death by it's vacancy. Next comes something for which you had no preperation, your impulses blaring from the massive gulp of gold. You're now inside the rushing train. And the bodies pack against one another like Tokyo rush hour or Indian panic. And your body is contorted by the crowds until it's not your own. But you recognize yourself somewhere else serene, even as you're experiencing the press of madness and the deluges of terror. Body to body. Wall to wall. Nose pressed to window until it bleeds red. The tears slide down the glass and thin the color. The sun is burning warmly on your panicked face and the landscape outside is enough to give some sliver of hope. All is not lost. All is not lost in this pain. All is not lost in this guttural agony and interrupted living.