And another day goes by.
It's been around 6 months since the last time I saw her, before she left and moved to Europe. I get better sleep these days, as I don't have to wake up from dreams of perfectly blissful still-life yesterdays into the cold blue reality of "life without her." That's the worst, when your subconscious mind is working against your every waking effort to change the subject. The edge has eroded away and it's starting to feel like simply "life" again. And I'm relieved and saddened at the same time once again. Ron Livingstone said it best in Swingers
"Everyday you wake up the pain is a little less. Then one day you wake up and the pain is gone. But its like you almost miss that pain."
"You miss the pain?"
"Yea, for the same reason you miss her, because, you know, you lived with it for so long."
You do miss the pain. But it's like having a cast on your arm to heal a broken bone; once it's healed, you have to scrap that plaster-- nevermind the autographs-- and stick your pasty, atrophied wing back out into the sun and the elements. The fight is what saves you. You could rot away inside your protective plaster shield, and you'd be safe from the outside threats, only to learn the inner walls are more overpowering than anything outside them. If you want to live again, you've got to fling yourself back out into the dirt and drag yourself back onto your feet and get running again.
The world doesn't stop for anyone, it doesn't even slow down to piss on them, and that is why it is beautiful. It is a savage experience designed to drag you along for the ride and ruthlessly bombard you with all manner of sensation. Expect no mercy; then if you experience some, it will be that much more meaningful. The struggle IS the victory, the journey is the reward.
The wind was cold and fierce today and it bit into my cheeks, the grass is muddy and yellow, the night sky is unflinchingly clear, the money is dirty and fleeting, I'm running barefoot and alone on this trail with hellhounds closing in behind me and I love every bit of it because it means they haven't killed me yet.
Even though I am sure that I will be back there in that hole again someday.
Mary: My father often told me that only those with weak and cowardly natures abandon themselves to sorrow. Suffering is a vanity.
Byron: To that, I have no reply, having always been a vain man.
Mary: Poets have a right to vanity and pride; they steal the power of creation from the gods. They remake the world with words and in the image of their dreams. The rest of us must then live in it. (Morrison, Invisibles 7:20)
It's been around 6 months since the last time I saw her, before she left and moved to Europe. I get better sleep these days, as I don't have to wake up from dreams of perfectly blissful still-life yesterdays into the cold blue reality of "life without her." That's the worst, when your subconscious mind is working against your every waking effort to change the subject. The edge has eroded away and it's starting to feel like simply "life" again. And I'm relieved and saddened at the same time once again. Ron Livingstone said it best in Swingers
"Everyday you wake up the pain is a little less. Then one day you wake up and the pain is gone. But its like you almost miss that pain."
"You miss the pain?"
"Yea, for the same reason you miss her, because, you know, you lived with it for so long."
You do miss the pain. But it's like having a cast on your arm to heal a broken bone; once it's healed, you have to scrap that plaster-- nevermind the autographs-- and stick your pasty, atrophied wing back out into the sun and the elements. The fight is what saves you. You could rot away inside your protective plaster shield, and you'd be safe from the outside threats, only to learn the inner walls are more overpowering than anything outside them. If you want to live again, you've got to fling yourself back out into the dirt and drag yourself back onto your feet and get running again.
The world doesn't stop for anyone, it doesn't even slow down to piss on them, and that is why it is beautiful. It is a savage experience designed to drag you along for the ride and ruthlessly bombard you with all manner of sensation. Expect no mercy; then if you experience some, it will be that much more meaningful. The struggle IS the victory, the journey is the reward.
The wind was cold and fierce today and it bit into my cheeks, the grass is muddy and yellow, the night sky is unflinchingly clear, the money is dirty and fleeting, I'm running barefoot and alone on this trail with hellhounds closing in behind me and I love every bit of it because it means they haven't killed me yet.
Even though I am sure that I will be back there in that hole again someday.
Mary: My father often told me that only those with weak and cowardly natures abandon themselves to sorrow. Suffering is a vanity.
Byron: To that, I have no reply, having always been a vain man.
Mary: Poets have a right to vanity and pride; they steal the power of creation from the gods. They remake the world with words and in the image of their dreams. The rest of us must then live in it. (Morrison, Invisibles 7:20)
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