ghosts & admissons

I feel brutal. So uninspired.

I walk around and take compliments, I feel joyful and artistic. I take short cuts and feel resourceful. A romantic swagger as I stroll through back alleys of my new neighborhood. My hands stuffed in my pockets, my head bobbing with my signature strut as I move from car port to privacy fence. I feel graceful as I traverse dark corners and interrupt swirling leaves. My eyes pass over graffiti and I’m in wonder or in love. I pass a church early Sunday morning and I hear 100 voices singing and it reminds me of my mother. I shuffle my feet and negotiate a network of street car tracks. I chew the beard beneath my bottom lip and look up through my eye lashes at my reflection in store fronts. I have a million ideas; I’m unaware of space or time. This could be anywhere, this could be history and my blurred vision could be from inadequate optometry, or this could be the future and abnormality could be the new standard. Maybe in the future this is how people look, slightly out of focus. I encounter people and don’t know if they’re my demons haunting me, or guardian angels granting me safe passage. If feel mysterious and suspicious, but can’t really judge someone when you’re not sure of what your doing yourself, so I continue on. I have blog posts amassing in my head to get me through til January, it makes me feel poetic, or pathetic, that this is now how I think. I’m due for something funny, or gripping and compassionate. I return home to sit in front of my computer and can’t find the words. I’d gladly give up speaking if it meant that I could just tell you about this morning.

posted by El Chupacabra @ 3:49 PM