scanning the floor for leftover appendages.
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| Spooky Stole My Noodle scanning the floor for leftover appendages. |
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Wednesday, October 26, 2005 This is going to be difficult. Some things may have to change, while you're sitting there warming up your fingers against the heat dissipating unit. I keep drifting across the center line, except that here, where I am, the center line does mean the same thing as there, where your metaphor lies. In fact there are more than two sides of this center line, it's not in the two dimensions you imagined, unless you sat without imagining waiting for me to finish my thought. Have I finished my thought? There are spheres of occupation that draw me in, held together with something like gravity. I've thought I was holding a lot of these balls in the air and was getting proud of the fact until I realized I was just rolling them on a flat surface. When the center of mass shifts everything tumbles every which way and I look like the biggest fool in the world even trying to catch any of them. Drift back across the center line. I'm not even sure I was ever actually covering my tracks. Of course I played at it, but there was nothing testing that anything was actually working, and those habits became second nature until now I've no idea if I were ever doing anything in any way that could even remotely accomplish what I was trying to accomplish. What was I trying to accomplish? It's hard to say. It's hard to say whether or not I'm still trying to accomplish it. The way things change, always like a car accident. It's all in slow motion, from the moment you see the inevitibility of the collision to the moment you realize you're at least still breathing and you start trying to make sure you've still got all your fingers. Life is a violent collision where time stops making sense. From within your frame of reference it's impossible to tell that some of these things that you think are sitting right there with you are actually careening off in some other direction, and while you're waving you're trying to lift your arms against the forces pinning them to the seat you don't even see what direction they've shot off in. You're left with a cell phone wedged beneath the brake pedal and your glasses on the other side of the dashboard, you can't see anything clearly and nobody's where you could've sworn they were before all this happened. Did I hit a tree? You wake up one day and someone you used to think you used to know is hurtling through your windshield and landing all bloodied somewhere outside your car. Who the fuck IS that? Some things will have to change. Somehow I'll have to stop trying to figure out if anyone's going to see my face when I drop the mask so I can see where the hell I'm going. posted by Kingo Sleemer | 11:35 PM
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