Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Caught Prose piece - Something I wrote in the late 1990's
Threads of life pull at my veins, yet I manage to smile. Is it happiness? Do I ride the wave of life in its caressing flows, or do I crash at a reef beyond the tide, that extends for eternity? As I am victimized by my uncontrollable sucking of air, I find myself asking, why? Why do all these questions of life attack my mind with a spiteful smile? Why can't I watch a football game, talk of memories, or drink a beer without asking, "where is it all leading to and why?" I found that "why" is the most difficult question to answer, not, is there a God, or for that matter, where does the universe end? No, just one question, "why". Am I an idiot for asking "why", rather than calculating a mathematical problem to its infinite square? As the world spins and ellipses around the sun, three-hundred and sixty five times in one year, while the naughty moon hovers exposed, naked before us, I ask "why"? As I ask, I find that I am spinning rapidly, dizzying with every rotation, space warping a world in three dimensions while energy tears through us, vibrating erratically, spread between us, before us, I am caught. Caught in a web of technology, where I am taught how to drink, dress, shit, and tie my shoes. I'm tired.