Rise Up Pain

Morning time arrives, but not yet the sun, its common sense used to stay asleep a few precious minutes more than it’s human counterpart. As for him, he toggles on the computer’s power button. It now controls his being, zombie-like, graying-glow and stupefied. Best described as love-hate, his Facebook news feed beckons and he answers, knowing he’ll find his anger and disappointment tracking amid the scrolling and flashing, the blinking cursor and the bitter words of a world still mad at itself as it has been forever. Watch the cursor pulse and be mesmerized, lulled into disappearing into wasted time.

It’s fatigue, the illness complaining, but that truck! Must it run for half-an-hour every morning before hand? No! It isn’t a diesel. It’s simply loud and annoying. They have no idea as it sits idling so damned loudly that it cannot help vibrate the windows in our home. Often I daydream, a potato shoved up the tail pipe; fixed. But then I cannot control the outcome after discovery And where that would lead, nowhere good I suppose. So I deal with it in silent rage each morning as I sit, facing reality that it’s not worth the trouble of complaint.

Somehow I misplaced them, those years of youth. That time period between my teens and my thirties. They disappeared, never to return, to be enjoyed. Maybe this isn’t true, maybe it is but a feeling to have. Not even music allows for the chance to relive them. Only glimpses, a flash here, there, but nothing real. I find that I am decaying, falling ingloriously apart. There ain’t a goddamned thing I can do about it. Alchemists spend life times searching for changes, clay to gold, gold to silver, silver to dirty then dust, without understanding, we are that nightmare’s end.

Default, it’s a place my soul secretly and openly resides, yet no one notices as we’ve been trained from childhood to ignore that we find noticeably different from ourselves. Not me though, my blinder’s lost many years ago, I see those paths not taken, stepping-stones that willfully trip, the tender stream to ford, turned torrent in a shadow’s flicker. Stick in hand, I continue digging the dust of an open field building my personal trench, one stab, one poke at a time. You’d think I’d know better by now, perhaps I do know, but habits, obsessive, compulsive, drive this system.

Try not to figure all these words out, they are only fleeting, moments in a time that is passing before our very eyes. Yes, you can see it happening in the relationships of being, like social media, a platform leading to anti-social behavior. Likewise, passive aggressive actions. In reality, neither are. Words, they have definitions, but their meanings now obscured, tucked away in cute misstated phrases and paragraphs. So do not try to add meaning where you find none. Simply know that what you read today meant something totally different yesterday and they’ll mean nothing hundreds of years from now.

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