Underdogs and Tidal Waves

Southside of Mellow
2009-11-17 05:02:28 (UTC)

Since K Got Over Me

There are days such as these where the cold strikes your
face and you don't even register it as you peacefully wait
for the cars to pass on the corner and your gaze gets lost
somewhere in the trail of the streetlights caught at the
blue-colored dusk.
It's in these days that you are feeling more than a base
need for things, but a sense of wonder for the world around
you.
It's as if you've been treading back and forth, starring
straight forth into the universe, gazing directly into the
heart of a star, and days later, you feel displaced.
Your view of the world around you has changed.
Simple vulgar questions wrenches you away from this lens,
back into the crude language of reality. And you feel alone.
There isn't a soul you can divulge this all to, in fear of
being judged for your decadence, your selfishness.
You know you should be more stoic because you're not as
steel anymore. I wish I had more days to hide and forget.
Hide some secrets in notes tangled across the blue faded
lines of a notebook. Somewhere to transpose it against the
strings. Excise it through melody and song. Those simple,
crude questions make you feel disgusting and ashamed. The
idea of transparency scares you. You wish you could be
machine-like. So clinical and mechanical that you could
snuff out emotion and all sorts of human weakness that
muddles human relationships. The one clear, third-party that
I could express this to would dismiss my countenance as
excessive and dissolute. And days afterwards, I wish I could
express my thoughts to a friend, a trusted individual, but
find those around me either too involved in my life or too
set in their own moral codes to listen without judging. I
feel set apart. My best friend leaves in a week, shuttling
home, and then to the opposite corner of the world. He will
be trapped in a time continuum, and when he returns the
world will not have changed. I will still be frequenting the
same bars, on the verge of finding a new place to rest my
head. I almost want to ask “take me with you”. To be thrust
into a foreign land with a lax grasp of reality and
unsettled emotions soon forgotten with the tides. Watching
midnight ships sail by, as I tap my fingers against
cellophane, watching red paper sails, as the diners graze
their glasses of wine with gleaming forks they prize into
their seafood as a perfume of garlic mist drifts along the
balmy air into my apartment window. I wonder if he will see
such scenes as these, as I stumble through the snow.
A sudden departure without a saying a word would settle my
soul. A foreign land with strange geometry to diffuse my
hopelessness. Cut-up telephone calls, living side-by-side
with the person I’ve known for the last 7 years of my young
adult life. Emotion is as easy to fake as hard as it is to
conceal. Your affection lit like kerosene. Euphoria
proliferates through every ounce of your bloodstream. Your
mistaken moment of intimacy sounds so eloquent when you roll
back the tapes. It makes you ashamed to sound so happy. You
wish you were a machine. This desolation seems... People
pass by on the streets and stop you to remark. You know
these things. You hear these words even from the lips you
had waited for to speak of such things, but it’s the
disbelief of others, the penchant to snuff out the validity
of your accounts that make you feel ashamed to even think.
You wish it were a calling card. I guess you’ll never know.
You’ll convince yourself it’s about the girl in the
countryside. Your uncertainty bites at you. It’s the lack of
settling in this particular area, the feeling of wanderlust,
of never being content to stay still that keeps you awake at
night that keeps you in such a perplexed temperament. If I
stand uncorrected, I wish I could recite it in perfect
clarity.


“All my senses sharp, my hands are fists
I'm pretty tired of making lists
It's just this emptiness
I can't chase it away”




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