In the dazed confusion of our lives, in a world of contradictions and unreality, we constantly seek to affirm ourselves, to give meaning to the chaos, substance to the substanceless.
And in this pit of heaving magma, we find there is no ground beneath our feet.
We have to make the ground. We have to imagine it into being and give it fixity. And if we don't we are constantly swept by the tides.
We can try to share someone else's ground.
As I have.
I wake in the night,
my mother's voice at my ear,
a river of sighs.
Darkness, the oddest country,
ghosts more living that the dead.
But this won't work.
Not now.
...hot eyes, boiled eyes, melting eyes...at the bottom of my brandy glass, rolling down in rivulets on my windshield, staring at me from the mirror.
The eyes of a corpse.
My eyes.
Not ever.
Dependent wives become widows.
There is no certainty in another.
Nobody to save us from our private hell.
Because nobody can.
I'm drivin' a stolen car on a pitch-black night
And I'm tellin' myself I'm gonna be all right
But I ride by night and I travel in fear
That in this darkness, I will disappear...
No comments:
Post a Comment