I’m sitting here, in a dinky little suburban coffee shop, sipping a latte, and doing something instrumental, in regards to my own understanding of ‘life’ itself; something which I have not been all to great at undertaking as of late…
…contemplating the living shit, out of everything in the world around me.
Why do I do it? I sheepishly ask myself, before a ghastly, annoying little voice inside of my aching brain responds with a simplistic…’because you’re fuckin’ nuts man.’; after which, yet another side of me bellows out from the depths of my soul, ‘Stop contemplating why you contemplate so much…life is beautiful, incredible, and undeniably infinitely intriguing, at least when one knows where to look’. I then come to the realization, that first, one must actually ‘want’ to look.
My mind flails to&fro, zigzagging through endless corridors, lined with flashing images, discarded thoughts, left scattered amongst the wreckage of my struggle to better comprehend our world, and barricaded rooms, blocked off for various reasons; some known to me, others lost to the dark caverns of my inner psyche. I cringe, in a routine ritual attempt, at shaking the unwavering onslaught of cumulative concepts, flickering like strobe lights, in a bourgeois dance club through my consciousness; simultaneously, my earthly existence trickles back in through the back of my head, and out, into the fore-front. ‘I’m back’, I sigh; ‘Kind-of…’.
Well, it’s February, cold but not freezing, warmer, yet not warm.
It’s almost like a seasonal purgatory in a sense; somewhere in the middle. I stare outside the widow at the street outside. The sun is setting, and, for a moment, the world on the other side of the foggy glass almost looks pleasant, warm even…yet the Chicago sun can be deceptive. This land has yet to be liberated from the icy grasp of a Northern winter; yet, that makes little difference in my growing desire to step outside, and away from these wretched laptop keys, away from you all. It’s not because I don’t wish to carry on my relentless assault on your perception of me being anything, ‘but’, a normal person, whatever the fuck that means. No, in fact, I happen to be quite fond of my pervasive addiction to little cylindrical sticks of cancer…and they’re calling my name.
So…in retrospect, I have very little apathy for clinging to a single, overly-simplistic, and, at least in my own humble opinion, based upon my quite basic ‘I really don’t fucking care’ approach to going about ‘things’; the month of February, in Chicago that is, kind of sucks, but then again I guess that it really doesn’t suck all too much…Oh,
and I need to have a damn cigarette already.
Happy Trails Fuckers.