baggage's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- council of egos No longer can humor be my sanctuary; neither laughter nor smiles nor a gentle jab of nonsense at the side. My day to day is haunted by suspicion-eyes that scurry back and forth like cockroaches caught in the harsch light of a 75-watt bulb-all looking for some weakness in this otherwise harmless schtick of a man. It's a pathetic state of being-this purgatory of paranoya created by you- a bastard stretching beyond the confines of civility and ego. I hope to someday understand your duality, our duality; one side logical with eyes wide like an anime and the other with eyes small and narrow against the brightness of a broad afternoon- eyes giving in to this need to worship and be worshipped. I have this need to understand late December and early January-the polarization of the minds that share, or are forced to share, the race of rats. And I know that this need in itself is a plague-a black spot on a soul dirty with the stains of previous wanna-be-gods. I wish I could wipe you clean-all you carriers of the most human of all diseases-a disease that divides those around you like Moses walking through the turmoil of the Red Sea. And what about the divided? Those left to suck your wake-their judgement strewn about in your tailwind? What about the ones left to argue over all the shades of gray coating your intentions? We bicker, stab, push and mutter our way through a day washed with smiles insincere and forced. We bathe ourselves with our own version of black and white and find the dirt thick upon our skin-unmoving and forever staining even the remotest of edges; the piece of flesh underneath the fingertips. But the salvation to this need eludes me. I carry you around with the others-turning you over, prodding your memory and pondering the stain you left on an otherwise good day. I wish to find the ability-the spirit and mind to drop you off and walk away. These short years haven't given me enough strength to bleach you away so I need to walk elsewhere-somewhere beyond my limited gait-to find the bullet that will murder you, all of you, at last. 8:20 p.m. - 2003-01-19 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||
|
||||||