Thursday, June 26, 2003

Frivolous Means

I've spent a commentary wondering, a lot of time wandering, to nearly no avail. I've lived too many lifetimes in a lifetime, exceeding my share of lifestyle on frivolous material gains. To have nothing that represents anything at all important and still I know I have expended all my credits at once, on some animated video machine. The loves lost, the dreams gained, which are not exclusively my own, poured out onto pages now gone the route of all good pages, burned in the ether winds.

A tiny place, this escape, that provides me with the comfort I could no longer hold onto myself. This pleasant dream, that ends with a blood-curdling scream, from some other world. Black smith’s hands, and woman’s feet, held deep within some distant forgotten memory, all of these I’ve been, and forgotten what they meant to me then. I’ve traveled far away from me now, just the scattering of the memories that used to mean something for someone. I look to the silence between the screams, and hope to find something I can keep that is truly mine. This is where I stand, holding onto the old man’s hand, and the child’s sleeve, barely grasping the difference. Spewing complete gibberish.

Run along now children...

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