Sunday, February 19, 2017

Pareidolia






My mind snapped its imaginary fingers and the second weekend in a row was over. My fourth of five days off is coming to a close. I went into the city last night, just to prove that I can still drink. I went out to a nightclub but left a bit after midnight. I turned into a pumpkin shaped dad with a misplaced glass spider. I don't do so well any more staying out late. I have no idea how I used to do it. Decades battering the once indefatigable nervous system.  

The ex and I are getting the boy his passport this week. We will commit to more travel. I have been a homeboy for far too long now. Travel is expensive, and there are no guarantees that America will be here when I get back. I wonder what horrors await me once the NSA's indexing bots have adequately analyzed this site and then determined that I am a danger to a free state. We're all living inside the conspiracy now, we have abandoned the theoretical component. The leaks are real, we're told, the news about it not so much. 

The rain and the mild hangover prevented me from riding or going to the gym today. Daily exercise becomes a daily compulsion. A day without it feels like a day lost, some small defeat, though I know that's just silliness. 

Silliness doesn't hurt much, though. I could use a few more days of it, silliness and the time to enjoy it. I may request a few more days, even though I will do little more than sit at the window and look out to watch the rain. I desperately needed a break, now I have the impulse to cling to this new feeling, the breath of directionless days.

Had forgotten a little bit, how to happily waste time, to laugh at its meaningless passing. The shapes of clouds resembling things, nouns made of moisture vapor drifting by. All that is required to prove their random existence is a day or two in which there is nothing at all else to do. Just look up, lie back. Look up and let yourself see.



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