("I'll Follow The Sun")
I've tried writing but then erased what I had written and started over a few times now.
It is astonishing how differently you sense experience once it has passed. Reflections about the nature of things, or people, or yourself. These musings take on such different qualities as time counts on, day after day. Little attributes that you recognized or dismissed suddenly grow into invincible characteristics. All of life is held by single moments, all strung together like popcorn along a thread, spiraled upwards on a yearly tree.
People are selfish and will act selfishly when given the opportunity to do so, count on it. Even the thought of the possible cost to others is a burden. Little things, daily activities that bother or unnerve another near you, they add up and then become insuperable. You just do them, perhaps recognizing the annoyance but not giving it too much concern. It is just the way life is. We are reminded at times by the messages around us that selfishness is an occasional necessity. Though sometimes selfishness comes in single, lasting packages. We are left to live with it, or the thoughts of what is now missing, lost or taken. That's where reflections step in and take over.
Memory exists with the luxury of being whatever it wants to be: giving, loving, caring... or ruthless, imaginary and cruel. Or, sometimes simply necessary, repeated in the mind out of a need to approach the truth. Memory gets to be whatever it wants to be, even if it is an addict. Life is a recurring dream in that way. We don't relive the thing, we relive our thoughts. We become lost in our inner addictions.
Then one day you wake up, fall out of bed, and read the news. Oh boy.
Somebody spoke and I went into a dream....