February 13th, 2009
|08:30 pm - Story's (unfinished) first draft written while drinking a delicious series of Crown Royal/Dr Peppers|
*Note: Parenthesis mark different versions of basically the same phrases or extra words that I haven't had the heart to delete yet but eventually will.
But first, two thoughts:
Thought: I feel guilty about the amount of guilt in my life.
Thought: When I judge an idea, a pursuit, it's in dollar signs. Everything is seen through the lenses of self-interest and profit. "Is it marketable?" "Can I use this to make money?" My actions are guided by these questions, following blindly as if I'm really the one on the leash until, finally, I stop and I don't know how I've gotten here.
Story: There once was a girl that walked on stars that were given to her by a man with snakes on his arms. While he was at it, he added two to her palms, and so she could always touch those things that she was reaching for. The sunshine she walked on, well, it put her head in the clouds and laid her there to rest(diff). Relieved, confident that now, at last, she had risen above, she glowed with an aureole that for years sustained her. Until even with her dream-filled waking, her stars began to fade and grow cold, expanding with the blood that her heart stopped moving, which left her limbs to grow (w/c-growing and dim seem oximoronic) more and more dim, (with whiteness turning to black,) shriveling, until they were dwarfs of their former selves.
If only, if only she had looked at the signs, she would have seen that life's light wasn't waiting for her at either end (life's light wasn't at the start and end) (the end), but was actually somewhere in the middle. But then again, she didn't want to look. Who could blame her? Looking at a light like this, could have left her blind, groping for the rest of her life (reaching thing diff from how she can reach tnem now b/c she has stars on her arms). To see that everything else, beyond a peak (mixed metaphor) she'd already reached, was a steady darkening, an inevitable falling in on herself, well, the gravity of that realization would crush most people. It may have crushed her. But in a life that revolved only around that which she could hold, (like Russian roulette,) she(, in the end,) spun faster and faster, further and further, until she finally twisted free and careened off into the great nothingness, leaving her alone and her own universe, the end of a pursuit to be above it all.
To say that her story was universal, would be, of course, hyperbolic. Because, in the end, despite the final judgments laid on her, she was in a way transcendent. In the way that girls posing with mustaches are transcendent. Or pictures of toes are transcendent. (importance of pictures in bars w/r/t ignoring the present for the sake of the past which invariably becomes the present when looked at until, like a roller-coaster, you shoot forward briefly, circle back on where you were and repeat.) That's how the waking was a dream to her.
She was a dreamer in a woken world.
|Date:||February 18th, 2011 02:59 pm (UTC)|| |
hydrogen generator kit
This is one of the best post I have ever read, I would love to read more in future. Keep up the good work.