8:55-9:15
"...and then I fell into a twisted delirium."
The cushions on airplanes serve double as floatation devices. The oxygen masks shoot down and sedate passengers into mute stupidity as their vessel hurtles towards the ground at terminal velocity. Claustrophobia makes sense sometimes. Who wants to die in an elevator? Or in a small bottleneck passageway between caves? Crushed helplessly in the middle, bones as brittle as potato chips, squashed like a bug in shifting earth. To be buried by mud or snow in your living room from an avalanche or a landslide. Buried alive. You were watching tv and drinking a beer, simultaneously cheating on your wife, with your feet up. Telling her to move her head every once and awhile so you can see the score of the game because you bet your brother $10 and a dare to do it. His brother was clever and made him double dare to do some awful things. Social boundaries destroyed. To be living a deviant life then crushed by unprejudiced shifting earth, at the speed of gravity originally, until momentum picks up and you die in your living room with your pants down. Buried alive in earth the weight of 10 semi trucks stamping you out of existence. To take a bath. Living somewhere near unpredictable water. You are drinking wine, playing with bubbles, the man you cheat on your husband with in is the bedroom. There is soft jazz emanating from somewhere. Some room. Suddenly, freakishly, a million tons of water pounds through the plate glass window living room, they really let the light in, and you drown in the bathtub. You help an old woman across the street and you get hit and killed by a taxi. You refuse to waste that many batteries on an amp and you electrocute yourself when you plug it in to the incorrect adapter. A mouse and a blue whale migrate together. One riding on the others back. They mutate and evolve with intentions to cross breed but no law of nature can allow this confluence. We are still. We are resolute. There are many unsaid awful things that we regret saying. Comebacks. Quips. Remarks. Bite tongue until there is crimson blood at the thought of being so weak as to not stand up for your own humility. You are a part of the human race as well as them. You are called a derogatory term for no reason a few times. No logical reason. You being to believe that this microcosm of culture, this subculture is a bunch of stupid assholes. You are categorized broadly among them, a stupid heathen traveling between classes to collaborate with other miscreants for your next debauchery. Oh you want to be a DJ too? If you can't beat them, leave them. If you don't want to join them, turn away from them. Don't let their careless lifestyles of heartless sex and alcoholism reel you in. Sure irresponsibility is fun but this definition of fun won't last. Irresponsibility eventually begets legal repercussions. Eventually your body begins to react and you have a bad liver... an STD... a child. An addiction. A dependence. Sure, sure. You're too young to think about this stuff.. So when are you too old to live like this? I'm 20 and I'm nearly tired of alcohol. The cliche things people do when drunk. And the reserved way I feel even in delirious states of blackness. Of darkness. Of dancing without moving and moving without dancing. The nights where no one has a story to tell except from the evidence all around in the morning. I want to live like a rogue journalist, like a modern day Hunter S. Thompson, or a Jack Kerouac, a Dean Moriarty. The Buddhism, the madness, the drugs, the sex, the violence. The living. The pure life and pure time spent. Something about the freedom to meditate on a single leaf on the ground or to pound the gas through an unforgiving desert in order to falsify documentation about true identity in Las Vegas. I wish to travel and travel well, on my feet, standing tall, even without money or fame. But where is the distinction?
