i remember wearing the defeat on my face and the senselessness of my actions were evident. outside it was snowing lightly. just enough for there to be an increased number of accidents from the more tentative drivers who don't seem to have the capacity to control their vehicle effectively. this is the story about a stranger who talked and listened to me at a coffee shop that now doesn't exist... there is empty space where we sat and chatted. i had watery eyes and felt cheated. she listened, heartbroken at my weakness, perhaps. a low moment but one that just flashed back to me. the story when a high school girl friend went out and cheated on me. not literally, I was not there at the time. and this older girl prior to disappearing to alaska listened intently, for some reason. the story can be written later. i just remembered it but it is not one bursting to be told at the moment...
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One 99 cent tall boy of black and white tea with ginseng and honey. Go home to add more honey or sugar as desired. In tattered up jeans rolled up a bit, to avoid completely walking on the already destroyed cuffs, and flip flops. Walk into 7-eleven with a nod to the employee mopping up a beer spill in the back. Contemplate the idea of grabbing unnecessary snacks but quickly disregard it. No time. Must acquire a lighter. Must acquire fire. He rings up the beverage without acknowledgement. I ask his opinion for the best color bic. He says 'It does not matter. All colors are the same to me.' I paid and turned asking the air, 'How could a person value so little?' I exited the store with existential thoughts. The differences in perception are diverse among the human races. All races, though cognitive capabilities are much easier to interpret in any clear detail by means of common language. We yet to have orangutan interpreters. Earlier in the day, I heard the true account of synesthesia in the process with the onset of beautiful colors and hues with different songs. The abstract quality of something that can only be described as an aura. A poetic cognitive process. One for prose made of vocalized observation. Songs with different hues, encompassing an entire spectrum of light. Every color of a full day. All the brilliant bright hues at sunrise through the day, optimistic and bright, though falling to frigid temperatures of a melancholy evening with bottles of wine and spirits awakened past midnight. Concurrent sound waves, bending and curving through each cochlea with no harsh tonality. Clear as day the color blue. The importance of color and thoughtful diversity in the way of experiencing life. Constantly shifting and forming. An amorphous and hungry deity fueling on shattered expectations. Every event becomes a greater in-the-present feeling. Happy to be alive, even in a shit job like the register at a barren convenience store. I nearly apologized because I can't know what happens in his head. Probably a fueling world hatred and that is angry to be wasting life behind that counter. Though he could turn his attitude around and have a plot to move on from the shop after a certain amount of money is saved. Move his family back from unsafe territory. But lately I've been feeling an unknown hostility. This fear is of an unknown enemy. An hourglass?
