The World Passing By

Flying, spiraling, swimming.

Through the air, the wind, the water.

Currents moving, trailing, guiding, mending.

Not dancing, but being danced.

Looking out the window at the world passing by.

Cole

Cole is thinking about his loss. He can’t quite put his finger on it. But it’s there. And it irritates him like a fly buzzing around his bedroom late at night while he’s trying to sleep. He shakes his head, drinks more beer and changes the music. But the feeling comes back eventually.

He kicks back the chair he’s sitting in and leans against the metal wall. The yellow porch light is dimming and about to go out. The generator is almost out of fuel. But it’s summer, so it doesn’t matter. When the electricity goes out, he’ll probably just sit there in the dark and keep drinking. He doesn’t work till Monday, and his rent is paid.

He looks out over the yard and off into the fading light casting blue shadows across the mesa and considers his state. All alone, but finally free, and fuck, a place to stay, even if it is a crappy trailer. He turns the music down and pulls a joint out from behind his ear and sniffs it. But so much has happened, even up to this very moment.

He sparks it up and takes a drag. That blonde hair. He can’t forget it. The way it smelled like cotton candy. Charlie wasn’t even affectionate but he can still remember each time he hugged him. That golden blonde hair always brushing against his cheek and tickling his nose. He must’ve loved him, he guesses.

But it’s not just Charlie, but his dad and his grandmother and the long fucked-up journey that brought him to this trailer, this job, this life. It’s like he just got out of a war and his body is still in tact but he still feels like he lost something. But can’t quite figure out what it is.

Home was only six months ago. From a baby till his 20^th birthday. Then so many hours on the highway and here he is, hundreds of miles away, in a warm sunny place, but pretty much all alone. Charlie came into his life for a few weeks, but somehow it all got fucked up.

The generator kicks off and the lights finally die. Which is fine. He’d rather be in the dark anyhow, now that he’s catching a buzz and the stars are coming out. Violent Femmes is on and seems to fit perfectly. He taps his iPod and sees it’s still only 7 o'clock. The night is young. When he runs out of beer, he’ll have to go into town to get more.

What Can I Do?

You are angry when I am apathetic. 

You are angry when I care. 

Sometimes

Sometimes I want to throw myself down on the ground and weep, howl with disgust, sadness and outrage. This hourly persistence... stalwart plodding with minimal purpose through the days of drear, boredom, spiritual void, and accepting without question my own acquiescence until a valve turns, a piece of music strikes, an emotion rises and I feel a breakdown opening beneath me like a crack in the earth. What keeps me from falling into it is the same psychology that keeps me moving resignedly through this empty life.

Fear of movement.  What, am I dead?

Fear of deviation.  What, am I a machine?

Fear of disruption.  What, am I that delicate?

Fear of loss.  What, losing this near empty bucket. What shit is that?