streamofconsciousness

I can see it rise before it's even aware of itself, rearing a small ugly head out of the depths and signing up, up to the nothingness of heaven. It's all there, right where we can't see it, just past the strength of our muscle to be able to pull it back out, stuck and sputtering sloppily like a mewling cat. I watch it pass me by, thoughtlessly, more in essence than any of us could ever be. What is it? A feeling, or an escape? Designations and definitions and distinctions, all of them are blurred.

Remember us, sitting indian style in a smoky room, passing hopes and dreams round and round in a circle until some freudian slip or cautious motion of the arm and hand disrupted the rotation, and we were never the same.

I feel the melodies slipping away through my fingertips, and try to catch and capture them in some sort of frugal manner on paper with ink. Its futile, nonfunctional, but not pointless. I wonder, I wish, but I don't honestly think it will work out. Any of it. I guess thats why we live. Just to prove ourselves wrong, even if everyone else is right and you do turn out to be a failure or a doctor or a lawyer or a prostitute. If it weren't for everybody's expectations of us, what would we expect out of ourselves? We tend to miss the important things while chasing after shadows in the dark.

Its a funny life we live, I'm just wary of being the butt of some vengeful demi-god's practical joke.