many things in life are
a million years
a million miles
a million memories
Sometimes the enormity of things just hits you full in the face, and you’re overwhelmed by it.
I always insisted that I didn’t want a life, but they kept trying to hand me one anyway — they left me no choice. Often I wonder if there isn’t yet some way out of the tunnel… but so far as I can see, there isn’t. It’s all an illusion. Days… places… people… Always you have your own, and everyone else has their own. We are very lonely, we westerners, we moderns. We’ve made it that way. We claim to prefer it.
We can’t imagine it any other way.
I don’t belong to this epoch or to this tableaux, in which everything is so easy — in which everything is so hard. I stopped yelling “Save me!” a very long time ago, and I have decades of memories I wish I could erase. I’ve filled my head with things that turned out to be ephemeral, though the promises at the time were very persuasive (if untrue).
This is all very obtuse.
It’s thus in keeping with my emotional state.
I wish I could empty out all of those decades and replace them with something concrete, something real, something ageless. The faces of people that wouldn’t be like ghosts to me now. The sounds of voices that wouldn’t haunt me like the last glare of the Oedipal son. We promote as a cultural value the embrace of old memories and lost people. It’s something we have to do, a set of blinders that we have to wear… because to face all of those mirages could easily cause one to throw oneself down in the sand, wasting the precious few drops of moisture that remain behind aging eyes to make tears to mingle with the desert floor.
Justin, Jason, Terry, I drive you out!
Davidson, Carruth, Floyd, I drive you out!
CJ, JD, JJ, I drive you out!
Jennie, Tania, Kelly, I drive you out!
Heather, Marshall, Emily, I drive you out!
Grandmother, Uncle, Cousin, I drive you out!
It doesn’t work. You can’t get it back. You can’t get any of it back. Neither can they. If I’d had a tribe, I would have been a medicine man, a mountain monk. If I’d had a tribe, I would have been.
no tribe, never questing
no tribe, forever wandering
I am a tribe of one, a desert jackal for my totem.
Once, there was wisping smoke and laughter… endless laughter…
I will spend my whole life listening for what I know very will I will never hear.