Imagine Peace

Imagine Peace


Wandering Poet, Amateur Philosopher, Autopilot Outlaw


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Monday, July 28, 2008

Crack Nature's Mold

It's that point where that person's face is unrecognizable, where you can't even place where you know them from.  I see him, and I see his face, and it seems like he should make sense, and to my numb and inebriated mind he does make sense, but the face, the face just doesn't register.  I see my past, I know my past and I remember him, but the way he looks now...I wait for him to talk to me.  All the time.  I always want him to be the one to communicate, establish, initiate, when I could just as easily do any of those.  But where's the fun in that?  My face is numb.  The people who know me well, know what that means, and probably know where these miscellaneous writings are coming from.  I spent 10 minutes staring at his face, that seemingly happy face that hardly ever reared its head in photograph for all the time I knew him.  I don't think he ever even posed for a photo, except for our dance picture, and even then it seems as if he just turned around and there was that face, that smirk.  There are so many vivid pictures of him in my mind, and yet none of them are even similar to the pictures I have just seen.  None.  It's hard for me to believe I ever even knew him.  Maybe I didn't.  Maybe I don't.  I want to take the easy way out with the whole "maybe it was just a dream" philosophy, but we all know that's not true in the slightest.  It wasn't a dream, it was real, I was there, he was there, several other people were there, days, weeks, months passed of us being there together with other people and enjoying our time.  I was there.  I did know him.  I just don't know him now.  Fuck.  None of this is making sense.  Hands and face are numb.  Even the toes.  But my mind is alert, and thinking at rapid speed.  Where's the sense in all this, the theme that can bring me back down to earth?  It's not there.  It's sitting in that wine bottle in the fridge.  Fuuuuuuuck.  It's almost 5 am, I check out at 10.  Still haven't packed.  What a whirlwind this has been, and now it is all gone.  Blow winds, and crack your cheeks!  Rage!  Blow!

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