Collected Thoughts From The Daily Commute.

He came to a stop, suddenly confused, suddenly hearing what the man was saying.

"First rate stuff bro! Genuine one, no bluff."

Who are we? Who lies to passersby on an everyday basis in order to... what, turn a profit?

"It's just business bro."

No, he wanted no business in this world of just business.
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He couldn't hear himself think. It was the city, all the friction of contact with all these people living in close proximity, all those silent abrasions, noisy encounters.

The seething writhing raging mass of the masses.
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It was hard to dream with all that baggage. Baggage: the homogenized past and present of our youth.

The stifled dreams, normalized hopes. How hard is it now to imagine someone dreaming of a different future? A dream of his/her own, not merely that of the petty bourgeoisie, culturally ingrained, inherited from a generation desperate to not fail and therefore afraid to dream.

It is no dream, these not-dreams. Not-poor. Not-lacking. Not-a-failure. Not-sad. Not-childless. Not-lonely.
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The sunset was particularly beautiful today, and we stopped, just like that, a five minute lull where we stopped thinking about work, the car, the mortgage.

We all know each day has the potential for boundless beauty, that hurtling at a speed of one thousand miles an hour about the axis of this earth and sixty-seven thousand miles an hour through space we are bound to meet something interesting along the way. But we choose to forget.

What's been buried even deeper is that people, too, are capable of great beauty. Yes, this seething writhing mass.

Maybe we never did want to bury all this knowledge, but we never had a choice, did we. Slowly we are smothered by this world, beautiful as it may be, by all the debris, the flotsam and jetsam of the various wrecks we've made of our lives. Until we die while still alive, screaming silently into our indifferent graves.

Until and unless we stop to see the sunset, to see each other, again.
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Never so shockingly alive as when he stepped fresh off the plane, nor so desperately alone.
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And if you, too, think these thoughts, then welcome! Welcome to being human.

At Death's Door.

________________________

Hospital bed:
Hey how are you hope
You are well
Or do I?
How easy it is to pretend we love
We fake our concern our care
For the possibly loved
The potentially not
Honest deceit.

Death bed:
Eulogy
Desperately
Sieving memory
For the good stuff
But the muck comes up too
Keep a straight face look serious
Say something profound
Lie.

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Or How To Die At Life.

You don't know this I think you should
Life without you is not
Life and I have learnt the art of dying and I didn't even
Try to but I did and dying is surprisingly easy once you know
How we ate in silence but you were not there and I look around every
Street corner because it feels like
You might be there
You might be waiting
but
Every corner my life does not
Start again and what did you even smell like and how
Do I know who you are any-
more if you too have been
Dying?
I wonder where you might
Be where you could
Be while I sit here staring at the door because
I know that any moment you could walk through
And I will receive you
While I sit here by the phone because I know that you will call
Surely?

Anatomy of a Phone Call.

"Hey."
"Hey back to you. (2s) Is something wrong? It's 1 in the morning."
"No... (0.5) no! Nothing's wrong. (0.3) Umm."

Yes there is. Something's wrong with me. Something's wrong with us. But I don't know how to explain it, and that is part of the problem too.

"Oh, right. (2) Okay then. (1.5) So... (0.8) what's up?"
"Nothing much.. (1.2) Just can't seem to sleep."

I don't know. I can't sleep. I want to hear the sound of your voice, but I am afraid to tell you that too. What's happened to us?

"Oh. (1.8) So you.. (0.5) you want to talk?"
"Sorry.. (1.8) It's okay. (0.8) It's late and you have work tomorrow."

I want to talk. I want to talk to you so much. But I don't think I can anymore. What happened to the days when we used to talk for the sake of hearing each others' voices? We'd talk about anything just to keep each other on the line. Must there now be something up before we call each other? When did our first reaction to late night calls become to assume something was wrong instead of that initial heady delight of yet more time together, airtime, anytime?

"Yeah. (0.4) Sorry babe, I had a really long day today."
"Yeah. (0.1) No, don't worry about it, I'll see you tomorrow for dinner yeah?"

I don't know when we became so apologetic to each other. So polite to each other. Like we've become afraid of offending each other, but we're afraid of admitting that we're afraid too. When did a love that seemed so strong become so fragile? Why can't we discuss our fears honestly any longer, when did all this fear about us creep in? Maybe if I figure out when and why and how it's happened we can turn back the clock. Maybe tomorrow can be the distant past.

"Mmm. (0.5) Of course you will. (2.4) Good night dear."
"...(1.2) Yeah. (1.7) Good night."

And sweet dreams. I don't know what's wrong, I don't know what's happening, what's happened to us. Tomorrow is going to be incrementally worse than today and I don't think I will be able to call you again tomorrow night. How is it possible that I've never felt more lonely than when I was on the phone with you? Why can't I seem to share what's going on with me here, now, when we used to share all our hopes and dreams, and fears too? I don't know what will happen tomorrow, but I know it's not going to get any better. What happened to all the tomorrows we were going to spend, to the life we were going to take on together? What happened to the future we've forgotten?



*The numbers in brackets () are, in numbers of seconds, an attempt to capture silence as text.

A Tree, A Life, A Shout. Silence.

some days you wake up at three in the afternoon and you realize it doesnt matter does it not to anyone at all. you have woken up and you are wondering what to do and you come up with nothing and there is no one to tell. you think your life is a mess and there is no one to tell you that no it is not you are beautiful and your life has meaning after all. you run a hot shower and you stand in there for five minutes ten twenty thirty and you think why should i leave. it is warm and it is comfortable here and what is the point anyway. you put on some music and you lose yourself in it and you think is that what its all come to to lose yourself to lose to lose to lose lose lose. you think about all the things you have lost the things you never had the things you have given up. you think that life is not fair then you think no life is not fair but it is not not fair that life is life and that is life isnt it. you think if only i could share these thoughts with someone if only i could share my life with someone anyone i might still be saved. you think a tree has fallen in a forest and of course there is a sound but so what so what if there was so what so what is the point. what is the point.