It was suggested - in large part by a flurry of musical activity from crickets - that another evening would pass by in amazement, nettled by paralysis in shimmering pools of pure wonder at the nature of being baffled, confused and emotionally trapped.

I guess it’s really an interesting thing.

“There is so much rage in me that I don’t know how to begin. I’m not scared, though. Just a little tired, and, in myriad ways, in awe of the weight that can be put on someone. It just takes a little focus, and a little re-balancing.”

- Pellborough Street Fair, 1987.

I put this part of the day into a small box and wrapped it with bed linen. Stuffed it into the closet where the extra sheets and blankets are. When you open the closet it doesn’t look like anything but a bunch of soft things. When I sink into the chair by the steel safe in the floor I put all of that part of the day far away in my head and I stare blankly at the fireplace, intrigued by how little I’m able to veer off into a semblance or shade of emotion that one could admire. I raise my hands in the air in front of me and splay my fingers, tip-tapping nothing with the fingers as if to grasp or play at; in the shadow reflections on the wall from the flames below the mantle it looks like I’m playing the piano. But what would I know about playing the piano?

The feeling that can come over a person when waking up is commonly perceived to be disorientation or confusion. But what it really is most of the time, it’s that a better world just disintegrated in half a second and won’t be easy to get back to. And it takes a few moments to get adjusted again to what’s worth a whole lot less.

The pills they had us taking swept entire weeks past us in dusty clouds across the floor. I could blink, but so slowly, and just once … and one month later, wearily, it seemed I could turn my head, and it took forever to remember I didn’t want to lose you in this huge, blinding white building, but it was so hard to concentrate.

After the serpent sought out the morning.

(Source: corpseonpumpkin.com)