Fragments

And there I was, and am?
I want to keep my blinds on, keep on staring at the shadows, not accepting this cynical ‘real’, this undermining of my ‘feel’.
The weirdness of it all- of lives lived and somehow lost.
Did I really do that, feel this, be it? Be me?
Finding the codes of that alphabet I made up- the Rosetta stone of a lonely teen. Each stroke a key to that old me, the old ‘I’.

So here we are, now?
I like the time travelling aspect of weed- what it does not how it feels. The “Oh.. so we’re doing this now?” The implicit idea that this now isn’t so fixed.

Like a river never flows twice, neither do I. Fundaments and bases ever shifting- this ‘unbearable lightness of being’. For all the strutting and philosophising on the stage, this player’s play will only be played once.

And so we write.

Characters in perpetual search of an author. In search of actors to act out those facets of our own play that were lost on ourselves. Writing out those wrongs we let slip by the first time. The last time. Thos things we let slip by forever.
And so carpe diem. Seize the day as it is an almost extinct species..