Note to Self
Transitions. Endless. Empty. Anxious. Antsy. Bouncing like a kid. Boring. Interminable flights over vast distances. Never landing. Wanting to scream. Congenitally unsuited. Always waiting. Always traveling. Never arriving. But congenital's not right, really. Genetic trait, sure. Though something else too. Unending tragedies started by murder and mayhem. Clan warfare. Invasion and oppression. Treason. Exploitation. Death and flight by the millions. Numbness – inherited trait. No emotion. Just histrionics. Distraction. Frustration. And when the dust settles: melancholia. Sweet sickness. Old bone. One-note melody. Resigned fate. Trauma hugged by weeping mother. Whiskey. Blurred vision. Waters littered with thin blades – blown out windows. Slivers piercing skin. Keep flailing. Then sing sad songs. All cursed. Threads in history’s loom. Winding through tapestries thousand years long. Trapped in warp and weft. Reverse. Loose ends behind perfect facades. Stupid bickering yanking on frayed...