Capricious

62 - Riding the Wave

"I don't broadcast every high & I don't hide every low. I'm trying to live, I'm not trying to convince the world I have life."
- Rob Hill

Lost in a glorious haze, and then she speaks to me, "tick-tock", and the world ends.

A collection of paradoxes, opposing forces vying for control of my mind, my reactions distorted and vague, as I blunder so bluntly so bland.

Where have I gone? I have lost myself. Blind to the nature of all. A single person now and forever.

Rising back into a world of freedom and arguments, waging wars and living as one, frustration and ridicule, the work I put in fading to nothing, and each day a mirror of the last.

So tell me, what sets you apart from these plastic souls that prance about in their delightful ignorance?

Weeks pass, lost out in the world, confined to this lifeless state, far from the gold mine hidden away inside my mind. Then the music dies, and my ears open up to the lives around me, and my mind opens up to the voices once again. How I want to be part of their worlds, to play the game that they do, to live among them, accepted. Instead torn further and further from it, where my fragile mind belongs, living one by one and not at all with any that play. Her love is blinding me from all others, from the truth, left satisfied with mere existence within this matured frame. How it all comes back to me now though, ever envious of the lives I should have lived, independent arts and play I lost myself in instead, to save from shattering. It's all so visible now, and none pay me a chance, I'm restricted to this dimension of purity, of goodness, that I can never escape from, no matter how I look, how I act. I think how it could all have led somewhere else so easily, I think of the life wasted through my oppression, I think of all I have left, a flat empty future without substance, then gone, forever, completely, dead, for nothing.

As a child we are chaos, growing up we structure it, till none is left. But as a child chaos was gold, our imaginations ran riot; yet as we age it becomes worth less and less, only a sign of our youth. It is only when all chaos is lost, only when we have fully tamed ourselves, do we so envy that chaos of ages past, and attempt to chase it by any means possible.

Settled beneath the sunburnt sky, amassing a wealth of temporary figures, torturous days sliding together, knowing all will be over soon, and how that scares me so.

It was what it was, nothing more, nothing less.

Too much of anything is bad, left to wonder why we restrain access to some and not to others, it can only mean the safest option is a bit of everything, a diversification of experience, minimising the intensity of it all, just to stay alive, just to stay on top.

Copenhagen, the two of us on a journey once more, a new realm to discover together. We play to the city, the buildings of many a pallet spread all around, delicately delightful smorgasbords to try, exploring the secrets of curious adventurers. We bask and blaze within the heat and sun, lying together in the grass, high forever as our minds are stretched from us. Living through and through, in this graffitied nook of freedom deep within, playing to the beat of our steps wherever they take us. We live amongst, high on life and other things beside. And I am just so, a traveller aching around the world, finally free.