Among twenty snowy mountains, the only moving thing was the eye of the blackbird. - Wallace Stevens


1 nomination

Got the itch to go some city new, where nobody knows you? i feel it too. that urge to choose a different character to crash in the same car. to say fuck it, go back to Start, reinvent yourself. put some highlights in your hair, quit your job, wear gold hoops and take off those boots, switch to sneakers and high protein diets. quick fixes in podcasts, green grass, "lead the healthy life". neglect to say goodbye to the majority. start a new class, chance some ass and rent dicks on Tinder, a smattering of new lovers that don't know the bones of you - only the flesh. make a new girlfriend. new library card. get angry at a new landlord. make a different wage, no longer yesterdays slave; you're todays in a new sector, with the same old CV. so lose the nickname, find an art. fake loyalty to another small time Boss. Graft. Graft some more. feel attached to a community but distant from everybody, happy in your own bones company alone in small hours, only this is when it feels to be ourselves completely. i know. the job gets outgrown and lovers get stagnant, every alley, nook and cranny, tenfoots were trod twice and twice more over, all good haunts gone 'cause they're no longer mystic or romantic, the underground surfaced. you let people see you. there's cracks in the smile that's becoming a grimace. insecurity rises. "how did i do this time? how do they see me? was i eager when i should have been casual? earnest instead of automatic? was i natural? did they like me? was i obsessive in love, work, habits? am i narcissist?" a pack of cigarettes. no longer in remission, anxiety breaks its waters. fuck it. add everyone and every small experience to the scrapbook self, fall apart and rearrange your pieces, put them back together in different places of you: a rubiks cube. ....Now where to?

© DontTry1994


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