Tuesday, February 12, 2008

what to do

i've developed the nasty habit of staying out too late, getting way too drunk, falling asleep on the train and ending up anywhere but home. as much as i'm willing to admit that this is not a good habit, there's something about waking up in canarsie and realizing that i now have another half hour train ride before i'm home that makes me feel strangely ok. being so completely along and having no responsibility to anything is freeing, and devastating. once i finally make it to my subway stop, i have a cold lonely walk to my apartment, and the streets are usually empty because its so late. it gives me the time and silence to think about what it is i think i'm accomplishing through this behavior. i usually avoid thinking about such things simply because i know that what i'm doing can't accomplish anything. but almost every night for the past week i repeat this pattern and hope for a moment of clarity. it never comes, but then i walk into my apartment, and am greeted by the overwhelming emptiness contained within its walls, i know i'm just trying to fill the emptiness.
i ride the empty subway alone. i drink whatever cup is set before me, and fill it with my emptiness. i walk the frozen streets alone and offer myself up to give an empty voice to the cracked pavement. everything around me will seem empty for as long as i deny any substance that may or may not already fill me. there is an overwhelming absence that fills the emptiness in and around me, wherever i go. i carry it with me and refuse to set it aside. the pain can only last as long as you hold your hand over the flame. the scars may stay with you as a constant reminder, but pain only exists in the memory as an idea, not as a feeling. pick at the scab, renew the wound, open it up and watch yourself bleed onto the frozen empty streets. what comfort comes from that? a temporary annihilation of self that dances on the line between god and man, but stops itself before the two can become one. the body does not listen to the rational soul, so why would it listen to the irrational?
i embrace the torment as it tries to leave me, and push it away when it won't let me go. my soul savors the torture, and the torture savors my soul. each destroys and nourishes the other simultaneously in a vicious cycle that cannot find its end. what to do...what to do? i can't go on; i must go on. my hunger for death is somehow the greatest affirmation of my thirst for life.

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