Monday, January 16, 2012

Fantasy

I pick out very early in the day what kind of day it’s going to be. As the morning takes shape, people wake up in their night chambers, and I get up myself, I can’t completely forget my dreams. Initially I am very dim-eyed, very pessimistic about the day and the world and all the proceedings in it and my life in general, my brain is just a damp cloud in the morning before I’ve had my tea or coffee, and it’s not before I have taken a shower that I feel like I have feet, brushing my teeth is never a regular thing with me, so that’s my daily forgiveness for myself, I let myself go on that one. You know, it’s really cold in the shower sometimes, and I feel so cornered and fearful during the first few seconds when I get under the harsh stream of water that I just utter God’s name whispering and whimpering and making sure I don’t slip on the wet tiled floor, and in a few more moments it’s become warmer under the shower and I like the freshness of the soap so much I thank myself for being a little brave and entering this contract. I have my shoes all soiled with dirt mostly and I don’t take more than a minute putting them on, never really caring for what they look like, and getting up and away into the street after locking the door, I keep the keys in my pocket and try to smile at the passers-by in the street immediately. You know, you have to take yourself up by the shoulders immediately and make yourself understand that you’re going to be a positive mancho today instead of a wuss. You are walking suddenly down the road, in the scenery and touching the strange people in the road doing their odd jobs, and looking at you with a wonder of sentiment in their eyes, they just catch you for a second, and then they are forced to forget about you. You take a position behind your face, fists in tandem flowing from the depth of the chest, and feet shifting below, covering your sorrows for the morning to shine, and you walk and walk past the world. I usually decide sooner or later during the first part of the day what kind of fantasy I am gonna live today. It’s sometimes the urban hermit fantasy, with the busy bus-rides and staying aloof and lonely in the general milieu of the city crowd. Or the pessimistic holder who holds onto things and broods in the shadows for a day or two while the sun is up and waving about for him but he doesn’t listen because he’s not feeling well. Or there is the science kid fantasy, where I am a player, tinkering and pushing stuff a little, very different from my true self sometimes, and telling people off and being rude with them, but then it wears off after a while.

Monday, January 2, 2012

Your Song

I am compelled to write
for your beauty and dance
in praise of withered cheeks
and the tears that run
and hide but only find me
fighting for a chance to see them
and write about them.