| This is ludicrous speed. |
| What’s here and now and intended to be clear to the
|
| senses passes as a blur.
|
| Obsession: desire, Desire: obsession. |
| I know the answer inside is fighting the
|
| image of beauty and security.
|
| I can hear it gnawing at my consciousness in the background. |
| Groveling,
|
| unnerving, yet deaf to nonsensical ears. |
| I fear why I desire. |
| I understand how this all works and yet
|
| I’m still fixated.
|
| Saturday nights are just the start, a day or two into the week and I’m half way
|
| back. |
| By the time
|
| I get home I’m back there again. |
| I am completely aware and yet somehow I’m
|
| forced to the margins.
|
| Bench warming and there seems little chance of me getting out alive.
|
| A person no more. |
| I watch and I watch.
|
| Absurd recap. |
| A person no more and it feels so good it hurts. |
| I watch again.
|
| Recapitulation. |
| Worn down.
|
| This is not where I want to be. |
| Unfamiliar mirrors. |
| I wonder what has become of my life.
|
| The gaps in our lives seem to be so easily replenished with the products of our
|
| imagination, allowing ourselves
|
| to believe that the touched-up digital images of perfection are real and set
|
| the standard for beauty and truth within
|
| ourselves. |
| But such things tend to leave a person more lonely than she was to start with as the
|
| bombardment of these images through entertainment and advertisements remove us even more from the rawness of life. |