ninja

fulldamage

Raised by Wolves

Gaki: writing myself Real


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ninja
fulldamage

My bed...

... is an inflatable mattress, that dies once a night, of a puncture wound in it's side, bleeding air that I have been too lazy to patch with anything other than masking tape, so it swallows me laconically over the course of my unconscious hours, leaving me to wake buried within its' folds, a gentle reprimand to my lack of motivation.

Sundays often find me at the laundromat, reading or playing Samurai shodown or foraging at the 7-11 like a hooker before work, contemplating the setting sun while draped in leather and wearing no underwear.

I should sleep, but instead I am nourishing myself on a diet of Red Stripe Jamaican and smoking Turkish jade Camels, pondering tomorrow with little care if it should arrive or not, and with little regard as to on what terms we'll meet.

28 years old, tenuously employed, a skilled talker that doesn't like schmoozing, a dedicated worker who's job doesn't care much about him, a writer reticent about putting pen to paper, a thinker tired of the burden of thinking, a dreamer who can't be bothered to sleep. "What exactly am I supposed to do with that?" asks Life. "Give me something to work with. What are you actually gunning for, here?" I wish I had an answer.

Running, doing multiple sit-ups on alternate days, as though I were training, gearing up for some challenge in my future. Not that there seems to be one on the horizon, not a specific one anyway. If I have to find a job elsewhere, I will. If I have to find new friends elsewhere, I will. It's what I've always done. But the unspoken question percolates in my mainframe, draining my wind like a slow puncture wound, so that when I thought I was solid, sometimes I feel deflated unexpectedly, not knowing what has happened to the strength I thought I was building up.

It's hard to be tough without being jaded; hard to be ready for anything, without always feeling as though things are about to fall apart. I love the night, but I am afraid to go out in it right now. Afraid the hungry air will drink of me too deeply, absorbing and scattering me across the Western seaboard, and the thing that returns to my front door, opens it and falls asleep in my bed will not be me. I took an internet quiz that told me I was my own stalker. :) So terribly true.

I am ready for tomorrow. But tonight I will close my door and barricade myself with the lullaby of silence. I will hold myself together with masking tape, and think of you until the lights go out and the earth swallows me whole.

Taste my heart, from where you are. Drink as deep as you can. Remember, and believe that I was not only a dream.

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I Dream of...Hermits? Waitaminnit...

...that's just sick and wrong! ;D

I did use to wonder at times if you WERE real and not some reflection of my inner-thought processes. Heck, I have had some pretty realistic, funky dreams involving the whole crew and our characters which sometimes left me in this waking world wondering why I couldn't just stay THERE, in the dream. Sometimes I felt THAT was the reality while THIS has been the dream.

The whole blood-sucking/sharing thing would leave me rather squeamish, though...

Not to mention faint.

As in ON the floor.

As usual, I'm out of the loop, here, between the land of Fantasy (DIsneyland, etc.) and the hard slap of Reality (Seattle/Grunge, etc.) so it allows me to simply float until I get pulled one way or the other.;)

If you were "just" a dream, Ken, you're definitely one we all want to keep dreaming. See ya, soon, dove...door's always open for you and the crew.

fucking beautiful. very difficult to capture such an ambiguous, liminal position, and you did it very well.

favorite part:

"28 years old, tenuously employed, a skilled talker that doesn't like schmoozing, a dedicated worker who's job doesn't care much about him, a writer reticent about putting pen to paper, a thinker tired of the burden of thinking, a dreamer who can't be bothered to sleep. "What exactly am I supposed to do with that?" asks Life. "Give me something to work with. What are you actually gunning for, here?" I wish I had an answer."

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