Went to boston market with neal and norm. Sitting in the lounge again, wasting time. I should... do something.
This is why I feel so scared of sex and drugs an rock 'n' roll, he said. So many lesser things that already can possess me, that already make me feel so thin and thin-skinned, easily pushed over and easily filled. Simple cold soaks my brain, filtering, turning mere weather into hate and distrust and anger and restless immobility. Ah, but the sun! The tired, old parable is yet true: the sun is worth a thousand cold winds, making me toss aside my cloak instead of tugging it nearer, toss aside my ego, toss aside the weakly pencilled lines between my hand and the sky, and the sweet-smelling mud, between my ear and the clear, familiar music of gravel-caked sneakers against the sidewalk. Moment after moment my head is as if on a pillow, about to close my eyes and dream, but still I walk, quietly detached, away from awake, at a comfortable distance. The usual semisuburban material randomness is intensely satisfying. A flattened wendy's soda cup, a tampon wrapper, a sticker with some strident political message on it, faded and torn, a rain-worn hand-made sign reprimanding whoever forgot to pick up their dogshit, a tuft of dead grass, a pine branch, a puddle shaped just so by the irregularity of the pavement, a stretch of mud sculpted into a tiny history of shoe-bottoms. So human, all of it, so comforting. The sun, the warmth! I can't take it, I'm going to fall over, going to fall asleep, fall off this cliff, into an abyss of this groundless euphoria, into being loved (or being fooled into the sensation of it) but by nobody. Is this where god, where gods come from, these days, these moments, feeling so compelled to worship the sun? To feel so shaken by the thought that mere chemicals, mere fellow travellers in the absurdiy, mere rhythms and harmonies should manifest the same consumption?