I hang up my clothes in a color-coordinated manner—in the order of the rainbow, my red beside the orange, orange beside the yellow, and so on. My blacks and grays consume much of the space, my average day consists of mourning humanity as I walk to the bus, to see a new face, seeking their destiny’s redemption with spare change & thrown-away recycling. The eyes of the addicts who have succumbed to the drug, awake so long I know that I am not seen for they are drifting off to another realm which will be known to all when we meet our end; I know this sensation too well, and I notice them. They deserve to be noticed and acknowledged; I look up to the sky, toward the leaves that are beginning to turn, the clouds that wish not to give rain to such a desolate place—I pray every day that there has to be a better way.
As of late, I have not been pairing my socks, nor folding my shorts—it is such a slight subtlety that descends my days into a gradual chaotic manifestation. My sketchpads lying on the floor, and with a bed that is perpetually unmade… it is my choices that I make, that decide the vision of my mind’s eye. Can I not do better despite all the time I have opted to sink into the pursuit of formal education? Am I drowning for a reason that will make sense with persistence?
Pain is an inevitability that I know incredibly intimately—it has become a religion to me, the souls of old call out to me, and my spirituality has grown with relentless situations I do not necessarily have to be a part of. I do it for the eternal energy in the universe that allowed us to come out of the darkness toward the development of our human consciousness. Darkness, so cold, so bleak… allowed to exist, it has become everything we will ever perceive. The gratuity I feel towards this unfathomable entity is my purpose to serve until my passing where my energy will be recycled for the next bout of living.
There is a type of neurosis that perhaps has some level of clinical insanity that lay within, but I know now not to succumb to the whims of every blissful sensation that comes my way—yet I still partake on occasion, as I know that the fleeting feeling might spawn newly realized objectivity to my reality.
Today is just another day, the thoughts in my head drowning with remembrance of notes, with all the folks who come and go… there is something hiding inside me, I wonder how it will come to be known.