If it were only possible to "sieze the day" like that old cliche.. Though it's only in retrospect you realize there was something to sieze... Now, at this moment, what can i grasp? It's always fleeting, transitory, perhaps illusory...
On a summer day like today, i can smell in the wind something that could or should be happiness, lightness of spirit, love... And an attempt to sieze it? To capture it before it fades, as it must? To think that i'll have lousy memories, half-choked with grief, of some summer day like this, as i lie sweating in some lonely bed twenty years hence...
And then to know, finally and completely, that the apex of what i hope and yearn for is already gone, dead, finished, that the reflected eyes i see are what may as well be dead eyes, and that every tremor and passion i feel only contribute to a general tumultous, calamitous, empty symphony of failure.. causing a buzzing racket that tends to obscure purity, little drops of which can here and there still be felt..
It sickens me to be burdened with memories, each one useless and warped, each one attached to some unseemly emotion.. It sickens me that i am so sentimental as to entertain disgust with the world, and can't bypass it all with some trick of the mind.. God knows i have filled myself with every kind of drug and distraction, every two-bit pleasure, god knows i have tried to train my mind into positivity, as if it were a dog jumping through hoops..
But i keep coming back to the same question; Which is better? The world seen sober or the world seen drunk? And, furthermore, which is realer, which can i take to my heart and believe, how does nature wish me to live and die and love?
And i have my answer: i must look at the world through sober eyes, untarnished by artificial means of softening, as it really is. And in this state, a great stretch of boredom lies, a world of empty days filled with bittersweet distraction, from more numbness and deserted rooms, from hostile eyes, from coming home through windswept streets, from sleepless nights, distraction from the underlying knowledge that in the face of all this i am already faceless, voiceless, nameless, and that in the midst of this blank state i am slowly killing myself.