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Daze Log 1 – Dead

November 29, 2014 - romanticpathofselfdestruction / whoneedslove -

Some days I feel like I’m dead.  Like, I must be dead.  Even worse, I end up as an eternal slave in a TTC version of purgatory.  It’s an eternity of no eye contact,  fidgeting uncomfortably, grimacing like you need to poo, closing your eyes pretending you’re asleep…except for those small groups who talk loudly.

They just don’t know they’re dead yet.

Sure, everybody has places to be and people to please, but it feels like we’re all just lost.  It feels like we surface from the stuffy,  fluorescent lit subway only to meander around in the cold, bumping into each other in the dark.

5 O 6 1 7 . 5 O 6 1 7 . 5 O 6 1 7 . Please call control.

I wonder what the hell that even means.  Hear stuff like that on the intercom all the time in the underground, but it sounds like it means absolutely nothing.  The tune that plays as the subway doors close is getting eerier and eerier.

To me, it’s a voice that’s been asking questions:

Are…you…lost? Where…am…I? Where…to…next?

and so on.

On occasion, they sing songs of half-hearted positive reinforcement:

Here’s…your…stop. Smile…and…wave. Live…for…life.

Dead days are always stranger than numb days (which are most days as of late).  On dead days there are more and more questions that find themselves circling around in my head in a vicious whirlpool. On dead days, what is cool feels colder and what is dim seems dark.  On dead days I have more sudden urges to cry and triggers appear to me in public before I can try to stop now more than ever.  The empty looks in the faces of total strangers as they sit or stand waiting for the next stop gives me shivers and it feels like an eternity of slight anxiety and uncomfortable foot shuffling.

I’m not falling for it though.  I know it get’s better. Winter may be on it’s way, but then again so is spring, summer, and fall again.  It’s all a process, and we’re all going through it in our own way.

Maybe if we meander around in the dark long enough, braving the cold and dreaded construction-clad city, eventually we’ll bump into someone from our past lives who sees us and poof – we’re back in the world of the living, reincarnated and ready for new purpose and wanderings.

 

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Comments

  1. dave says:

    you captured the TTC experience on those days,, especially alone on one of ‘those’ days!
    this poem makes me want to create a new culture!
    thx

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