I wake ravished with hunger, but the day progresses as the last. The music so loud I cannot be distracted even by my own mind, hours passing without my leaving this spot a single moment, without food, or smoke, or thought. Words sift through my line of vision, build themselves into monuments of fairytales, of Unrealities. I read others' words and am glad at their bleeding flesh, their psychotic melancholy; it makes me believe in a place of belonging for everyone. The world outside my window falls away; it is not the Reality. We choose our Stages.
A dear friend asks me to submit material to their magazine; the latest edition's theme is fear, and I have nothing, I reckon, never being much for horror films or the tickle of terror. Until it occurs to me: life is nothing but fear. Every step is carefully choreographed to protect our fragile hearts and sensitive egos. Life stabs you at every opportunity with gut-wrenching loss and unpredictable mires. The incessant, ear-numbing song and frenetic activity are not distractions, they are a method to keep the demons at bay.
The monsters hiding under your bed
have got nothing
on what it is to simply be alive.
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