Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Stripped

So many yesterdays shrouded in shadow. The camera obscures the past filtering out all pain and suffering thus revealing a forlorn distant happiness that wraps around me tightly like a suffocating blanket… and it only leads to more pain ironically. It precludes yet even more suffering and more emptiness… and so it goes. Every day is a death. Every night a rebirth - only to face yet another lifetime chained to a rock near the crashing sea as vultures feast on exposed innards.

A friend of mine told me we need this hurt… that we should embrace it. Because the day we forget the past is the day we no longer mourn for those departed, dead, alive, or both… The day we stop is the day we cease to honor these whispering ghosts whom dwell between the tiny spaces between our eyelids in the dreamy, shadowy half-light.

It is the day we no longer leave flowers on silent graves.

And lately it seems as though I spend more time in dream - with my soul wandering ever deeper into the wilderness, as I sit before this screen watching the snowfall - desperately searching of you. I can hear your cries and I know you're out there, like me, scanning the skyline waiting for a sign that will probably never come. I listen and try to discern what you say, above the chaotic din of broken souls who wash about alongside us in the endless pool Mnemosyne, here where Acheron and Cocytus meet… countless dry, dead souls.

This is my hurt.

This is my paradigm... my path. This is the endless rollercoaster I ride on the diabolical Moebius fire-dragon - an endless series of great peaks and deep valleys, with no destination, nor no end, ever in sight. Just the next score.

And all I can ask… or plead… is that you please never stop searching for me.

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