Chapter Nine
A gasp of air. A sharp intake of oxygen. An inflated lung and my eyes open. On my bed, in clothes that smell of everything but clean. My head is throbbing like a drumskin. Reverbs and echos of the night pass through me. I sit up, holding my head, trying to remember what happened. All i can find is a rough outline of events, but there's more to it. It seems that everything moved so fast, so fast that i couldnt see it. Like a hummingbird's wings, life moved so fast that i didn't even see it. A bit like my life up till she left me. Moving so fast and with no jerks or jumps that i didn't even see it pass me by.
As i do the little things, the little things come back to me.
As i brush my teeth, i remember her. As i pull on my clothes, i remember the brief exchange of cold words. As i brush my hair, i can see her face. She pulled me home, well, she pulled me here. My hotel room. And the look on her face. One of such utter and complete pity. It make me sick to my gut. I could feel the insides of my stomach want to come up and out through my mouth just at the glimpse of that memory. I hated myself for bringing out such pity and disgust in another person. I sat down from doing my tie in the mirror. How could i lower myself to that? To the point when a random stranger sees duty to pick me up and tuck me in, all the time repulsed by me. It seems i have become the sob story. The personification of all those stories about the crumpled mid-life crisis turned suicide attempt. All those teenage problems and angsty woes that the older generation look upon as trivial and contrived. Thats me. Self-obsessed, Self-indulgent and... well, from the looks of things Self-Loathing too.
That's it.
Time to start again.
That's it - no more.
What is this i'm wearing? This suit of fake armour. I get up from my bed, wearing this suit minus shoes, socks and my tie not fully tied. I walk with a mission in mind and leave my hotel room. I march down the stairs, into the lobby and out onto the street. My feet taste the asphalt beneath it and i walk down that busy city street. I walk past the people on the street who stare but pretend not to notice. I walk past the bar where i died last night. I fucking waltz past those high street fashionista hell holes. I walk straight down into the tube, probably picking up some sort of skin disease from walking on these well trodden floors. I pay the man and i get on a train. Seeing as i am not fully dressed, i certainly do 'mind the gap'. Standing next to all the other black-clad communters i realise how dead they all are. To my left is an old woman. She looks at my feet, at the state of my shirt and of my hair, and asks "Bad Morning?"
"Actually, this morning i woke up reborn, shed the snakeskin of my former self and i am on my way to enlightenment"
"Oh, that's nice dear"
I'm back up on ground level. I find myself in some grotty corner of the city. Punks are walking around the place in full bodied leather and studs. They have makeup clad rock chicks chained to their bellybuttons and are pulling them round like dogs. Even in this madness they are the only ones who i see as truely being free. I run at the first shop i see and i buy myself some real clothes, not some painted facade that's designed to project an image of myself that is as real as the words my contempories speak. I find myself in the middle of nowhere with no one i know and nothing to do, with no money in my pocket and nothing to my name. I dump my scraggy suit by some homeless man, and i give him my phone and watch. I feel so free and i feel so alive. I feel reborn and i need to celebrate.
So - from safety to where...?
As i do the little things, the little things come back to me.
As i brush my teeth, i remember her. As i pull on my clothes, i remember the brief exchange of cold words. As i brush my hair, i can see her face. She pulled me home, well, she pulled me here. My hotel room. And the look on her face. One of such utter and complete pity. It make me sick to my gut. I could feel the insides of my stomach want to come up and out through my mouth just at the glimpse of that memory. I hated myself for bringing out such pity and disgust in another person. I sat down from doing my tie in the mirror. How could i lower myself to that? To the point when a random stranger sees duty to pick me up and tuck me in, all the time repulsed by me. It seems i have become the sob story. The personification of all those stories about the crumpled mid-life crisis turned suicide attempt. All those teenage problems and angsty woes that the older generation look upon as trivial and contrived. Thats me. Self-obsessed, Self-indulgent and... well, from the looks of things Self-Loathing too.
That's it.
Time to start again.
That's it - no more.
What is this i'm wearing? This suit of fake armour. I get up from my bed, wearing this suit minus shoes, socks and my tie not fully tied. I walk with a mission in mind and leave my hotel room. I march down the stairs, into the lobby and out onto the street. My feet taste the asphalt beneath it and i walk down that busy city street. I walk past the people on the street who stare but pretend not to notice. I walk past the bar where i died last night. I fucking waltz past those high street fashionista hell holes. I walk straight down into the tube, probably picking up some sort of skin disease from walking on these well trodden floors. I pay the man and i get on a train. Seeing as i am not fully dressed, i certainly do 'mind the gap'. Standing next to all the other black-clad communters i realise how dead they all are. To my left is an old woman. She looks at my feet, at the state of my shirt and of my hair, and asks "Bad Morning?"
"Actually, this morning i woke up reborn, shed the snakeskin of my former self and i am on my way to enlightenment"
"Oh, that's nice dear"
I'm back up on ground level. I find myself in some grotty corner of the city. Punks are walking around the place in full bodied leather and studs. They have makeup clad rock chicks chained to their bellybuttons and are pulling them round like dogs. Even in this madness they are the only ones who i see as truely being free. I run at the first shop i see and i buy myself some real clothes, not some painted facade that's designed to project an image of myself that is as real as the words my contempories speak. I find myself in the middle of nowhere with no one i know and nothing to do, with no money in my pocket and nothing to my name. I dump my scraggy suit by some homeless man, and i give him my phone and watch. I feel so free and i feel so alive. I feel reborn and i need to celebrate.
So - from safety to where...?
posted by TokenArtStudent at 10:28 PM
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