"Life On Tracks"
scott
just a normal day where everything seemed in focus. Rather It was a
day that everything had slowed down and stopped. This day was born to
give inspiration to the writers, the poets, the artists, and the
songwriters. And the scary thing is, It was only slowed down for
them alone.
It was a cold winter morning. Everyone went about their daily
buissness in the city christmas life. Cars moved. Trains we're on
time. The clocks we're perfectly in sync ticking like the repeated
tapping of a finger on a table in undisturbed rhythem. Even the very
feel of dampness and cleanlyness in the air after a long night of snow
revealed this was a normal morning.
Yet on the inside anyone with the gift could see this just was not a
particular morning. I myself woke up to find everthing halted upon
stepping out my door, something I rarely do anymore. The city was
frozen, and lifeless, it was truly frozen in time. Not a single
movement existed, everything was frozen solid statue.
Ideas, thoughts, and creatvity shot threw my mind like meteors in the
sky. Nothing settled in, nothing belonged in my mind it seemed. I
had felt so lost, nothing unfamiliar. The city was large enough where
everything shocked the mind constantly. I always feel lost here.
The billboards stopped turning. No more advertisements of useless
products to enhance our unnatural lives. Traffic lights we're all
stuck on their certain colors, not changing to the stopped motion of
cars . Everything was on tracks in this city, everything was it's own
train.
Everyone had their places to go. They we're not gonna be stopped. No
derailments in their lives it seemed. Just mine, this day of of odd
halt and stoppage. I walked down the streets of the city, looking for
the answers.
My breath crisped into fog at each breath of cool air I inhaled. The
damp morning had taken it's effects on my mind. Every thought I had
come up with, fizzled into the air like my breath. Nothing stuck,
just turned to fog and fizzled into the air, nothing stayed. I wonder
if anything was meant too.
Step upon step in the snow reminded me of those first steps you take
with someone you fall in love with. Those steps are slow and steady,
with you're eyes watching every single place you put you're next step.
You need each other to stand up straight threw the steps. You reach
to be arm is arm to be held up by one another. Really you are just
like each others pair of shoes, support, to help you feel comfertable
along the steps.
I walked around the corner of the street to find the bench in the
park. The park was peaceful this time of year, no body was sitting
at it. The snowmen in the park smiled, and matches the still life of
the city perfectly, as if they themselves we're just citizens blending
in. I chose to sit, and watch the still life.
Usually you can see life running before you're eyes like a Picasso
painting from the bench. Everything is disjointed with it's own
different colors and patterns. Today everything stood still like a
photograph. This was when I began to realize what it was all about.
Memories.
Memorys stand still in our mind waiting to be sought. Looking at the
frozen people with their lifeless bodies showed me that they we're
like hidden memories in our minds. Sometimes we keep people in the
dark for our own reasons. We fail to shed light on them, we forget to
remember they exist over time. We choose only the people that benefit
ourselves and forget there is a world of people to know, and a vast of
things to learn. We lock people away, like memories
Then I reached my hand out next to me on the bench, waiting to feel
you'res upon mine. It wasn't there. A heart sinking expression swept
my face like a sandstorm in a desert. I was left dry like a lake
without rains for decades.
Then I remembered, I knew why I sat on this bench. It was the first
place you and I sat to be arm in arm after we started walking our
steps of love together. It was our favorite place. I forgot the
memory. But just at that second I reached my hand out for youre's.
The memory flashed in my mind like lighting sweeping the nights sky.
I chose to forget the memory because you are no longer here. I avoid
this bench because it's the only object I connect with anymore that
feels like my heart. Alone, empty, and unneeded. Nobody was sitting
on this bench before. Nobody was in my heart when I sat down either.
But now we are back together again in my mind. The memory of the
times we'd hold each other threw the cold winters was warming here.
Just at that momment of rememberence, I shut my eyes, only to awaken
to the world of a picasso painting again. Everything was back to
normal.
Still sitting on the bench, I saw life move about on it's tracks again
in the city. At that time I knew my life was never going to be the
same again. These tracks in the city only came in after you left.
before that, everything in the city was free it seemed. Maybe the
truth is there really are no tracks, maybe my mind just makes them up.
Perhaps I am just train traveling the same railways everyday till my
engine breaks down. I think after this morning I found my heart was
running out of steam to power myself threw the same tracks everyday.
Oh where are you out there in this world, I need to be de-railed from
my minds prison.
Then I got up from the bench, after all that thinking, and walked
home. I traveled my tracks, powering like a locomotive going to his
last stop for the day. I realized being an artist let's you see the
world differently. You are the conductor of how you travel you're
mind. Memories fuel our writings like train engines that are fueld by
coal. They power us down our own personal tracks. Our tracks are
our hardship and pains we can never be pulled away from. I asked once
and will ask again, Won't you please come back and de rail me from my
minds prison? I really need off these tracks.
Tweetiebird
Can I ask: how much do you directly derive from actual shifts in ur very own
perception of reality?
"scott" <thingfa...@hotmail.com> wrote in message
news:63a127a0.02080...@posting.google.com...
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scott
and beliefs and visions of the world. My expierences and my ideas.
Never more, never less.
Tweetiebird
actual noticeable alterations in ur senses and altered states of
consciousness. I do not diminish your beliefs and visions by pinpointing my
question, of course.
> and beliefs and visions of the world. My expierences and my ideas.
> Never more, never less.
fish
o_o
((hugs to both of you))
--
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*- fish
[ http://www.rootofpi.org/fish/ ]
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"Tweetiebird" <bird.on....@pi.be> wrote in message
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Tweetiebird
moment?
"fish" <evil...@lineone.net> wrote in message
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