Category Archives: Prose

Absenteeism

Its like being there and not being there at the same time. Maybe you’ve experienced it. When you feel like you are watching yourself go through life as a separate entity, sort of observing from above, hanging in the air. you can hear yourself think and make those decisions, but you are powerless to stop them.

It’s not an emotion I would suppose too hard to come by, especially today. The speed gets to you, you know. As I write this I can almost imagine the rich banker in the Big Apple, day after day of rinse and repeat, sometimes without the rinse after a night of heavy drinking at whatever bar opened up across town.

A better way to imagine Absenteeism is watch GoPro videos. It’s like a camera strapped to your head, and you’re watching this movie of your own life, live. Just like that Jim Carey movie, only more meta. More real.

The thumps get louder in your head as you try to disconnect from Absenteeism, and get back in control. you know its there, control, waiting for you to cross the line and grab it. People hesitate. It’s only natural.

what will you achieve with control? Maybe its just easier to let things be. Watch your life go past before your eyes.

For those still craving control, I do have a way to achieve it. You have to stare, stare real hard at yourself and hope you look back. And when you lock eyes, control is restored. I mean, I have many a time looked upwards at a clear blue sky in a grassy field, and wondered if someone was up there watching.

The chronicles of europe #4 – Jim Morrison is dead.

Dateline: Pink Floyd +1

For first time visitors Paris is the perfect vacation waiting to happen – with her wide sweeping avenues, laid back atmosphere, public gardens, resplendent architecture, the artsy crowd gathering under the bridge in the evenings, Paris is an angel that holds you in her thrall. Continue reading

The Chronicles of Europe (delayed) #3 – Oktoberfest

It was a similar start to the day – we woke up at 4 am groggy souls blundering through our first steps. It was freezing cold, and only the prospect of a dark and dreary morning lay ahead. It was very strong motivation for someone of my ilk (read lazy) to stay tucked in.

But for Oktoberfest. Continue reading

Prague

This story is completely fictional, any reference to any persons, European or otherwise, is purely coincidental
—–
Brussels 11 pm, Our place
Now Playing: Myknonos by Fleet Foxes
—–
Prague 11 pm, somewhere between the station and our hostel (pilgrim, if i recall correctly)
“Dude, do you even know where we are?” 9 people turned, shrugged, and collectvely went back to what they were doing. Continue reading

The title was optional

I think its the city.

I look out the window at night and I see a glow in the sky. Unnatural. No stars, no natural light. Its as if the clouds are glowing, party to some secret they’re not letting you in on.

I look back at the TV screen and images flash by, Top Model, Belieber, Syria, West Brom and Southampton, NASDAQ.

I push the red button and stare back out the window. The clouds still seem smug in their knowledge. In the distance a silver shard pokes holes into the sky, blinking periodically. Reminding the cloud who’s boss perhaps? I shrugged, wanting no part of their quarrel.

I tilt my gaze downwards. The water in the harbour glimmers invitingly. But its too late to head out now. Sigh.

Across the road, the lights go off in an apartment on the 19th floor. A family going to bed? Or a couple settling down for a movie? Or someone turning off the light and staring out at the world beyond him? There was a story there, I told myself.

Yes, it’s the city all right.

The dictionary of obscure sorrows

cigvana

n. the feeling you get when you light up the first cigarette of the day, especially if its after a meal; the first drag of smoke fills your lungs, and you can almost hear the cells in your lungs screaming, their life extinguished; the tension evaporates from your body, taking you to a quieter, saner place; only temporarily however, and as you watch the embers die out and stub the remaining under your shoe, you are brought back to a discordant reality; you turn to walk back to your dreary desk, counting down the minutes to the next drag.

Inspiration: http://www.dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com/

On Rain and Freedom

The rain is beautiful because its fresh and new. its different from dawn, because the rain touches you, in a way the sunlight doesnt.

You hear the thunder and see the lightning, and you’re scared, but with the first drops of rain on your face, you forget your fear. It’s liberating. If you ever got wet in the first rains of the season, you know the feeling I’m talking about.

There’s something about the freedom of your parents letting you get wet in the rain, letting you do do this one crazy thing in an otherwise closeted childhood. Somehow you associate rain with freedom going onwards. It’s that bit of your childhood you can’t really let go of, and don’t want to in a sense.

Because, really, how many times in your post adolescent life have you really felt FREE?

I love the rain.