It’s the return of Creative Writing (insert day here)! I have nothing else to write about, and I’m deciding whether or not I’m about to go see Titan / Ancestors at the Relax Bar or if I’m going to stay in tonight and do nothing. Wait a minute, what am I talking about? I’m going to go see the bands. Enjoy the creative writing. Tomorrow’s Top Ten will be good. Also, 88BoaDrums is tomorrow. That should be fun.
04-17-2005
Welcome To
“Welcome to the beginning. Creation is a phase where things begin, be it by the word of a deity or by pure act of science. This may pertain to living creatures, or psychological intuition. Ideas form out of thin air, or by act of fate, we are bound to face our darkest fears each day. The purpose of life is to rise above what strives to keep you awake at night. Unfettered, we march through life seeking the most intense of positive emotions. We swing each day back and forth between reverie and depression, and despite the belief that it is best to remain in the middle, our goal is to awake each day in a more joyous state. The brightest minds spend their time vacillating between highs and lows, soaring and crushing, in an attempt to find that level ground, the medium, what’s comfortable. Slouched in a chair with eyes at half-mast, there’s a pain in my hands from the hours spent in repetitive button-mashing motion. This ship is preparing to set sail once and for all, the days are counting themselves down, pulling pages off the calendar, chasing each other around the juniper that’s starting to bloom. The sky is an opaque ceiling, almost pristine white with a hint of blue sometimes so bright it burns your eyes. It is beautiful and alive. Welcome to the middle. The place between beginning and end, a land of confusion and instability, where everyone is unsure whether they are coming or going, whether they are living or dying, growing young or growing old. Hold your head up, there’s a sun above you and it’s shining down and making you sweat. It forms along your forehead and underneath your nose, along your upper lip. You wipe it away, refreshed, and move. Hey, there’s a little ditty you should sing that mend a bird with broken wings. Nothing rhymes anymore. These words don’t work anymore. There’s a terrible feeling growing beneath the surface. It’s terrible and growing, beneath the surface. Beneath the surface it is growing and it is terrible. This terrible feeling is growing beneath the surface. Can you put your finger on it or can you put it on your finger? Then the phone rings and there’s a low and raspy voice on the other line. I know this voice, I have heard it all my life. When I fall asleep at night sometimes I’m worried, frightened by the prospect of losing that voice someday. He speaks in a tone that’s like a growl. We make a quick chat and then go on our separate ways. Then the phone lights up with a message from the west. It says, “Kill me,†and my response comes out, “with kisses, you pretty thing you.†Then the phone rings and it’s a woman’s voice I have known all my life. They’re always calling and writing within moments of each other. It’s like a parade of noise, buzzing and lights flashing in different colors. Remember not to lose your temper, things are happening all the time. People are calling all the time, while this terrible thing is growing beneath the surface. Then comes a reply, “yeah yeah,†so I respond by asking, “wanna talk ‘bout it champ?†A dream is in tow. Tonight is nigh. God is high. Man thinks he is God. Dreams are coming any moment now. The response comes, “call 818-xxx-xxxx,†so I punch in the numbers and await the ring that signals connection to the other side. Far away love of my life is laughing and giggling with a light in here eyes. Welcome to the end, where failure is now, where death is imminent. Welcome to the end.”
