the aftermath
At this point I am floating in limbo. I don’t know if I should rest or slam away even deeper into the night. The completion of a goal should only give birth to another. Sure, I can rest on my laurels and pretend I am a God of some sort. Pat myself on the back and wait smugly for the compliments to roll my way. I can celebrate my achievement and convince myself I have done Society a favor. It’s easy to do all that. It’s always easier to be an asshole.
What I fear most is losing it; the desire. Rarely do I make a conscious decision to write, the words usually force their way out. I am merely an editor. But I think about those words all day and all night. I may find a word I love on Tuesday and play around with it until Saturday, when it is good and ready to come out. It is a desire I have created but one I do not control. I accept and love that idea. But it also scares the shit out of me.
flattened
Teenage hoodlums swing from brightly lit lamp posts imitating Gene Kelly in Singin’ in the Rain. They look foolish to me, but they are laughing so hard and smiling so wide I can’t look away. Stuck in a nostalgic coma I fail to hear the stampede approaching behind me. I continue to watch a sense of youth I gave up long, long ago. Quickly they stop fooling around and dart up the street and out of sight. Though surprised and confused by their actions, I make nothing of it and continue at my leisure. When I finally hear the roar at my back it is far too late.
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