Sunday, July 10, 2005

This must be just like living in paradise, and I don't want to go home

The beat of your heart is the pulse of a clock.
We move together building dreams against the shores of reality.
The people are always hungry to fill the void,
so we toil for we are void.



Haven't had much time for anything outside of work lately.
That's good because I need the money.
As I stagger towards a weekend where I'll spend most of my time sleeping off the demands of the week I wonder for how many years can people do this.



I mean, there's a comfortable numbness that settles in when you consistently get way less sleep than you need. When the physical demands stop you from thinking all together. You don't have energy for spiritual pursuits, art, or even much recreation ie. TV.



But at what price?
Is there any real cost for this? If you say that all things "art" are inherently unnecessary and "spiritual" synonymous with imaginary then we aren't really missing anything.
Am I alone in feeling there is something more? Am I just imagining something to give this hollow existance meaning?



"...and whoever's hippo eats the most marbles, wins!"

2 comments:

flatlander said...

Sometimes I long for that numbness of which you speak, if only it would grease my palms with a few dead Prime Ministers. Other times, insomnia and anxiety leave me too strung out for critical thought, and I take this as a blessing.

When the daily grind (fakie or otherwise) infringes upon creative expression, just remember the central tenet of the Fakiegrind Upanishad:

THOU ART ART

further reading said...

Em, I think you would appreciate the post "Fell by the Way" at Loveandsalt.