jittery thoughts
lots of time today to start unloving, to start detaching myself from it all, to move onto other things.
It had been a long time since I had been driven to something purely by love. I knew that only love could create something truly beautiful from nothing, something that affected others, that influenced, that inspired. I knew now that nothing I could say or do would have any effect. I knew that my love was lost, and gone forever. One sweet day in the future I would recapture it, maybe.
Maybe. How that word tortured my soul, the indecision of it all. If I was not to know what the future held, then it pained me to think of it. I wished no surprises on myself. Back then I was blind and did not forsee what would happen. It all seemed to be placed in front of me, like Dorothy's brick road. Fantastical nonsense. Now I can see where it went wrong, but cannot for the life of me work out why.
It is my plight to spend my days recounting this to myself, alone, watching water vapour condense on the cold glass window.
a long break, a brief return. this place is still so cold.
Now she's gone, all I have are these overblown sentiments, these over-long sentences, these carefully selected words that she hated so.
I will be single-handedly responsible for
something.
I will be single-handedly responsible for something good in the world.
(everything that was there is gone now)
Nostalgic for the time when there were lines, not dots, grey, not flahes of colour. I've missed the best times. They've passed me by.
...this is the end. I'm not coming back...
I have been lying down in this room since I was put here. I'm in agony. I don't know why. No physical violence has been bestowed on me -- since I arrived here I've met no one. But here I am, on the floor in this stone room, writhing in agony.
It was a year ago today that she lost conciousness. The doctors didn't have chance to save her; her life drained away on the road before they had chance to. I dropped everything and took up driving heavy goods vehicles. Slowly reclused away from my family and friends, my only company is the passport photo of her on the dashboard. Now I drive up and down the country in the middle of the night, waiting for the roads to claim me too.
Debate with self over how post-modernism could not exist in contemporary culture. Lost.
A gradual shift of focus from external to internal. The fetishisation of the real (outside) to the hyperreal (inside). Will swing back as a pendulum does. Tick tock.
...a question and answer method of self improvement. "What are you trying to acheive?". Introspection, a handle on oneself. "How will you acheive this?". Critical analysis of every single decision ever made in life. "What will this acheive?". Nothing. Head explodes. Credits roll.
Sitting alone, I develop a certain sense of nostalgia. I remember the Christmas before last, the Christmas spent with my friends and family. I enjoyed myself in a strange way, like somehow I knew deep down that this would be the last time I ever felt that way.
[I wish the numbness in my legs would leave me]
I reentered the building to find that everyone had disappeared. The doors that were normally open all the time were now closed. The only sounds came from the computers. Concerned, I looked around. No-one.
Eventually I found them, all huddled round, sniggering at something. Afraid it was me, I walked away.
The hour hand on the clock in this room seems to be leaning further away from the previous hour than normal. Perhaps it is eager to progress to the next one. No matter, the clock hasn't moved for years.
I'm taking you all for a ride. You don't know it yet. Only one person knows, and soon they will be dead.
...I still enter the room now. There are bars on the window. It's cold, illuminated only by the outside light. It's daytime, but it feels like the dead of night. Occasionally the room breathes. I'm unsure whether it breathes with me or against me. There is nothing else here. The room is Godless, a void. I do not wish to return here but know that I soon will.
I felt something stir. I looked round once, then again. Without warning, I got up and ran. I got as far as the door before I realised I had nothing to run from.
The desk is on fire, but the employees sit at their computers. The plastic casing on the computers begins to melt like candle wax, dripping down onto the desk. Soon the employees begin to melt also, and I am left wishing I hadn't applied for this job.
...and the most worrying part was when the pipe started to move of its own accord, oscillating rapidly just at the edge of the field of view. With some trepidation a hand reached out and touched it. The pipe was warm, and strange to the touch. It stopped vibrating as the hand made contact.
