
10-27-2009, 12:40 AM
He stood, cigarettes in hand, the pack he fumbled around as he considered the possibilities that faced him, contemplating the window and silence of the falling snow. Is this what he wanted, how he imagined his life coming about, taking shape. He exhaled, the fog of smoke clouding his vision ever so slightly as if giving off some incomprehensible answer to his now conscious musings of his particular direction or desire. The world was not the place he had imagined it to be, as if someone had turned on the lights and transmuted the wonders that come out in shadows and corners of the night. The faults of what he perceived to see apparently clear and yet the solution as to what to do more vague by the day.
A wind started and the windows began to creek, outside of his slow and steady breathing the only sound of life. Was there anything for him to understand to comprehend to siphon meaning from, or was this there, a montage, a pastische artwork of tragi-comic events testing ones own sense of irony. He couldn't be sure. He laughed anyway, it seemed a good idea to stop taking himself too seriously for a few minutes.
White, all white, the falling snow, the subtly changing landscape signalling the arrival of winter. The world dressing warmer that it had done two weeks before. It felt automated, unreal, as if there was a switch with the word winter inscribed therein that had just been pressed for the amuesment of those whomever see fit to observe. There ceased to be a such thing as reality in his mind, he knew that the world as it for him had always been never really was. He took another drag and let the smoke out slower, wondering why the ceremony for such a place, such a time. The growing sense of being underwehlmed bothered him, and slowly, so slowly he wouldn't even yet to himself admit, crept in a sense of despair.
Like hunger, or thirst, that at first seemed irrelevant, unrelated to the sequence of events of the movie reality so many the world over find themselves living in as if the confines of the prison wall of their own perceptions ignored or unnoticed. He closed his eyes and wished the world away, wished himself in a different world, a different dimension, galaxy, universe, wherever else that would accept him and allow this thirst, this hunger, to be sated. He sighed. It was a futile effort, trying to manifest changes in the universe with his will alone.
The perchance that such dreams could becomes realities and realities unreality and the world transcended made him smile at the simplicity of the belief that thought was the means of actualisation. Was that true? He shrugged between drags and leaned back from the open window as the snow continued to fall, the monochromatic landscape interrupted now and again by the hint of a building or tree, an implicit promise that there would once again be life thriving soon.
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