To Remain Standing
It's survival of the realest out here.
To remain standing in the threshold between reality and dreams brought to life… No one warned me of how brutal it’d be. It’s so brutal.
“I hate this. I hate this. I hate it.”
I wake up and the sun is out, things seem regular schmegular, and progress ensues by way of insightful thought and interpretation. Things come across as casual, normal, expected. But there are missing pieces; my needs are drastically unmet and it’s beyond unsettling.
Dry.
It’s like my mind is trapped in a mirage sometimes. I certainly have my desires to keep me company, but only for a time. What’s real eventually sets in, whether I unconsciously seek it out or not.
I have all of these leads.
Ideas and intuits and hits that guide me here and there. All based on a feeling, and from there… seeing. The leads can and will keep coming; I’ll always have crevices to explore, whether they’re worth doing so or not.
What comes and goes is the feeling. A feeling of sultry satisfaction from unraveling a high quality lead to taste tangible clarity and enlightenment. Like a delicious morsel of chocolate.
“I love this. I love this. I love it.”
But when that feeling comes too few and far between, when it lacks the necessary consistency to nourish a bountiful life, its torture. As bone dry as the story of a desert punk in search of sustenance. Looking, searching, every-f*cking-where for, just, something, please, anything.
Anything that’s good.
Anything that’s real.
Anything that’s worthwhile.
Afterall, the little desert punk has standards. Ones built out of the granular substance of Earth beneath her feet. Compacted together to form a gritty bedrock to stand on…
All to remain standing in the threshold between reality and dreams brought to life.
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