Wednesday, September 08, 2004
Back to mourning, or is it half-mourning. Late nights of self-induced gung-ho, chit-chatting about office oddities and romances that went bust, never stood a chance, may yet be, are all very well, over a thumping beat of trance, hip hop and bubblegum pop... eating chocolate cubes, one by one, pretending to get that sugary high that never seemed to bestow excessive calories before and now seems vehement in their vengeance, it is a strange kind of surrealism. Imitate someone's walk or talk, and chortle in laughter, look forward to days of penury and dream of years of prosperity - all of it comes so very well to us. To me...
But I will miss this city - not the first time I said it, and I know it won't be the last, either. Crowded alleys and broad manicured highways, glittery people and fast-paced cars, the stench of money, the whiff of simple-minded honesty. Not all of it mean, or make, or are meant to mean or make, much sense... but there it is.
The scary thought of living alone, the scary thought of being surrounded by people you know; I crave anonymity, and yet wonder how on earth I would survive that state. Not anonymity, really - but rather what I want is the idea of letting go in a place where I can, where I do not know anybody from a past that seems sterile sometimes, to revel in a future that seems depraved sometimes. But they say, breaking free is not really all that hard. They say, anything can happen.
They say a lot of things. Listen to them, over the din of hip hop, trance and bubblegum pup, and through the haze of sugary chocolatey bliss.
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