Friday, September 11, 2009

Stranger in a strangeland.

In between bouts of hallowed silence and sporadic mindmusic, I have finally accepted that this city, its deadened charms and whatever little anonymity I enjoyed in it, are all lost. I have grappled with this idea oftentimes in the present, but even if I don't admit it, this deadcity is only just a tiny story in my head. The more I tell myself I have to purge myself off this story, the more there is an insane urge to run away.

The only thing that may have any place in my memories later is the orangish-purple rainsky here and the little bookshop uptown. And the only real thing that attaches me to the strands of the city is why I came here. The entire idea was to take refuge, to escape. And now, what seems inevitable is the need to evade the reason I am here in the first place. Life is a ridiculous little circle. Really.

And, what is even more ridiculous is that the reason slips off my fingers at certain times of the night in my dreams. Which is not good. Not good at all.

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