CLICK HERE FOR BLOGGER TEMPLATES AND MYSPACE LAYOUTS »

Thursday, September 01, 2005

I fear for my sanity

Fear (Fear), v. t.[imp. & p. p. Feared (?); p. pr. & vb. n. Fearing.]
[OE. feren, faeren, to frighten, to be afraid, AS. f¿ran to terrify. See Fear, n.]

1. To feel a painful apprehension of; to be afraid of; to consider or expect with emotion of alarm or solicitude. "I will fear no evil, for thou art with me." Ps. xxiii. 4...
4. To suspect; to doubt. [Obs.] "Ay what else, fear you not her courage?" Shak.
[source]



You must understand, this is not fear in its usual sense of the word. It is suspicion. I expect my sanity to completely dissapear. I do not complain: but all this... is interestingly new.

Maybe its because I have my ipod on too much. Electro-magnetic fields playing pinball with my neurons, drinking flat cerebrospinal fluid out of fluted vases....

But the words are coming.

They hunch, knuckles in the dust, crawling, leaping like slow menacing apes just outside the circle of everyday complacent fire. Walk by trees and hear them jibber-jabber-joo while hanging from vines, throwing fruit at you that comes rotten and grows back to freshness if you chew it long enough to find what the worm could not see.

They come in herds droves murders prides gaggles and schools.

They come twirling as plays, rude verse, quoted phrases, things thought and said by many people many times in many ages-- I see colours and hear story lines, and yes-- why not write that script here it could be performed, and what would I say, where is Ginsberg, who took the keys to my V8 chevy?

Maybe the good thing about name tags is that the sticky side keeps the words in, and contained, even if they murmur.

But this is the interesting thing about blogs. Like BBC and the iraqi invasion, this is self-media coverage like never before.

People have, in the past, gone into jungles, lived with lost tribes, worked as tree doctors... then, they have come back after an aeon or an afternoon, and started wording to the world again.

Here, the transition is marked. Halogenated. I tell you about it. Why?

Captain's log. To keep an account, in case the foot slips.

Or the simple need for attention?

I feel like Im standing in the corner with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with an ant, who is teaching me quadratic equations in return for a crumb.



Copyright,stig eklund. 'city lights'

2 comments:

A Hairy Snail said...

hope the number 59592600 has nothing to do with it. that's your destiny, you know?

goofsta said...

pretty cool stuff....enjoyed the part bout the peanut butter sandwich....a foodie to the core...came to your page from RYZE

some rather insightful stuff u have....well it is as compared to the filth that i dish out on my blog....

over n out...