Monday, April 4, 2011

under the grey

Fitful dreams that seem so real yet make no sense, soundtracked to songs I can't turn off, wondering what it was all about when the alarm goes off on my phone in the other room. I wake up not feeling like I've slept because my brain just never stops working. I can't even zone out in my sleep.

The warmth was tangible and thick when I left this morning, coming here in awe of gathering storms and darkness where the sun should be, and now it looks the way it usually does, the untextured white of cloudcover, the rain that looks so cold, echoes of thunder in the distance.

Five more minutes and I will be alive again, able to release the tension, unwind in the absorption of perfecting a craft. I know it's an escape, but I have something to show for it. It defers those feelings of irrational melancholia that come over me on days like these, what I feel and what is true are often so different.


Anonymous said...

it's only an escape if you're not attending to something else that needs dealing with, see if your school's library has a copy of branka arsic's on leaving

Randal Graves said...

Hey now, don't be badmouthing irrationality, often a creative fuel for such perfection, or the vastly underrated contemplation of that last duality.

Would be nice if folks wouldn't drive like idiots in the rain, though.

Anonymous said...