Unconvinced
January 13, 2010
Sometimes my vision is grainy and jumpy like an old film. The world seems to rattle a little, like an aging, feeble toy. It's in those moments of this grand illusion's unexpected weaknesses that I feel suddenly alone in a wretched, isolating, clarity.
I get the terrifying sensation that right now, in this exact moment while the world hangs on the heels of my senses so weakly and awkwardly, if I were to just kick the wall in the right way this whole huge, sensual universe would come tumbling down in a whistling flurry like an immense house of cards in a blustering cyclone.
And that somehow, that would fix something. The terrible tension of this thin, desperate, cliché little reality that's been clinging audaciously to all of our brain stems by the skin of its teeth for so long - that tension might just break with a sort of snapping, chuckling sound.
As if every single one of us just simultaneously caught each other glancing at that huge, sheepish elephant sitting bashfully in the corner; as if we all burn crimson faced for a tiny, uncomfortable moment; as if someone then exclaims "Finally! I thought we'd never get on with it!"
Maybe then I could breathe easy, knowing it really has been just a lot of very clever, very smoky mirrors.
Tags for this piece: depression strange creative weakness memory