music right now: 'take my hand' by dido

this is her best song, hands down. i love it sooooooo much. i only heard it a few days ago (thanks to karl), and now i can't stop listening to it (along with 'the scientist' by coldplay).

anyway, i got over my writers' block, so i am very happy. i just need to focus on my final on wednesday and i'll be fine. i keep on thinking about wanting to take a term off so i can write full time for a while. i have so many ideas in my head and i want to get them down on paper, but its hard to do that when i have so much class work to do and so on. but i don't think i will. i'll just hold on until the summer at which point i think i'll have more freedom to write and get everything i want out of my head. so, here's an experimental prose poem i wrote this past week. PLEASE comment on it. i need feedback and so far this is the only source that i can use (abuse?) in order to get my stuff read and see if its actually any good.

i like existentialism, but i want to know and feel that i exist

One.

every day i wake up and it's monday. the minutes meld into the hours meld into the days meld into the weeks. i move about in a daze, each event leading into and becoming part of, akin to the next. time for me, time for us, is nothing but a word, a cliche, a label used to make ourselves feel like we are progressing towards something more than the expiration of our bodies and the decay of our minds. i go to work, which becomes coming home from work. the hours spent preening in front of the bathroom mirror do me now good, as the state i manage to work my face into degrades as i watch the mind-numbing television, all sensation drifting out of my body and into the advertisments presented to me. my soul is on fire, yet i do not even know if it exists. i wake up every day and it's monday.

Two.

i woke up today and it was monday again. the astonishing fact is that i have no recollection of what monday means. i look at the calender before me and realise that it is monday, the 21st of august. i blink and it is monday the 30th of october. i blink once more and the days meld into one another. apathetically i shrug it off and enter my bathroom in order to take a shower. i realise i am making spaghetti in my kitchen five hours later. the television is on, and it always is. its the sole companion within my life. it never judges. it always judges.

Three.

its monday again. i do not know where i am. the sunlight floods through my window beside my bed and i see that it is early morning. yet again. i was just here. i will be here again in a heart beat. its all to real to me. my memories are there, but i never live in that moment. i always end up back here, on monday. there is no tuesday for me anymore, just the remembrance of one. the rest of the days follow. but monday is here. its the one tangeable thing i can hold onto.

Four.

i am scared to awaken, hoping that it isn't monday. unconsciousness rolls through me like a wave, and i take it all in, barely aware that this is what i feel. i know it cannot last forever, but i hold on as long as i can. i wake up. its monday again.

Five.

i woke up this morning. monday morning. this day was different. it was monday in the logical sense of the word, but in every other way it was not. i feel myself shifting between events like i'm not even there. my body is on auto-pilot. i go through the motions unconsciously, unaware that my body is acting upon its own free will. my soul is on fire, and i can feel it for the first time.

Six.

i see it in front of me. the image over and over and over again, as if the experience is looping itself over, as if time is circular. i am conscious of the death occuring in front of my eyes. i see the soul escape and everything comes to a hault. i am alive. i know this. i am mortal. i now know this.

Seven.

my eyes blink, the lids dropping in slow motion like shutters of a camera lense, and open again to reveal the hideous mess in front of my person. i cannot understand what transpired. death is not a game i take lightly, and this one is not a game. a gun has gone off. a person is dead. and i have seen it. i have seen the ending, the be all and end all, the end of the universe, the culmination of existence in a split second. i feel the universe swirling aroung me and i do not understand how this could be. this person was here. i was here.

Eight.

i enter that moment again and again as monday draws to a close and i wonder whether i shall end up here again. this monday was different, but how?

Nine.

i wake up and i feel the tips of my fingers. they still exist. the sheet bounces delicately on top of me. the sun streams in the curtained window and i feel a faint breeze. this moment exists for a time as i allow it to dangle there in front of me, never allowing my mind or my fears to snatch it away into my subconscious for safekeeping. this memory shall not evade me.

Ten.

i blink. i can feel my heart beat. i meld this into my mind. i can feel my heart beat. i am alive. am i.

Eleven.

the sun continues to pour in as it meanders across the sky at a quick pace. i am existing outside this moment. i see the hands on the clock turn at a rapid speed. i feel things age and die around me. i feel all this. i like to feel. i want to feel. i want to know that i feel.

Twelve.

i blink and i see it again. i see the end. i see the visage on monday. i am here again? i relive the moment. i look at the eyes, the face, the solid representation of the end infront of me. as plain as day. i know it is there. i see it. and i realise the key. i am not really here. i haven't been in a long time. my body is an anchor keeping my soul from escaping into the waters of the universe. the anchor. i cut myself loose and i blink. its tuesday.

Thirteen.

i like existence, but i want to know and feel that i exist.

... posted at 2:11 a.m. by gleefully gloomy. ...