Maybe I’m not ready to leave all this behind, the late night, brisk walks, the unnecessary heart beat, earphones plugged in, volume turned all the way up until the piano keys give my tired spine shivers, the quiet, restless nights in, watching life’s outcasts through my window, candle flame dangerously growing, head spinning, hanging upside down, shoulderstand, barefoot, drop of sweat between my breasts, lying flat on my belly, lying on the floor as if that could elevate me from the gutters of my own lowly thoughts to spiritual dimensions I never even scratch with the tips of my fingers no matter how far I stretch towards the ceiling, maybe I’m not ready for celestial moderation, the nirvana of perfect hormonal, emotional, dietary balance, maybe I’m not ready to not walk till my legs burn, to not dance till my skin blisters, to not eat till I can’t feel my tongue anymore, till everything is too sweet or too salty, till my stomach can no longer take the plunge into this adventure of gluttony and surrender, to stop kindling homely fires, burning through an endless stream of candles and could-have been moments I happily waste away on my sofa, seeking sparkles and bubbles and thunder in everything that’s otherwise dark and real and meaningless and gloomy, maybe I’m not ready to live in a house with functional furniture, electronic devices for mature adults, food that’s perfectly wrapped in perfectly shaped boxes that perfectly serve their purpose, well-behaved children and neutral curtains, bright white lights that reveal every spot of dust and tomato soup stain, the most expensive vacuum cleaner and guests that only want to compare furniture, devices and children, maybe I’m not ready to stop playing, floating into my own confined space, the illusion of free will and freedom, escaping outside my tiny universe for a moment, observing my own insignificance, laughing at my crackling hip bone and short-lasting, tragedy of an existence, maybe I’m not ready to not waste my days dreaming of better days that I know won’t come, sunny weather and better nourished house plants, pastel houses and vases with handpicked tulips, fields of wild flowers, guitars under moonlight, the sea singing in the distance, my feet swollen from walking uphill all day under the scorching sun, the all-sweeping wind in its humbling glory, my mind flooded with the view at the top of the mountain, the clarity of my chain of thoughts once I’ve sifted through all these muddled feelings, my mind flooded with the good humour of my messy descent back to the earth every time I convince myself I’ve grasped a pinch of meaning.
Rational Artist 