2005-07-14 - 4:36 p.m.
Jack Was Real Once
Her not so passive aggressive swipe at me, did not go unnoticed. Lost in a cryptic sea of implication. Swarming with vain seagulls that think every soggy piece of bread is just for them.
I am guilty of eating the bread of others and wishing it was for me.
But I know, that this time, it really was for me.
I could almost feel the angry accusing determination, in the word YOU. It practically jumped off the page, kicked me in the face, and said "Yeah, you."
These words were still warm.
Still smoldering from the white coal mind they fell from.
I don't know why I still dance barefoot around your hearth. Stepping knowingly, in the cinders. To burn is to feel. Something.
I still warm myself by your light. A moth with cigarette burned wings. Invisible. Cold. Looking in just past the worn screen, seeing what it can.
Like a mad painter, a mad man, I watch you from the shadows. You provide the subtitles that bring your pictures to life. I drink, at my street cafe for one. Oil dripping down the walls inside. I drink and I remember.
You were alive once.
To me.
You were real.
Surreal.
You were flesh and blood and turquoise.
Something more than in my mind.
Not anymore.
You are cold and grey.
You are text and pictures.
You are made up of 1's and 0's.
And I can read you like a story, now.
You are only as real as I let myself believe.
I was real, once.
And then you stopped believing.
You dissected the myth.
And saw for yourself.
It's Only After You've Lost Everything... - 2008-03-12
Jack Is Afraid Of Losing Everything - 2008-03-10
Jack Does Not Know What He Is Living For - 2008-03-07
Jack's Festering Apathy - 2008-03-07
