it’s a wonder to me, sometimes, the complexity of the human spirit.  for days like today, with the wind and the rain, i shudder and shake, and attempt at an understanding worth putting faith into.  yet, it’s already getting dark.

i opened my eyes today to the sound of car doors slamming, a starter turning over, an engine roaring to life.  i thought about doing the same but laid back down and closed my eyes, yearning for a dreamless sleep which didn’t come.

again, i opened my eyes, this time to silence, lighting a cigarette in my room, because the smell makes no difference to me…stale smoke upon clean clothes now donned.

i lit another cigarette.  i left the house, bought coffee, returned, played music through a single speaker because the other broke so long ago.  

i only ever hear the left half of anything now, if indeed it isn’t coming through on headphones only i can hear.  i beg anyone to tell me that isn’t a metaphor, my left side aching; my left brain tired of training my right, which no one seems to understand, anyway.  so, it’s left mostly silent to the ears of my compatriots.  for even when it’s shown, the confused silence makes it all the more worth shutting away.

with this in mind, i suppose it is only a portion of a well-versed intellect.  feelings. asides. all moments of clarity become nearly wholly misunderstood delusions if not spoken of.

who’s listening? 

i whisper the name of friend.

i wonder if they’ll return.

i wonder where they’ve gone or if they were ever really there.

i wonder if they’re still laughing.

i wonder what’s so funny.

oh, the complexity of the human spirit.  we live day by day in constant struggle against time and its meaninglessness.  i’ve lately looked back in awe at mistakes made and wish to discuss what was learned.  i find it all the more frustrating now, in finding the truth as it pertains.  there’s so much we can’t know until we know it. and even the most balanced stereo system cannot play you a song you’ve never heard and force you to know what it means.  even with all sounds interleaved. even with all words arranged and driven forward into time and space to be heard. to be known.

at the end of the day, when the sun refuses to even try to brighten the grey, drifting below the horizon and onto a different moment in space and time to test our boundaries of belief that it could try to be different, i’m left with the feeling that the darkness might hold the only truth; that the stale stench of cigarette smoke, clouding, may blanket my eyes enough to allow me to dream with them open, so as to control where i’m going.  

because on some level, i can drive blindly.

i can listen for the edge of the road and know inherently where to turn.

i can figure out the directions to a place i don’t realize exists.

i can turn my wheel rightly, only to twist it again.

i can turn on the radio and wait for a song i know.

i can sing my own songs and know them all too well.

but i can’t make anyone hear any of it nor will them to offer me much in return.

no matter how i ask.

no matter how i know they can help to guide me.

so i’m left to wonder why my car doesn’t have passenger air bags.

even though i know the answer..