RyanHarne.com

This is a moment when I question everything. I become suggestive, but hint only to tease you, as if you had any idea of what is going on in my pool of thoughts. It’s common, in a time like this, for me to reflect on the past and call forth some memory that is usually subdued and locked away. Normally, I imprison those memories and times, because that’s what productive members of our society do. Right?

Usually, these cases begin with elation - something near-perfect happens. But a malign cell sneaks into the set, and captures the limelight for a second. A Flash. Evil; Appearance; Disappearance. The murderous thing requires only an instantaneous recognition, no acceptance speech required. For it’s not the thing that harms me, but rather my analyzation of it. No one event does a person total harm, but their dwelling on the disaster can ruin them. Ruin them to the grave.

So, what was once a beautiful drive home, wind in my face and granting me fresh breaths, becomes… no, is manipulated into a tortured space shuttle launch. It’s going to be glorious, folks! And BAM! The sky then rains debris, debris that I think over. I think them over until I am amongst the debris and sorting through each piece, each mite. There is no real use to this recovery mode of mine, it actually makes me nauseous, very. There’s a wretched piece of the once-near-perfect time; it’s no longer worth considering during an eviction. And that polar representation makes me sick to my stomach.

It’s not the event that harms me, but rather my assessment of the event. Not the lightning that maims, but the fact that my unfortunate body is mainly composed of electricity-conductive water.

These moments begin to subside, however. A strange apathy overwhelms me; very strange, indeed, because I am not normally apathetic to anything. A disastrous apathy. I forget the significance of the good event and find that “what happens, happens, and there’s nothing to do” - I become apathetic.

And here is where the moment ends. I write about it. I’m still apathetic, but cautiously so. Kind of similar to being forced to attend a town meeting for a government class and being told to remember what you hear for an upcoming test - you hate that you are where you are, but there’s nothing to do about it, and you simply must try to focus on the present.

It’s very quiet here. Completely quiet, except for the mind-numbing drone of the television far away. Some times, to calm myself from these moments, I will recite Keats’ “When I Have Fears That I May Cease To Be”. I don’t recite it because it ends in redemption, not at all! It shows us that our problems exist and cannot be discarded for a fairy-eyed view of the world. This is how I feel - I fear that I may cease to be

“…Before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain…”

This entry was posted on Wednesday, April 6th, 2005 at 8:25 pm and is filed under . You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.