written by owen on 2015-Apr-22.

Sometimes I feel that I should have given up by now. Moved on to something else. An apartment in outer space. I am older but basically the same as I was yesterday with a few more gray hairs. The weight of the things I know is growing. Love again, panteth.  Stranger danger. I miss comfort.  Old blossom in a new born flow. What is the point of anything at all? If not to survive or be entertained or to strive for some higher goal or suffer. Heights of great men and so forth. Forged in fire and brimstone.

It struck me as strange how familiar the entire place seems. It is as if I had been here 8 months before, died and returned in a dream. The city of endless highways and palm trees growing in the middle of parking lots. It is all very strange compared to everything else that I know. Grass and palm trees, grass and palm tree, super duty trucks. Endless parks, manicured lawns, perfectly round ponds full of ducks. Sidewalks all perfectly straight, grass perfectly cut as if by magic fairies in the night. Paradise.

It all begs to question whether this is all real or part of my imagination. Obviously the people exist is this present place, now and are alive like the trees and the bugs and the ducks so there must be a source of life. I personally have lost all track of time. The day breaks then the night falls. The fine measures of time that I have cultured over the years have been striped away and all I have left are cloudy skies and tired eyes. Sleep time.

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